They found him in the sky.
Not flying. Not falling.
Floating.
As if the air hadn't decided yet what to do with him.
A boy, no older than Elira, drifting above the river with a flicker of light in his chest. Not in his hands, or eyes, or lantern, but inside him.
His hair glowed faintly blue. His clothes looked stitched from sleep. And when he finally touched the ground, the earth sighed, like it had been holding its breath.
He looked at them.
No fear. No anger.
Just wonder.
And then he said, softly:
"Do I… know you?"
They circled him like moths unsure of the flame.
Amaryn folded her arms. "He smells like starlight."
Solin grinned. "So do I, sometimes. Doesn't mean I trust him."
Sera didn't speak. Her gaze stayed sharp.
Elira crouched.
"What's your name?"
He tilted his head. "I don't… remember."
"Where did you come from?"
"I woke up in a whisper."
They all blinked.
Isen muttered, "Great. Another poetic cryptid."
But Elira leaned closer.
Because she saw the flicker again.
A tiny flame, beating where a heart should be. It wasn't like her ember. It wasn't like any known fire.
It was… unfinished.
They brought him to the quiet hill where their camp always seemed to find itself again.
Elira gave him a blanket. Amaryn gave him soup. Solin gave him a nickname.
"Flick," he said, nodding. "Because your fire flicks. Or maybe you do. Either way, welcome."
Flick smiled.
And the wind smiled with him.
That night, Elira stayed awake.
Watching.
Wondering.
The ember in her lantern glowed steady.
Then—
Flick sat up.
His eyes opened wide.
And in the middle of his chest, the fire rose.
Not in heat.
But in voice.
Elira heard it.
A whisper:
"We were meant to forget."
She stepped closer.
The flame shifted, like it saw her too.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The fire answered with an image.
A Circle.
Like the one she had once stood in.
But with nine lights instead of seven.
And one of them, broken.
Flick's fire showed her more.
A hand reaching across time.
A voice saying, "Protect the Spark."
A cage made not of bars, but memory.
Elira gasped.
The ember in her lantern shuddered.
"Someone erased him," she said aloud.
Not Flick.
Who he was before.
And they hadn't just erased his past.
They'd locked away a piece of the fire itself.
Sera was the first to understand.
"He's a vessel," she said, stepping close. "They tried to trap part of the Ember Source in a person. But the person woke up."
Flick looked at his hands.
"Am I… real?"
"You're more than real," said Elira. "You're remembering."
Varn, silent till now, grunted. "That kind of fire, if it's let loose—could change everything."
Amaryn didn't blink. "Good."
But Elira stayed quiet.
Because she felt something deeper.
Not danger.
Not destiny.
But a choice.
And this time, it wasn't hers to make.
That night, she sat beside Flick beneath the stars.
"Are you scared?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Good. That means you still have something to lose."
He smiled. "Is that what you felt? When yours woke up?"
Elira looked at her lantern.
"No," she said honestly. "I felt like the world had been whispering my name all along, and I just hadn't listened until then."
Flick was quiet.
Then he leaned forward.
"Will you help me remember?"
Elira took his hand.
"Always."
Far away, in a tower made of dusk, someone opened their eyes.
They had no face.
Only a crown made of silence.
And they whispered, "The Flicker walks. The end begins again."
Then vanished into smoke.