The smell of smoke came first. Not the kind that came from wood, but the bitter, metallic kind that clung to the back of the throat. Aros opened his eyes and found himself standing in a field of embers. The sky above him was the color of rust, and the ground pulsed faintly beneath his boots, alive and breathing.
He took a step forward. The air trembled, bending the horizon.Then came the voices. Faint at first, Maria's laughter, Sari calling her in for supper. Sounds that belonged to another life. But the laughter warped, turned into cries, and Aros felt his chest tighten as the memory shifted from warmth to horror.
The house was there again. The small one by the orchard, before the rebellion, before the king's banners and the smoke. The fire had already taken the roof; the walls leaned inward like beasts devouring themselves. Through the flames, he saw them.
Sari was holding Maria in her arms, trying to reach the door, her face lit in red and gold. The child screamed for him: "Father!"
Aros tried to move, but his feet sank into the ground as if the ashes had swallowed him whole.
"I'm here!" he shouted, voice breaking. "I'm here!" But the fire didn't care. It roared louder, as if mocking his words.
The heat rose in waves.He tried again to step forward, but the air around him rippled and thickened.
Another voice, deep and calm, came from behind the fire.
"Why didn't you kill me when you could?"
The flames parted like curtains, and from within the inferno stepped Jacobo. His white robes were untouched by soot; his skin glowed faintly, almost translucent. His eyes reflected the fire but felt colder than stone.
"You had your chance, Aros," Jacobo said, his tone almost gentle. "Back in Calad. You could have ended it. The Light would have flickered out, even for a moment. But you didn't."
Aros staggered backward. "You're not real."
Jacobo smiled faintly. "I'm more real than your faith ever was."
The fire behind him pulsed, showing shapes, faces screaming, soldiers burning, cities collapsing into molten rivers. "Do you see it now?" Jacobo asked. "You think you're saving her. You think your love redeems you. But you and I, we are the same kind of sinner. We both let the world burn to save what we love most."
"Shut up!" Aros shouted. "I left you alive because...""Because you wanted me alive," Jacobo interrupted softly.
Aros felt his knees buckle. The heat was unbearable now. His skin blistered, his vision blurred. "Yes, i didn't wanted to kill you" he rasped.
Jacobo stepped closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "That's right"
The world trembled. The embers beneath Aros's feet began to rise, swirling into the air like stars. His breath came in ragged bursts. "Where is she?" he asked, desperate. "Where's Gemma?"
Jacobo tilted his head, amused. "She's right where the fire began."
Aros turned. The orchard was gone. In its place stood Gemma, small, fragile, surrounded by a column of light so intense that the air itself seemed to scream. Her hair lifted in the heat, her eyes two burning mirrors.
"Gemma!" Aros cried. He ran toward her, stumbling through the ashes. Each step burned through his boots, through his flesh, but he kept moving. "Don't listen to him! You're not..."
The ground split open. From the fissure came a wind that carried whispers, thousands of voices tangled together, calling her name, chanting her name.Jacobo's laughter echoed above it. "You think you can stop her? You couldn't stop the fire then, and you won't stop this one."
Aros reached for Gemma's hand, but the light flared violently, and his skin began to smoke. The pain was unbearable, yet he didn't let go.
"Gemma," he whispered, "please… not again."
For an instant, her eyes met his: blue and endless. The fire dimmed. The whispers stopped. And in that heartbeat of silence, Aros saw her as she truly was: not divine, not damned, just a child who had never been allowed to grow without fear.
Then the light surged again, blinding.
Jacobo's voice came one last time, faint and cruel. "You can't save what was never yours to begin with."
Aros screamed. The fire swallowed everything: Gemma, the house, the world. He fell to his knees, clutching at his burning face, sobbing, begging the dream to end.
When he finally opened his eyes, he was drenched in sweat, his throat raw, his hands trembling over his chest as if still aflame. The room was dark, silent, but the smell of smoke lingered.
And faintly, in the distance, he thought he heard the echo of a child's voice calling his name.
He heard his name before he opened his eyes.At first, it sounded like an echo inside the dream, a voice trying to pull him from the smoke. But when he forced his eyes open, the haze wasn't fire, it was morning light filtering through thin cloth. The scent was of wood, damp earth, and herbs.
"Aros," the voice said again, clearer now.
Gemma was leaning over him, her white hair dimly catching the sunlight. She looked tired but alive, her eyes softer than he remembered.
"You were calling out," she said quietly. "I thought… you weren't waking up."
He exhaled slowly, the memory of heat still clinging to his chest. "Guess I was further away than I thought."
Gemma smiled faintly. "You always look like that when you're trying to sound brave."
Aros tried to sit up; pain ran across his ribs like wire. Gemma steadied him, her hand cold against his arm. Around them, the shelter buzzed with muffled noise, voices outside, the clatter of buckets, the distant hum of people moving with purpose.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"All the survivors are here," Gemma said. "Even a few civilians from the lower rings. Talon's been organizing everything since dawn. They're planning a unified transfer, deciding where to go next. No one wants to stay in Skariz too long."
Aros frowned. "Smart. The Light will be searching the coast by now."
She nodded, then paused, studying his face. "You've been asleep for almost a full day. Talon thought you might not wake up."
He forced a weak grin. "He should know better. I've got too many debts to die yet."
She looked at him for a long moment before saying, "You shouldn't involve yourself in the planning. You need rest."
Aros raised an eyebrow. "You giving orders now?"
"Someone has to." Her tone shifted, teasing. "Who's gonna stop me? You, old man?"
He laughed, a dry, short sound that made his chest ache, but it felt good. "I see your sense of humor's back. You've been… disconnected since Bondrea."
Gemma looked down at her hands. "Yeah," she said softly. "The first day after I came back… it was hard to tell what was real. It felt like everything was one thing, the voices, the power, what the Light was showing me. It was all noise."
"And now?"
"Now it's quieter," she said. "The death, the escape, seeing you like that… it forced me to listen. To separate the noise from what's mine."
He nodded slowly, eyes following the faint tremor in her fingers. "You want to talk about what you feel?"
"I don't know if I can." Her voice grew thoughtful. "It's strange. The voices used to hurt. Now they don't. They're still there, always, whispering things I don't fully understand, but they don't feel foreign anymore. It's like… they're walking beside me."
Aros listened, unsure if what he felt was comfort or fear.
Gemma went on. "And I think there's more to the Light than anyone really knows. The Priesthood says it judges. The rebels say it's power. But it's neither. It's… curious. It listens back when I speak."
Aros's jaw tightened. "And what does it say?"
She smiled faintly, though her eyes looked far away. "That we've only seen one side of it."
For a moment, they sat in silence, the soft murmur of the camp filtering in through the canvas walls. The world outside was rebuilding itself, one quiet breath at a time.
Then Gemma stood. "If I'm going to understand what this is, what I am...I'll need help."
"From who?"
She hesitated, though her expression was steady. "Candriela. She knows more than she lets on. Her sister… she was like me once, wasn't she?"
Aros didn't answer right away. He could still see the fire behind his eyelids, the ghost of Jacobo's voice whispering in the dark. "Yes," he said finally. "But be careful. Whatever happened to her sister, it wasn't a gift."
Gemma met his gaze. "Maybe"
He almost smiled at that. There was something different in her now: not innocence lost, but clarity gained.
"Go on, then," he said. "Find her. Just don't make me chase you through another burning city."
Gemma laughed under her breath, then leaned forward and, for the briefest moment, pressed her hand over his. "You won't have to."
When she left, Aros leaned back, watching the curtain sway behind her. The morning light had shifted, warm and white, and for a fleeting second, it looked like the glow of something divine.
He closed his eyes again, not to dream, but to rest, and for once, there was no fire waiting.