Elira didn't cry when Kael left, she didn't have the luxury.
Instead, she stood at the window long after the shadows had swallowed him. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as lava rivers pulsed far below like the veins of some ancient beast. Her chest ached with all the words she didn't say all the things she'd wanted Kael to be.
But Kael was a memory, this realm, this place of fire and blood and impossible choices was her reality now.
Once, she thought love could save her, now she knew better.
She turned as the door creaked open behind her.
Ravion leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching her with a silence that felt heavier than words.
"You didn't have to threaten him," she said finally.
"I didn't threaten him," Ravion replied coolly "That was me being polite."
She shot him a look.
He pushed off the door and stepped into the room,"He's lucky I let him walk out alive."
"You enjoyed it."
"Only the part where he offered to steal what already belongs to me."
Elira's jaw clenched. "I don't belong to anyone."
Ravion stopped in front of her. His gaze burned into hers not angry, not amused. Just... unreadable.
"No," he said softly, "You don't but that doesn't mean I'll let you go."
The air tightened between them.
She hated how close he stood how the heat of him curled around her like smoke,how her body leaned in when her mind screamed to pull away.
He noticed. He always noticed.
"Why are you really here?" she asked, "You could've ignored the summoning,you didn't have to answer."
"I did."
"You chose to."
He nodded. "Yes."
"Why?"
Something in his expression shifted only slightly but she saw it. A flicker of something old and wounded.
"How many others have you been bound to?" she asked bitterly.
He looked at her, really looked and for a second she saw past the devil the wicked smile, the glowing eyes to something quieter underneath.
"None," he said.
Silence dropped like ash between them.
"Wait. What?"
"You're the first," he said, voice lower now "The first mortal. The first witch. The only one my fire answered."
Elira blinked,"But… you're—"
"Old yes," His lips twitched. "Older than your gods, older than your books."
"Then why me?"
"Because I know what it means to scream into the dark and have no one answer," he said quietly. "So when someone did scream... I listened."
Her breath caught, that wasn't the answer she expected.
"I don't need saving," she said after a moment.
He stepped closer and his heat hit her like a wave. Not just fire but weight. Presence. Everything about him demanded attention.
Her heart skipped a beat.
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear not gently but with quiet possession, like he was touching something that had always belonged to him.
"No," Ravion murmured, "but you deserve to be heard."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence between them was strange and then Ravion stepped back.
"I have something to show you," he said. "If you're done sulking."
"I wasn't sulking."
"You looked like a heartbroken, quiet and very dramatic."
She rolled her eyes but followed him anyway.
They walked through halls she hadn't seen before twisting paths carved into the stone belly of the temple. The deeper they went, the warmer the air grew ,her skin prickled with a power she couldn't name.
They stopped before a door made of something that looked like bone and obsidian, wrapped in red runes that shimmered with a faint glow.
"You feel that?" Ravion asked.
She nodded the door buzzed against her skin like it recognized her.
"It's witch-forged," he said,"Older than your coven's history, this room won't open for me."
Ravion stepped aside.
Elira raised her hand and the mark on her palm shimmered.
The door groaned open and what lay beyond stole her breath.
It was a sanctum an ancient witch's chamber. Walls lined with dusty tomes, ingredients sealed in crystal jars, chalk-drawn circles burned into the floor, still warm with old magic a massive spellbook lay open on an altar of jet-black stone, the air was thick with enchantment. The kind that felt alive.
"This is a witch's sanctum, who… who did this belong to?" she whispered.
"No one knows," Ravion said behind her. "She vanished centuries ago, her bloodline was supposed to have died out."
She stepped further inside, fingers trailing the edges of a glyph burned into the wall.
"She was a blood witch."
Ravion nodded, "Like you."
Something in the air shifted a whisper, too soft to hear, brushed against her skin.
It felt like welcome.
"You brought me here… why?" she asked.
"Because I don't want a pet witch who flinches in corners. I want someone who can stand beside me."
Her heart thudded once, hard.
She turned back to him,"Then let me train."
Ravion blinked "Now?"
"Now."
He studied her for a moment, then gave a slow, dangerous smile. "Alright then, little witch. Let's see what you can do."
Hours Later
Her body ached, sweat clung to her back. Her wrists were stained with ink, chalk and blood hers, of course.
Every spell demanded something.
Protection cost clarity.
Power cost blood.
They demanded sacrifice.
But for the first time since arriving in the Ninth Flame… she didn't feel helpless.
Ravion watched from the shadows as she completed the third sigil in a row one for protection, one for flamebinding and one she didn't even recognize. It had drawn itself out of her, almost instinctively.
She finished, panting, swaying slightly.
"Well?" she asked.
Ravion stepped forward he didn't smile this time, didn't smirk.
"You're reckless," he said.
"You said to try," she snapped.
"You bled too deep one inch more and it wouldn't be magic you called it would be something worse."
"I want to learn," she said, "Not just how to survive i want to be dangerous."
He crossed the room slowly, circling her like a flame studying its next spark.
She met his eyes.
"I don't want to be the girl they left behind, i want them to regret it."
Ravion didn't smile this time.
He stepped close so close she could feel the heat of him all over again.
"You will be," he said.
After a beat, he said, "You need to, the bond is waking things your blood sings, Elira. It won't stay quiet."
She nodded "Then teach me more."
He lifted her hand, the mark between them pulsed faintly, matching the rhythm of their hearts.
"You're not done bleeding," he said softly.
She didn't flinch.
"Good," she whispered, "I've got more to give."
In that moment, surrounded by echoes of a forgotten witch's power,Elira didn't feel afraid,she didn't felt lost. She felt like something was waking inside her.
Not weakness. Not fear.
She felt like a storm gathering.