The Whispering Flame

The storm had been whispering her name all night. Liora kept her hood low, raindrops sliding off the edge as she trudged through the forest beyond the northern ridge of Eldranth. Trees twisted toward the sky like claws, branches crackling in the wind. Every now and then, thunder groaned across the clouds, and her name floated through it again-so faint she might have imagined it. But she hadn't. Not this time. She stopped and looked down at her palm. The mark was glowing again-faint but unmistakable, a curling flame etched in silver-blue.

It had first appeared four years ago on her thirteenth birthday. No one in her village had seen anything like it. Some thought it was a curse. Others whispered that she'd been touched by an ancient spirit. No one dared to say it out loud, but she knew: they feared her. And so she'd kept her distance. Liora had grown up on the edge of things-never fully part of the village, never truly alone. Her only real friend was Master Dalen, the old apothecary who'd taken her in as a child. But even he had started to look at her differently when strange things began to happen. Like the time she'd lit a fire with no flint... just a flick of her fingers. Or when a wolf had snarled at her in the woods, only to stop, whimper, and run away when she stared into its eyes. Tonight felt different. The mark pulsed stronger. Alive. She stepped through the underbrush, deeper into the forest than she'd ever dared go. The air grew thick with mist. The trees quieted, as though holding their breath. In the clearing ahead stood a massive stone archway-ancient, half-buried in moss, its surface carved with symbols that shimmered when lightning flashed overhead. Liora's breath caught. She had never seen this place before, yet it felt... familiar. She stepped closer. As her hand reached toward the arch, the flame on her palm flared. Bright. Blinding. The stone symbols responded, glowing the same eerie blue. Wind rushed through the clearing in a sudden burst, and from behind the arch, a low, otherworldly hum began to rise-like a thousand voices singing in a forgotten tongue. Liora stumbled back, heart pounding. "What are you?" she whispered to the mark on her hand. The wind died instantly. The symbols dimmed. Silence fell. Then, from the shadows behind the arch, a figure emerged. Cloaked, tall, and faceless beneath a deep hood. Liora froze. "You shouldn't be here," the figure said. The voice was low and layered, like several voices speaking in unison. "I didn't mean to-" she started. "You were drawn," it said, stepping closer. "The Flame calls to its heir." "Heir?" she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. The figure raised its head slightly. She couldn't see its eyes, but she felt them-hot and heavy on her soul. "The mark is not a gift. It is a key." "A key to what?" "To what lies beyond the seal. To the truth your people buried long ago." Liora's pulse raced. She took a shaky step back. "I don't understand. What truth? What seal?" The figure tilted its head. "You will. When the time comes. But be warned-there are others who seek the key. And they will kill to keep it hidden." A bolt of lightning cracked through the sky, striking a tree nearby. The ground trembled. The arch glowed once more, then slowly faded into darkness. When Liora looked again, the figure was gone. Just the wind. The trees. The echo of her own breath. She didn't know how long she stood there, rain soaking her through. But one thing was clear: something had changed. Something inside her had awakened. And whatever the mark meant... it wasn't just a curse. It was a beginning. Later That Night – Back at the Village She returned to the edge of Eldranth soaked and shaken. Master Dalen's cottage was still lit, and she slipped inside quietly, dripping onto the wooden floor. The old man looked up from his desk, eyes narrowing. "Where have you been?" he asked. "I found something," she said. "In the woods." Dalen stood. "What did you see?" She hesitated. "There was a stone arch. Symbols. And a man-or something like one. He knew about the mark." At that, the color drained from Dalen's face. "You were never supposed to find it," he whispered. "It's too soon." "What do you mean 'too soon'? You knew?" Liora's voice rose. Dalen turned away, pouring tea with trembling hands. "The Flame should've stayed sealed for another generation, maybe two. You were supposed to live a quiet life. Safe." "I'm not safe!" she shouted. "I've never been safe! People look at me like I'm cursed. You think I don't feel it? The way the air bends around me? The fire, the wolves-" Dalen looked at her, sorrow etched into every line of his face. "There's a war coming, Liora. One that was buried with the truth of who you are." She stared at him. "Who am I?" He closed his eyes. "You're the last Flameborn."