---
The goddess watched Kaelen practice and felt something twist in her chest.
'His body,' she thought. 'It's so weak. The trauma he suffered as a child—the malnutrition, the neglect, the constant pressure of being unwanted—it has left marks deeper than skin.'
She stood in the shadow of a crystal pillar, invisible to the children, and observed.
Kaelen's form was wrong. Not just inexperienced—wrong. His shoulders curved inward, protecting a heart that had been hurt too many times. His hands trembled when he raised them, as if expecting a blow. His breathing was shallow, restricted, the breath of someone who had learned to make himself small.
'He will struggle,' she thought. 'More than the others. His body fights him. His mind fights him. Everything about him has been trained to fail.'
She could tell him. Could explain the damage, the weakness, the long road ahead.
She didn't.
'Some truths must be discovered,' she thought. 'Some weights must be carried before they can be put down.'
She stepped from the shadows.
---
"Children," she said. "Gather."
They came—Mina bouncing, Mira walking with careful dignity, Kaelen trailing behind like a shadow unsure of its place.
The goddess waited until they were settled. Then she spoke.
"Before you can grow, you must purify."
Mina's hand shot up. "Purify what?"
The goddess almost smiled. "Yourself. Your body. Your spirit. Fire does not come to those who are unclean—not in the way you think. Not dirt or sin. I mean blockages. The things that stop fire from flowing."
She raised her hand. Flame appeared—not as weapon, but as diagram. It spread through the air like ink in water, forming shapes the children didn't recognize.
"Power is not good or evil," she said. "It is fire. It warms. It burns. It gives life. It takes it away. The difference is not in the fire—it is in the hand that holds it."
Her eyes flickered toward the long pillars at the chamber's edge. Toward the shadows that gathered there. Toward something the children couldn't see.
'Soon,' she thought. 'But not yet.'
"Practice what I have shown you," she said. "I will return."
She left before they could ask questions.
---
The moment she was gone, Mina exploded.
"Did you feel that?" She grabbed Mira's arm, bouncing on her heels. "The fire—my fire—it actually moved! I made it move! I'm not just a crawler anymore, I'm—I'm something!"
Mira pulled her arm free, but she was smiling. "You're still a crawler. We're all still crawlers."
"But a better crawler! A crawler who can do things!"
Mina raised her hand. Flame flickered around her fingers—not much, not steady, but there. Real. Hers.
"Look, Kael! Look what I can—" She stopped.
Kaelen stood apart. Watching. Always watching.
Mina's face fell. "Kael? Why are you way over there? Come here."
He hesitated. 'They're happy,' he thought. 'They're learning. They don't need me making it weird.'
"Kael." Mira's voice was sharper. "Now."
He moved forward. Slowly. Like a animal expecting a trap.
Mina grabbed his hand before he could pull away. "Here. Watch." She raised her other hand. Flame flickered. "See? I did it. You can too. Try."
'I can't,' he thought. 'I've tried. I always try. Nothing ever—'
"Try," Mina insisted. "With me watching. I won't laugh. I promise."
He looked at her face. She meant it. She actually meant it.
He raised his hand.
Felt for the fire.
Nothing.
Tried harder.
Nothing.
'Empty,' he thought. 'Always empty. Always—'
"Hey." Mira's voice, quieter than usual. "It's okay. It takes time. The goddess said—"
"I know what she s-said." His voice came out harsher than he intended. He softened it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I just—"
"We know." Mira's eyes were understanding in a way that made his chest hurt. "We know."
Mina, bless her, refused to let the moment become heavy. "Tell us about your training! What did you try? Maybe we can help!"
Kaelen hesitated. Then, slowly, he told them.
About the river. About the hours of practice. About the way the fire never came, no matter how hard he reached for it.
"It's like—" He struggled for words. "Like there's a d-door inside me. And everyone else has the k-key. But mine—mine is missing."
Mina's face crumpled with sympathy. "That's awful."
"It's just how it is."
"It doesn't have to be." Mira's voice was thoughtful. "The goddess said purification. Maybe—maybe you have more to purify. Because of—" She stopped. "Because of everything."
Kaelen blinked. 'Because of everything,' he thought. 'Because my father hated me. Because the other children mocked me. Because I've spent my whole life believing I was worthless.'
"Maybe," he said.
Mina grabbed his other hand. "We'll help you. Right, Mira? We'll help him however we can."
Mira nodded. "We're in this together. All of us."
Kaelen looked at their hands holding his. Felt something warm that wasn't fire.
'Maybe,' he thought again. 'Maybe.'
---
The goddess moved through shadows that had forgotten light.
The mountain's heart was vast—vaster than the children could imagine. Chambers upon chambers, tunnels upon tunnels, all of it carved by fire over millennia. She knew every path. Every secret. Every prison.
She stopped before a door that was not a door.
Stone. Solid stone. But she felt what lay beyond—felt it with every part of her that still remembered how to hurt.
She stepped through.
---
The lava stream garden was beautiful.
Rivers of molten stone wound between crystal formations, their light painting the walls in shades of gold and red and deep, dreaming orange. Flowers grew here—impossible flowers, their petals woven from solidified light, their stems rooted in heat that would kill any normal plant.
At the garden's center, chained to a pillar of obsidian, a young woman hung suspended.
She was beautiful. Even covered in wounds—even with weapons still embedded in her flesh—she was beautiful. Hair the color of cooling embers. Skin that glowed faintly with imprisoned fire. Eyes closed, but alive behind the lids.
Breathing.
Always breathing.
The goddess approached. Her hand reached out—stopped just short of touching the chains.
'Four hundred years,' she thought. 'Four hundred years you have hung here. Four hundred years I have visited. Four hundred years I have promised.'
The chains didn't move. They never moved.
"I know," the goddess whispered. "I know you can hear me. Somewhere. Through the pain. Through the centuries."
The chained woman's fingers twitched. Just slightly. Just enough.
The goddess's eyes burned.
"I have found them," she said. "Three children. Three sparks. They are small. They are weak. They are nothing compared to what we need." She paused. "But they are something. And something is more than I have had in four hundred years."
She touched the chains. Gently. Reverently.
"Hold on," she whispered. "Just a little longer. I will do what I have to do. I will make them strong. I will—" Her voice broke. "I will free you. Both of us. I swear it."
The chained woman didn't respond.
But for just a moment, the light in the garden seemed to brighten.
The goddess turned away. Walked back through the stone. Left the garden behind.
But at the threshold, she paused. Looked back once.
'I will free you,' she thought. 'Or I will die trying. After four hundred years, death would be a mercy.'
She stepped through.
The garden sealed behind her.
---
In the training chamber, Kaelen was killing himself.
Not on purpose. Not knowingly. But the goddess saw it the moment she returned—saw the way he pushed, the way he strained, the way his body screamed protest while his mind screamed harder.
'He's going to injure himself,' she thought. 'Internally. In ways that won't heal.'
She watched him fall. Watched him rise. Watched him reach for fire that wouldn't come, again and again and again.
'He's vulnerable,' she thought. 'His past is a wound that hasn't closed. Every failure reopens it. Every moment of weakness confirms what he's always believed—that he's worthless, that he's broken, that he'll never—'
"Stop."
The word came out sharper than she intended.
Kaelen froze. Turned. His face was flushed with exertion, his chest heaving, his eyes—his eyes held something that made her chest ache.
"Goddess," he said. "I—I was just—"
"You were hurting yourself." She moved toward him. "Your body is not like theirs." A glance at Mina and Mira, who had stopped their practice to watch. "You have suffered. For years. In ways they haven't. Your path will be different."
Kaelen's face went pale. "Different how?"
"Harder." She didn't soften it. He deserved truth. "Your body fights you. Your mind fights you. Everything about you has been trained to fail. Undoing that will take time. Patience. Gentleness—which I suspect you have never been shown."
He looked away. 'She knows,' he thought. 'She sees. Everything. The stutter. The weakness. The worthlessness.'
"I can't—" His voice cracked. "I can't do it. I've tried. I always try. And nothing—"
"Nothing yet." The goddess's voice was firm. "There is a difference, Kaelen Vorec. Between cannot and have not yet. Your village taught you the first. I am teaching you the second."
She knelt before him. Met his eyes.
"You will struggle. You will fail. You will want to give up. But you will not give up, because that is not who you are. Who you are—" She paused. "Who you are is the boy who stood between his friends and creatures of lava. Who you are is the boy who bowed to a goddess because it was right. Who you are is more than your past has told you."
Kaelen stared at her. Something in his chest—something that had been clenched his whole life—loosened. Just slightly.
"I don't—" He swallowed. "I don't know how to be that person."
"Then we will learn together." The goddess stood. "All of us. That is what this place is for. That is what I am for."
Behind her, Mina cheered. Mira smiled—a real smile, warm and rare.
And Kaelen, for the first time in his life, felt something he couldn't name.
Not hope. Not yet.
But the possibility of hope.
And in the garden, chained to a pillar of obsidian, a young woman breathed on.
Waiting.
---
End of Chapter Nine