Sunlight spilled through the thin curtains of Aria's room, warm and blinding. She groaned softly and shielded her eyes with her hand. The faint hum of morning life echoed from beyond the walls, but all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat.
Azreal had gone back to Hell for something important. The thought weighed heavily on her.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her temples before her eyes drifted toward her palm — the mark that once shimmered with faint crimson light now looked dull, lifeless.
"My powers…" she whispered, flexing her fingers as if trying to will the flames back to life. Nothing. Not even a flicker. Her heart sank. "Azreal brought me here to help… but how can I help if I can't even conjure my flames?" Her voice cracked. "At this rate, I'll only hold him and the others back… just like I always do."
