Chapter 174: The Burned Path Forward

lThe sky was quiet—too quiet.

Even before Serena opened her eyes, she felt it. A pressure in the air. A silence that wasn’t empty but held back. As though the world had exhaled and was refusing to breathe again.

She sat up slowly on her bedroll, every joint aching, her skin warm with power that hadn’t cooled overnight. The others were already stirring—Lyra oiling her blades, Mira adjusting the caravan map, and Caine tracing runes into the dirt with a look of deep concentration.

But Serena’s focus shifted to the tent across from hers—the one that housed the child.

She rose and stepped toward it, her flame already humming.

Something had changed.

Inside the tent, the child hovered.

Its feet were no longer touching the floor. Its palms faced outward, and flame flickered across its fingers like threads of sunlight in water—beautiful, chaotic, barely controlled.

Caine stood a few feet away, tense but not intervening.

“I didn’t call it,” the child said softly. “It came when I woke up.”

Serena’s eyes narrowed. “What did you dream?”

The child tilted its head, still aloft. “You. But not like this. A different you. One with no name, only fire. And I was watching from the other side.”

Serena stepped forward. The heat in the tent intensified. “You’re echoing my power.”

“I don’t want to be dangerous,” the child said. “I just want to understand how to carry it—like you do.”

Serena knelt on one knee, holding out her hand. “Then you’ll need to learn how to choose when not to burn.”

The child hesitated, then placed its hand in Serena’s.

The flames vanished.

Outside, the valley shimmered in pale gold light.

Mira approached with a furrowed brow. “We have a problem.”

Serena turned. “What now?”

“There’s movement near the northern ridge,” Mira said. “Something—or someone—approaching slowly. Not Gate-born. Not human either.”

Serena exchanged a glance with Elias, who had just joined them. “Theren?”

Mira nodded. “Possibly. But he’s… different.”

They rode out to meet him at the valley’s edge.

Theren was cloaked, hooded, silent. But his shadow was gone—again. And this time, he bore something new: a symbol burned into the center of his chest. Not seared in blood—but light. A brand of magic.

Serena dismounted and approached him slowly.

“What happened to you?”

Theren raised his head. His eyes were mirror-like again, reflecting her form perfectly.

“They gave me a message.”

“Who?”

“The ones who remember the Scar. The ones who survived it. The ones you left behind.”

Serena’s throat tightened. “I didn’t abandon anyone.”

“But you escaped,” Theren said. “And in doing so, you changed the path. The Gate adapted. It remembered. It learned.”

Elias stepped forward, voice low. “Say what you came to say.”

Theren’s gaze remained locked on Serena. “It no longer wants to open. It wants to walk.”

Back at camp, Kiva, Mira, and Lyra gathered in a tight circle around Serena, Elias, and Theren.

Caine stood just outside, arms crossed, his entire focus on the branded mark glowing on Theren’s chest.

“This is a seal,” he muttered. “One I’ve only read about in the oldest Flamekeeper scrolls. It wasn’t meant for summoning. It was meant for anchoring.”

“Anchoring what?” Serena asked.

Caine looked up. “A vessel. A body. A form.”

Elias swore under his breath.

“You’re saying the Gate is trying to possess someone?” Mira asked.

“No,” Theren replied. “It’s trying to be born. And it wants her.” He nodded to Serena.

“Why?” Lyra asked. “Why her specifically?”

“Because she’s the only one who survived it without losing herself. That makes her… compatible.”

Later that night, Serena sat near the stream that carved through the lower half of the camp. The moonlight shimmered on the water’s surface. The fire inside her had not settled. It crackled beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.

Elias found her there, of course.

“You always retreat to running water,” he said softly.

“It’s the only place I feel like I won’t accidentally set something ablaze.”

He sat beside her. “You’re holding too much.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been holding too much for years.”

She looked at him, eyes heavy. “I don’t know who I am without it.”

Elias reached for her hand. “You’re Serena Halros. You were fire even before the flames touched you.”

Serena swallowed the ache in her throat. “What if I’m meant to be the Scar? What if I stop fighting, and become it?”

He didn’t flinch. “Then I’ll become the one who walks beside you—even into hell.”

She smiled weakly. “That’s not very tactical of you.”

“It’s not a strategy. It’s a promise.”

And in the silence that followed, she leaned into him—not to collapse, but to breathe.

At sunrise, the child approached Serena again.

Its steps were quieter now. Calmer.

“I had another dream,” it said.

“What did you see?”

“A city made of mirrors. And every mirror showed you—on fire. Some were burning, some were laughing, some were screaming.”

Serena’s voice was steady. “And what was I doing in the real dream?”

The child hesitated. “You were walking into the tree again.”

Serena stood slowly. “Then it’s time.”

They prepared to march toward the Scar.

Kiva retrieved maps etched with Flamekeeper glyphs. Kael armed the guards with sun-coated blades. Lyra oversaw supply distribution. Mira drafted a temporary fallback route in case the entire valley fell apart.

Caine warned them: “Time bends near the Scar. Minutes can become hours. Or weeks. Don’t separate.”

Serena secured her flame-weaved armor, tighter than usual.

When Elias joined her near the lead carriage, she asked, “Will you still follow me when I’m no longer me?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then he said, “I’ll follow you even if I have to remind you of your name every day.”

And she didn’t speak again—because she couldn’t.

They rode at dawn.

Toward the burned valley. Toward the beginning of the end. Toward the place where fire first remembered its name.