-Ruik-

  The survivors stirred in the early light, eyes hollow, shoulders hunched beneath soot-stained cloaks. Dunkarr was no longer a village. It was a skeleton of stone and ash—a graveyard where hope had burned and failed.

  The wind carried the faint scent of smoke and blood. Reminders that yesterday had lived, and today had to endure.

  I stood at the edge of the clearing, my shadow stretching long across the ruined streets. The graves were still fresh behind me, the earth soft beneath my boots. Around me, the remaining Dawnsworn looked up—uncertain, exhausted. Waiting.

  Searching for something in me I wasn’t sure I had left.

  “I won’t lead you,” I said. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “I am no guide. No savior. I’m not Thorn. I’m not Myrren.”

  A girl stepped forward. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Her hands shook as she clutched a broken spear, knuckles white, jaw set like it was the only thing holding her together.

  “If you don’t…” she swallowed, then forced the words out. “If you don’t lead us, then we die here. I don’t care if you’re broken. We follow you because they believed in you.”

  Her eyes burned with something fragile. Not certainty. Not faith.

  Hope.

  It struck deeper than any blade.

  I breathed in, sharp and bitter. The fire I thought dead stirred faintly in my chest.

  “Fine,” I said quietly. “We march to Torrain.”

  A murmur rippled through the survivors. I felt it settle on my shoulders like a weight I hadn’t agreed to carry. Tom and Jarold exchanged a look that said everything without saying a word.

  They had found their leader.

  The road was a scar carved into the land. Stones tore at our boots. Embers clung to ash in the wind. Shadows from ruined walls flickered across drawn faces.

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  I walked ahead without speaking. My grip tightened around the hilt of Drazan’s sword, fingers flexing as if testing the air for threats that hadn’t yet shown themselves.

  Tom fell into step beside me. “Take care,” he said softly. “Don’t push yourself too far.”

  “I don’t lead because I am strong,” I replied. “I lead because you need someone to follow.”

  Jarold huffed quietly. “And yet you make us feel like your strength is all we have. Be careful, Ruik. The night brings more than ashes.”

  As if summoned, the wind shifted. A sudden chill crept over us. Shadows pooled too deeply beneath the trees.

  Night fell faster than it should have.

  The campfire cast long, grasping fingers across the clearing. Survivors huddled close, blankets thin, weapons makeshift and worn. I leaned against a fallen pillar and closed my eyes, letting the quiet settle—trying to pretend it was peace.

  Then the scream tore through the dark.

  Vampires.

  They came fast. Pale shapes slipping between shadows, eyes glinting with hunger. The Dawnsworn scrambled, torches flaring, blades shaking in untrained hands. Fear hit harder than any strike.

  My body moved before my mind could catch it.

  Heat ignited beneath my skin, rising in violent waves. My pulse roared. My vision burned red at the edges. Steam curled from my arms as if my blood itself had caught fire.

  The medallion at my neck pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

  I drew Drazan’s sword.

  The blade did not shine with light—but with hunger.

  The first vampire lunged.

  I met it like a storm.

  Steel tore through flesh and shadow. Each strike came too fast, too clean. I didn’t slow. Couldn’t. Red-tinged fog spiraled from me, the air thick with iron and ash.

  I felt eyes on me. Not just the survivors’.

  Someone else was watching.

  From the treeline, from the dark—I felt her.

  Another vampire fell. Then another. My body moved on instinct alone, something ancient guiding my hands. The fire inside me whispered for more, urging me deeper, further.

  Behind me, voices trembled.

  “The prophecy…” someone whispered. “The one to end the night…”

  A hand grabbed my shoulder. Tom’s voice cut through the roar. “Ruik! Slow down! Don’t let it consume you!”

  I shook my head, breath tearing from my lungs. I didn’t feel victorious. I felt empty. Like the fire was burning me hollow from the inside out.

  When the last vampire fell, my strength went with it.

  I dropped to one knee, gasping. Sweat and ash streaked my face. Steam rose from my skin into the cold night air.

  Silence crept back in, broken only by ragged breaths.

  “They saw it,” Tom said quietly. “We all did.”

  “I didn’t choose this,” I rasped. “I don’t want this.”

  Jarold knelt beside me, solid as ever. “But we follow,” he said. “Because you are.”

  I didn’t answer.

  From the shadows beyond the firelight, I felt her presence fade. I didn’t need to see her to know she had witnessed it all—the graves, the fire, the monster I was becoming.

  As the survivors whispered again of flame-born warriors and prophecies, the fire in my chest pulsed weakly, dangerous and unresolved.

  Whatever waited for us in Torrain—

  I knew this much.

  I would need that fire.

  And I feared what it would cost me to keep it.