CHAPTER ONE

— the girl with fire in her mouth —

The rains came hard that year.

They fell like fists, like grief that had waited too long. They tore the dirt roads
to pieces, sank the bones of cattle deep into mud, and made the village of Rensfall
smell like blood and wet leaves. I was seventeen when the storms started. Old
enough to be quiet. Old enough to see too much.

My name’s Kira. I was born with a scream in my chest and smoke on my tongue. Mama
said the gods must’ve kissed me too long in the womb. Said I came out red-eyed and
boiling. No one ever called me pretty. No one dared.

The day this all began—the day I stopped being a girl and started being something
else—I woke before the sun. The wind had howled all night, pulling at the roof like
it wanted to peel the house open and eat what was inside. And still, I rose. I
braided my hair with quick fingers, lit the stove with the last match, and made tea
from bitterroot leaves that curled black in the water like secrets.

Outside, the world was the color of smoke.

My brother lay snoring under a pile of stitched-up blankets. Mama’s chair rocked
empty, as always. She’d vanished five winters ago with a pack of travelers that
promised bread, shelter, and salvation. All liars. All dead now.

I slipped out without a sound. Boots sucking in the mud. My blade tied at my back.

The river was high, swollen like a bruise. It had taken down half the fence line
last week, and the chickens were still hiding in the trees, clucking like they knew
something. And maybe they did. Animals feel things. They feel the turning of the
world.

I walked the ridge path above the old temple. That’s where I saw the smoke.

Not fire-smoke. Not cooking. This was black. Wet. It curled up from the broken
stones like it came from under the earth.

I froze. My stomach clenched.

Then—sound. Not a scream, exactly. Not a growl either. Just... *wrong*. A sound
that didn’t belong in this world.

I ran toward it.

I don’t remember deciding. My body just moved, like it knew something I didn’t.

The temple had been abandoned for generations. No roof. No doors. Just cracked
walls, carved with names that the elders said were too old to speak aloud. But
someone was there. Someone had lit a fire at the base of the altar. And around that
fire knelt three people.

They wore no cloaks. No sigils. Just bone rings. And masks made from wood and ash.

I should have run.

But I didn’t.
Because in the center, tied to the altar by chains that hissed when they touched
skin, was a boy.

He wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t even moving. Just lying there, eyes open, mouth red
with blood.

I stepped closer, silent. My blade stayed sheathed.

One of the masked ones turned. Their face was blank wood, carved with a sunburst.
They looked at me like they’d known I was coming. Like they’d been waiting.

“She’s here,” they said.

The others rose.

My breath caught. Not from fear. From something else. A pull.

The boy on the altar blinked. His lips moved.

“Run.”

But I couldn’t. I was already caught. Not by chains. Not by magic. By fate.

Because I recognized him.

Not from life. From dream.

I’d seen his face before. Every night for the last year.

Always the same eyes. Always the same voice, whispering one word I could never
remember when I woke.

And now he was here. Real. Bleeding.

Alive.

I took a step forward.

And everything burned.

The heat roared through my skin.

I stumbled back, arms thrown up against the sudden wall of fire. It hadn’t come
from the torches. It hadn’t come from the masked ones. It had come from the boy.

His chest glowed. Gold like a forge, like a star cracked open and bleeding through
his ribs. I saw it pulse. Once. Twice. Then the ground split under the altar.

The masked ones didn’t flinch. They dropped to their knees, chanting something old
and raw, their voices scraping against the air like bone on stone. My ears rang.

“Stop it!” I shouted, even though I didn’t know what *it* was. I reached for my
blade, fingers clumsy with heat and fear.

Then the boy turned his head toward me.

“Don’t let them finish,” he said.

I didn’t think. I moved.

I leapt over the broken wall, boots landing hard on the moss-slick stones. The air
was thick, pulsing like it was alive, pressing against my lungs. My blade slid free
in one breath. In the next, I struck.

The first masked figure fell without a sound. Blood soaked the edge of their wooden
mask.

The other two turned. Their hands lifted—pale fingers, carved with runes, curling
in the air. The smoke around the altar thickened, alive now, forming shapes.
Beasts. Claws. Teeth.

I slashed again. Not at them—at the smoke.

It screamed.

The boy's chains hissed louder, glowing red where they touched him. He arched off
the stone, and his eyes—gods, his eyes—burned like the sun.

I felt it then. Not fear.

Recognition.

Whatever this was, I was part of it. I had been for a long time. Maybe since birth.

The second figure lunged. I dodged low, swept their legs, and they hit the ground
hard. My blade found their chest. The third hesitated. And that was all I needed.

I charged.

But before I could reach them, the boy cried out.

It wasn’t words. Just raw sound. Power. Pain. Magic.

It cracked the stones beneath him. The altar split clean in two. The chains melted.

Light poured from him—white and gold, so bright I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.
And then the air was *gone*. Sucked out of the world like someone had stolen the
sky.

Then—

Silence.

I blinked.

Smoke drifted around me. The masked ones were gone. Just gone.

The boy was lying on the ground. Pale. Shaking.

Alive.

I dropped to my knees beside him.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“You already know.”

And I did.

But I didn’t know why I’d been dreaming of him, or why my heart was beating like it
wanted out of my chest, or what the hell any of this meant. All I knew was the
world had shifted. Something had woken. And nothing would be the same.

Not ever again.