Their daughter, whom they named Aurora for the way her flames danced with colors like the dawn, was three months old when the final ghost appeared. She had grown quickly in those months, not in size—she remained infant-small, perfect and delicate—but in power and awareness. Her flames burned with a intelligence that belied her age, and she watched the world with eyes that seemed to understand far more than any baby should.
It was deep night when Selena woke to a sensation she had not felt in years—the presence of something old and wounded, something that carried the weight of centuries and the stain of terrible deeds. She sat up in bed, careful not to disturb Aurora who slept in a cradle of woven fire beside them, and reached out with her phoenix senses to identify the intruder.
