The scream never left her lips. It stayed lodged in her throat like a stone, heavy and cold, as she watched them drag Keal through the clearing.
Three hooded figures moved with unnatural speed, their hands glowing with runes that pulsed a sickly gold. Keal fought, teeth bared, muscles straining against invisible chains that yanked him to the earth like a puppet.
His eyes met hers for a breathless moment.
Not fear.
Not pain.
But… regret.
"No!" she finally shouted, breaking into a sprint before Lorian's arm locked around her waist.
"They'll kill you," he hissed, his grip iron. "They're Council-bound. We attack now, we both die."
But Kyra didn't feel like dying.
She felt like burning.
The ground trembled beneath Keal as one of the figures raised a curved blade, ancient and etched with silver. A ritual dagger. Meant not just to kill — but to erase.
Keal didn't flinch. But his eyes never left hers. There was something he wanted her to remember — something he would never get to say.
She felt it then. A pulse beneath her skin. Like a voice, whispering from the marrow of her bones.
Words rose unbidden in her mouth, hot and strange on her tongue.
"Vigrodo.. matu kalei fodara."
The world bent.
Wind screamed through the clearing, spinning in reverse. The air cracked like thunder — and from Kyra's chest burst a shockwave of pure silver light.
The spell bindings shattered.
The blade cracked in midair.
And the Council scattered — blown back, their cloaks torn, their chants silenced mid-word.
Keal collapsed, coughing, the chains around his wrists breaking like brittle thread.
Kyra stared at her hands, glowing faintly with smoke and light.
"What… what did I just do?"
Lorian's voice was low. "That's not just witchcraft. That's… something older. Something they buried."
The lead Council figure — her mask half broken — rose slowly from the scorched ground. Blood trickled down her temple. Her voice shook not with anger… but disbelief.
"She spoke the tongue of the First Circle... She's a sleeper. She doesn't know."
"Contain her," barked another, limping forward, his eyes blazing. "Before she remembers everything."
But none of them dared approach too quickly.
Kyra stood taller. The energy still flowed through her, wild and unfamiliar — but hers. She raised her hand again. The flames in the ritual circle flared, licking toward the trees.
Lorian stepped forward, fangs bared, blade drawn. "You touch her, and I will rip the air from your lungs."
The Council hesitated. Their wounds weren't fatal — but their pride was wounded. Their confidence shattered. Their control broken.
"You've made a mistake," the witch spat toward Kyra. "You've aligned yourself with chaos."
Kyra didn't flinch. "Then maybe chaos is what you need."
The flames hissed, rising around her like a wall. The Council didn't vanish — they withdrew, casting sigils into the air before disappearing into black mist. Not defeated — but unnerved.
The moment they were gone, the circle of flame collapsed into ash.
Kyra fell to her knees.
Keal crawled toward her, blood on his lips. "Kyra…" he whispered. "What… are you?"
She shook her head slowly. "I don't know."
But deep inside, something ancient stirred.
And it was awakening.
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