Chapter 45

Chapter 45
Lyra’s POV

The ruins of the old temple crouched like a skeleton in the dark, its stones blackened by centuries of storms. Moss clung to the cracked columns, and the air carried a heavy, copper tang that made the back of my throat ache.

We crouched in the treeline, the scouting party spread low and silent. Every sound seemed too loud..the creak of leather, the snap of a twig, even the thud of my own heartbeat.

Then I saw her.

Mira.

She stood in the clearing like she belonged there, her pale hair glinting in the moonlight, her healer’s robes traded for black cloth that clung like a second skin. Around her, rogues circled in unison, their voices a low drone, chanting words I didn’t recognize but felt deep in my bones.

The ground itself seemed to pulse with their rhythm.

“She’s leading them,” I whispered, disbelief scraping my throat raw.

Draven’s hand closed around my wrist before I could move. His eyes were fixed on Mira, but his grip on me was iron. “Stay back.”

Every muscle in me fought the command. I had trusted her..shared meals, laughter, quiet talks when sleep wouldn’t come. She had patched my wounds with steady hands, had whispered encouragement when fire scared me more than any enemy.

And now she stood in the circle of rogues, her voice leading the chant.

One of the rogues stepped aside, and Mira’s gaze found mine across the clearing. My chest constricted. She smiled.

“Lyra.” Her voice carried like a blade through the chanting, silencing the circle in an instant. “How fitting you’d come.”

I rose before I could stop myself, anger swallowing fear. “What are you doing?” My voice cracked against the night. “Why—why with them?”

Mira tilted her head, studying me as though I were something pinned beneath glass. “Because they understand what you refuse to.”

Her eyes burned with conviction..mad or certain, I couldn’t tell. “The Flameborn is not theirs to summon, not mine to control. It has always been you.”

The fire inside me stirred, restless.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t want any part of this—whatever this is.”

She laughed, soft and cruel. “Want has nothing to do with it, child. You were marked the moment you drew breath. You think your fire comes from chance? You think Seraphina’s whispers are dreams? No.” She lifted her hands, palms red with smeared ash and blood. “You are the vessel. The only vessel.”

The word cracked something deep in me.

My fire surged, wild and clawing, like it wanted to leap out of my skin. My vision burned at the edges.

Draven was there instantly, his arm banding across my waist, pulling me back against his chest. “Breathe,” he murmured, low and steady. “Don’t let her in. Don’t let her twist you.”

But Mira’s eyes glowed, fixed on me like a wolf scenting prey. “Feel it, Lyra? How it answers me? Not because I call it—but because I name it. You are not learning to control fire. You are fire. And fire devours.”

“No!” The word ripped out of me. Flame licked at my fingers, searing hot, my breath coming in ragged bursts.

Draven’s grip only tightened. “Focus on me. Just me. Not her.”

But Mira’s voice slid into every crack, every fear. “He can’t save you from what you are,” she said, her tone almost pitying. “He will try, but when the Flameborn wakes fully, it will choose. And it won’t choose him.”

Her eyes locked with mine, and the air between us seemed to vibrate with heat.

“It will choose you.”

My fire erupted, a violent surge that roared toward the clearing. Draven snarled, shoving me behind him as flames lashed outward. The rogues scattered, some singed, others dropping to their knees in awe. Mira stood untouched, her smile unfaltering.

The flames died as quickly as they had come, leaving me gasping, shaking. My palms blistered, smoke curling from my skin.

Draven’s wolf bled into his voice when he spoke, the sound half-growl, half-command. “You won’t touch her.”

Mira only tilted her head, as if she pitied him too. “Oh, Alpha. You still believe you can fight destiny with teeth and claws. But your strength means nothing here.”

She stepped back into the circle, her hands rising. The rogues closed around her again, their chanting swelling.

“The Flameborn will choose its vessel soon,” she called, her voice cutting through the night like a curse. Her gaze burned into mine, searing. “And it won’t be him. It will be you.”

Before Draven could move, before my fire could flare again, smoke swallowed the clearing. The rogues vanished into the haze, Mira with them, leaving only the echo of their chant vibrating in the stones.

Silence fell. My knees buckled.

Draven caught me before I hit the ground, his arms like steel around me. “Breathe, Lyra. Stay with me.”

But her words clawed inside me, louder than the fire, louder than the wolf’s steady heartbeat against my cheek.

It won’t be him. It will be you.

I shivered, clutching at Draven’s shirt, my breath hitching.

Mira wasn’t just betraying us. She wasn’t just leading them.

She was preparing me.

Preparing me to be consumed.

And for the first time, I didn’t know if I had the strength to stop it.