"Wait," Professor Nyala cautioned. "If this is indeed a protected space, we should proceed with proper respect. The fire-marked created this sanctuary. We should acknowledge her before entering."
She placed her hand on the door frame, tracing a sigil in silver light. "Guardian of this threshold, we seek entry with peaceful intent. Grant us passage into your protected domain."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, from beneath the door, a warm golden light began to shine. The air around them seemed to vibrate with unseen energy, and Saguna felt the marks on his neck pulse in perfect rhythm with it.
"She's here," he whispered. "Sahara's here."
He reached for the doorknob again, and this time, as his fingers closed around the brass, he felt a surge of familiar warmth—the same sensation he'd experienced when manifesting his fire abilities for the first time.
The door opened without a sound.
Sahara's room lay beyond, preserved exactly as it had been the day she disappeared. The bed was neatly made, books lined the small shelf by the window, a half-finished drawing still lay on the desk. But what dominated the space was light, golden, warm light that seemed to have no source yet filled every corner.
And in the center of the room, hovering a few inches above the floor, was a small flame, perfectly spherical, burning steadily despite the lack of fuel.
"Sahara's flame," Professor Nyala breathed, her usual composure broken by evident awe. "She anchored a piece of herself here. A beacon."
Saguna stepped into the room, drawn to the floating flame. As he approached, it pulsed brighter, as if recognizing him.
You came back, little brother. You finally came back.
The voice was no longer just in his head, it filled the room, soft but unmistakably real. The flame expanded, stretching upward, taking shape. Not solid, not quite whole, but recognizable nonetheless.
Sahara stood before them, her form composed entirely of golden flame. Older than when she'd disappeared, matured as she would have been if she'd lived these past twelve years, but unmistakably his sister.
"Sahara," Saguna whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I found you."
Her fiery visage smiled, the expression achingly familiar despite its ethereal nature.
Not all of me. Not yet. But enough to help you understand what you must do.
She turned, acknowledging the others with a respectful nod.
The Triumvirate is formed. The triangle grows stronger. But time runs short. The Breathless One stirs beyond the Veil, and the bridges between worlds grow too numerous to count.
"The breaches," Professor Nyala said. "They're multiplying."
Sahara's flame-form nodded.
Each shadow that crosses weakens the barrier further. The Soul Drainer that took me was merely the first. Others will follow, stronger, hungrier. And behind them all waits the one they serve — the Breathless One.
"How do we stop them?" Saguna asked, fighting the urge to reach out and touch his sister's fiery form, knowing he would find no substance there.
The ritual in the old woman's journal is a beginning. It will contain this breach, prevent its expansion. But to truly heal the Veil, to end this threat forever...
She hesitated, her flame-form flickering slightly.
...one must walk where I have walked. See what I have seen. Confront what I could not defeat alone.
"The spirit realm," Saguna realized. "I have to cross over."
Sahara's flame brightened.
Not alone. Never alone. That was my mistake. The Triumvirate must cross together, each with their purpose. The Speaker to translate the language of spirits. The Binder to create the new seals. And the Walker—
"To guide them through," Saguna finished.
Yes. But first, you must contain this breach. Prevent what's coming tonight.
"Tonight?" Radji asked, stepping forward. "What happens tonight?"
Sahara's flame form dimmed slightly, her expression turning grave.
When midnight strikes, the Soul Drainer that took me will attempt to cross fully into this world. For twelve years it has fed on my essence, growing stronger, larger. If it succeeds in crossing, no power in Zendirah will be able to stop it, or what follows behind it.
"The Breathless One," Professor Nyala whispered.
Sahara nodded.
You must prepare the three anchor points before sunset. Begin the ritual as darkness falls. Only then will you have the strength to contain what emerges at midnight.
The flame that comprised her form began to flicker more noticeably now, her features becoming less distinct.
I cannot maintain this form much longer. The effort... costs me.
"Don't go," Saguna pleaded, unable to bear the thought of losing her again. "We just found you."
I am not lost, little brother. Only scattered. Parts of me remain here, in this room. Parts exist in the spirit realm. And parts...
She hesitated, her voice growing fainter.
Parts remain within the shadow that took me. Trapped. Feeding it against my will.
"We'll free you," Saguna promised, his hands clenching into fists. "All of you. We'll bring you back whole."
Sahara's flame-form smiled sadly.
Perhaps. But understand this, I am not as I was. Twelve years between worlds changes one's essence. When all is done, I may not be the sister you remember.
"I don't care," Saguna said fiercely. "You're my sister. That's all that matters."
The flame diminished further, Sahara's features now barely discernible.
Take what you need from this room. It is protected, a sanctuary against the shadows. Rest. Prepare. I will watch over you as long as I can.
"Sahara," Saguna began, but she raised a flame-hand to stop him.
One last warning, little brother. Trust is precious, but give it carefully. Not all who guide you seek the same end.
Before Saguna could ask what she meant, the flame collapsed in on itself, returning to the small sphere that had greeted them upon entering. It continued to burn steadily, but the presence they had felt — the unmistakable essence of Sahara — had receded.
Silence fell over the room. Saguna stared at the floating flame, his mind reeling with everything his sister had revealed. After a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder, Osa, offering silent support.
"She's incredible," Osa said softly. "To maintain a connection across the Veil for twelve years... the strength that must take..."
"Indeed," Professor Nyala agreed, her voice filled with newfound respect. "Your sister's power exceeds anything I've encountered in my lifetime, Mr. Taksa. She may well be the strongest fire-marked individual in generations."
Radji had moved to the window, peering out at the village center where the shadow spire rose. "We have approximately five hours until sunset," he calculated. "If we're to prepare the anchor points as Sahara instructed, we should begin immediately."
Saguna nodded, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand rather than the ache of seeing his sister's spectral form fade away again. "Three points. Three of us."
"Plus myself to coordinate," Professor Nyala added. "I can move between positions as needed, strengthening the connections."
"We'll need supplies," Osa pointed out. "The ritual components Elder Reza's grandmother mentioned in her journal."
"Some may be here," Saguna suggested, looking around his sister's preserved room. "Sahara said to take what we need."
As if in response to his words, the small flame floating in the center of the room drifted toward Sahara's desk. It hovered over the top drawer, pulsing gently.
Saguna approached and carefully slid the drawer open. Inside lay three small cloth pouches, each dyed a different colour; red, blue, and green. Beside them was a folded piece of paper, the handwriting unmistakably Sahara's.
With trembling fingers, he unfolded the note.
For when the triangle forms again. For when shadows rise. For when the fire-marked returns.
Saguna looked up at his companions, a mixture of awe and determination in his expression.
"She knew," he said quietly. "Even then, she knew this day would come."
He lifted the three pouches from the drawer, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. They had until midnight to prepare for an entity that had been growing in power for twelve years, feeding on his sister's essence, waiting for this exact moment.
The Triumvirate had formed. The ritual awaited. And somewhere between worlds, Sahara watched, her fragmented essence the only guide they had through the darkness to come.