Blind Legacy of Time

Arden pulled free from Lyra's arms, his head still spinning. The yellow light from his blind eye lingered in his mind something had stirred. Lyra's worried gaze pinned him, but he forced a smile. "I'm fine," he muttered, his voice alien even to himself. Lyra frowned, wanting to press but holding back.

The forest's calm wrapped around them. Lyra knelt beside him. "Show me your flames," she said softly. Arden hesitated, then opened his hands. Sparks flared, blood-red flames rising restless, defiant. Lyra reached out, stopping short of touching. "You're forcing them," she said. "Your magic isn't your enemy. Try feeling it."

He met her golden eyes, warm and steady. "Why are yours so… calm?" he asked. "Mine burn me, but yours seem to cradle you."

Lyra smiled, tinged with sorrow. "Maybe mine's already broken," she said. She snapped her fingers sweet scent flowed, her flames dancing gently. "My core's flawed. It's not in the books, but I feel it. Sometimes my magic doesn't feel like mine."

Arden's eyes narrowed. "Flawed? You mean… the god"

She cut him off. "I don't know. But your flames… they're carrying something. Anger, maybe?"

Her words sparked a memory Karlin's chilling laugh, the god's curse: "After your flawless creation, you forged your own flaw." His hands shook, flames surging, wrapping his arms. He gritted his teeth against the pain, refusing to yield. Lyra stepped closer, but he waved her off. "I can do this," he whispered, mostly to himself.

The flames receded, his breathing uneven. Lyra touched his shoulder. "Why push so hard?" she asked. "Your magic eats at you, but you don't stop."

Arden looked down. "Because I have no choice. This power… it'll either be mine or destroy me."

That night, sleep eluded him. Lyra's words looped in his mind: "They're carrying something." Were his blood-red flames tied to Karlin's rage? Closing his eyes, that colorless void returned. The red spirit appeared, mocking. "The blind heir," it said. "Your master awaits. But first, find yourself."

Arden woke, drenched in sweat. His blind eye burned sharper than ever.

The next day, he met Lyra again. They sat in a clearing, her flames weaving shapes as he watched. "Teach me," he said suddenly. "Make my flames like yours."

She blinked, then nodded. "Alright. But understand this: your magic is part of you. Reject it, and it rejects you."

He breathed deep, following her lead. His flames rose still red, but steadier. Lyra guided his hand, her flames brushing his. They merged, her scent softening his fire.

The peace didn't last. A warmth pulsed in his blind eye, then faded no light, just a sensation. Time seemed to pause for a heartbeat.