The Silence Between Flames
Mira knelt before the silent fire altar, her amber eyes scanning the empty air where the spirits once whispered. The glowing ember in her vial pulsed weakly, as if in mourning. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the Emberlands, swallowing the last embers of twilight. A cold hush settled over the land, thick with the weight of absence. She whispered to the flames, but no answer came. Only the silence deepened, pressing against her like an unseen tide.
A flicker of movement stirred at the edge of her vision. Mira turned sharply, her breath catching. The shadow was not still. It writhed, as though alive, its edges bleeding into the air. She stepped forward, the ember vial trembling in her grasp. The darkness pulsed in response, a silent challenge. Something ancient stirred beneath the surface of the world, and Mira knew she could not turn back.
Mira pressed her palm against the altar, seeking warmth but finding only cold stone. The silence was not natural-it was a void, a hunger. She traced the air with her fingers, feeling the absence of the spirits like a wound. Then, a whisper-not of flame, but of something older, something broken. It spoke in riddles, in shadows, and in the language of forgotten cycles.
A faint outline emerged from the darkness-a shape, almost human, but wrong. Mira's heart pounded. This was no ordinary shadow. It reached toward her, not with malice, but with a hunger that mirrored her own. The ember vial flared, casting a thin ribbon of light that severed the shadow's advance. For a moment, the world stood still, suspended between flame and void.
Mira stepped back, her breath shallow. The shadow did not retreat. It pulsed again, and the air grew heavy with the scent of burnt ash and something else-something old. The ember vial dimmed, its glow swallowed by the encroaching dark. A single thought burned in her mind: the fire spirits had not fallen silent. They had been taken.