Leina pov
The night wind was restless. It hissed through the treetops like a warning, carrying with it the scent of storm and danger. Even the animals were silent, their usual songs swallowed by an uneasy hush that pressed upon the heart of the jungle.
Leina stirred in her sleep, her dreams feverish and vivid. She saw fire and wings, light and blood, and heard voices—ancient, echoing, calling her name across the veil of time. Leina... bearer of dawn... child of balance...
She woke with a gasp, her body drenched in cold sweat. The mark on her wrist glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with her quickened heartbeat.
Aethion was already awake, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond their small camp. His wings were half-spread, feathers shimmering faintly in the moonlight.
"You felt it too," she whispered.
He nodded slowly. "They are here."
Leina sat up, her body trembling though she did not yet see anything. "The shadows?"
"Yes." His voice was low, steady, but there was a tension in it that made her blood run cold. "They have followed your light."
Before she could ask more, a sudden gust tore through the clearing, scattering leaves and extinguishing their small fire. The world went black—utterly black—except for the faint glow from her mark.
Then came the sound: a chorus of whispers, thousands of voices speaking in tongues she did not understand. From the edge of the forest, the darkness began to move—not like smoke, but like a living thing. Eyes glimmered within it, red and hungry.
Leina clutched her wrist, fear clawing up her throat. "Aethion…"
He stepped forward, shielding her with his wings. "Stay behind me. No matter what happens, do not let fear take you. Fear feeds them."
The shadows lunged.
Aethion met them like a storm unleashed. His wings unfurled to their full span, a blinding silver flare cutting through the dark. His hand moved, and light followed—arcs of celestial energy slicing through the formless mass. Wherever it struck, the shadows screamed and recoiled.
Leina watched in awe and terror. He fought like something out of legend—every movement precise, every strike filled with purpose. But for every wraith he struck down, two more seemed to rise from the ground.
She could feel their hunger now—cold, endless, gnawing at the edges of her mind. One broke past him, a twisting shape of smoke and teeth, lunging straight for her.
Instinct took over. She raised her arm, and the mark blazed.
A burst of golden light erupted from her palm, colliding with the creature and scattering it into ash. The air hummed violently; her heart thundered in her chest.
Aethion glanced back, his expression fierce but proud. "Good! Again, Leina—do not fight the power, guide it!"
But the surge had been too much. Her hands shook as the light flickered uncontrollably. Her body felt feverish, her veins burning with power that threatened to consume her from within.
"Aethion—!"
He reached for her, but before he could, another wave of shadow rose between them, swallowing the ground like a tide. Aethion was forced back, his wings slashing through the mass to keep it from reaching her.
Leina stumbled away, gasping for breath. Her vision blurred; the mark pulsed brighter and brighter until it was almost blinding. In her panic, she remembered his words—the light mirrors your heart.
So she forced herself to stop running. She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and faced the darkness head-on.
I'm not afraid.
The light answered.
Her entire body ignited in gold. The mark extended up her arm, forming luminous patterns across her skin like ancient runes awakening from slumber. A golden aura burst outward, pushing back the shadows in a wave of radiant fire.
Aethion shielded his eyes from the brilliance. "Leina—!"
The jungle trembled. The very air seemed to bow before the energy she released. For a moment, the darkness screamed, shriveled, and vanished into mist.
Then silence.
Leina fell to her knees, gasping, smoke curling from her hands. The mark dimmed but did not disappear—it pulsed faintly, as if still alive, still feeding.
Aethion rushed to her, kneeling beside her. "You did it," he said, voice filled with awe.
She looked up weakly. "I… I didn't mean to… it just—happened."
He placed a steady hand on her shoulder. "The Dawnfire answered your will. You faced the darkness without fear. That is what it was waiting for."
She glanced around at the ruined clearing. The trees were scorched, the ground blackened, and faint traces of smoke hung in the air. "I almost destroyed everything."
Aethion shook his head. "No. You saved it."
But as he spoke, his eyes flicked toward the edge of the forest, where the last remnants of shadow lingered. It wasn't gone entirely—something deeper had watched the battle from afar.
He could feel it—an ancient malice, patient and cunning. The lesser shadows had been mere servants. The true master was still waiting.
That night, as Leina rested, Aethion stood watch again. His gaze never left the darkness beyond the firelight. The jungle had fallen silent once more, but silence could be deceiving.
He thought of what he had seen in her—raw, uncontrolled power that rivaled the light of the heavens. It both awed and frightened him.
He whispered to himself, "The Dawn fire should not yet have awakened this much. Unless…"
He trailed off, unwilling to speak the rest aloud.
When dawn finally touched the trees, Leina stirred awake. Her eyes were weary but bright. "Is it over?"
"For now," Aethion said softly.
She sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness in her limbs. "I saw them—those things. They weren't just beasts. They were… memories. Faces, voices. Like they were made from pain."
He nodded. "They are echoes of fallen souls. The more they feed on fear, the stronger they become. The fact that they found you means the veil between realms weakens."
Leina's brows furrowed. "Because of me?"
"Because of your light," he admitted. "The Dawn fire draws both creation and destruction to itself. You are the center of the storm."
She looked down at her hand, the faint trace of golden light still marking her skin. "Then I need to learn faster. If this power can protect us, I'll use it."
Aethion's eyes softened. "It will protect, yes—but it can also consume. Remember that every flame can burn what it was meant to save."
Their eyes met. In that quiet moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them—something fragile but powerful.
Leina smiled faintly. "Then I'll learn to burn only what deserves it."
For the first time, Aethion smiled back.
They spent the morning tending to the land their battle had scarred. Leina's power had left strange patterns burned into the soil—spirals and sigils that seemed to shimmer faintly under sunlight.
When she traced one with her fingers, Aethion's voice came softly behind her. "Those symbols… they are not random. They belong to the ancient language of light. The same language used to shape the first worlds."
Leina glanced back at him, surprised. "Then… my power remembers what I don't."
He nodded. "It remembers what you once were. Or perhaps what you are meant to become."
The thought made her heart ache, both with wonder and fear. "What am I becoming, Aethion?"
He hesitated before answering. "Something that even the heavens cannot name."
Later that evening, they rested beneath a wide ancient tree whose roots rose from the ground like walls of a living fortress. Leina sat close to him, feeling the warmth radiating from his wings as they folded around them like a shield.
"I saw you fight," she murmured. "You were magnificent. Like a god of light."
He gave a small laugh. "I was once a servant of such gods, not one of them."
"To me," she said softly, "you're both."
For a heartbeat, the fallen angel said nothing. Then, quietly, "You speak as though you do not fear what I am."
She turned to face him, her eyes gentle but unwavering. "How can I fear you, when your light saved me again and again? Even fallen stars still shine, Aethion."
Something in him broke and healed at the same time. He looked away quickly, his voice almost a whisper. "You should rest."
She smiled, closing her eyes as fatigue claimed her. "Wake me if the shadows come again."
"I will," he said. But his gaze lingered on her long after she slept.
High above them, through the leaves, the stars burned faintly—tiny lights against the abyss.
And far beyond, in a place where light could not reach, a voice spoke from the void.
"She awakens. The
balance falters. Prepare the veil."
The darkness stirred in answer.
The war between light and shadow was no longer distant. It had begun.