She Chose the Wrong Hero

They didn't sleep that night.

After the shadow appeared, Aeren kept watch with his sword drawn. Kael stayed awake too, pacing near the edge of their camp. Elira sat beside the fire, her hands pressed tight together.

That voice still echoed in her mind.

You should have stayed dead.

She had heard many cruel things in her life—but this one felt different. Colder. Deeper. Like it hadn't come from a person, but from something ancient that hated her simply for being alive.

"I don't understand," she whispered. "Why me?"

Aeren sat next to her. "Maybe because you changed the past. Maybe that's what it's afraid of."

She looked at him. "You think it knows what I've done?"

"I think it sees more than we do."

Kael stopped pacing and turned toward them. "It's not just fear," he said. "It's anger. The door was sealed for a reason. You're a crack in that seal."

Elira stared at the fire. "Then maybe I should've left it alone."

"No," Aeren said firmly. "You came back for a reason. We don't give that up now."

Elira nodded slowly, but her heart still felt heavy.

When morning came, they packed up quickly and rode without rest. The road became harder as they neared the capital. The snow was melting here, but the ground was wet and full of mud. The horses moved slower.

That night, they reached an old watchtower.

It hadn't been used in years. The roof was broken, and vines grew through the cracks, but it still had four walls and a place to sleep.

They lit a fire and sat close.

Elira leaned against the stone wall, her eyes half closed.

Aeren sat across from her, sharpening his blade.

Kael rested in the corner, watching them both.

It should've felt peaceful.

But Elira felt the shift before anyone else.

Her chest tightened. Her breath caught.

Then she saw it—flames.

The fire in front of them flickered… and changed.

The color turned blue. Then black.

And the air filled with smoke.

"Aeren," she said, her voice thin.

He looked up.

And the fire exploded.

Not in heat—but in memory.

Suddenly, she wasn't in the tower anymore.

She was in a burning house.

Screams echoed through the walls.

A child cried nearby.

"No," she whispered, "not again—"

She tried to run, but her legs wouldn't move. She looked down and saw ash covering her hands. Blood on her dress.

She heard her name—her real name, the one only her father used.

"Elira!"

She turned—and saw him.

Her father.

Reaching out to her through the flames.

And behind him, the shadow.

She screamed.

Then someone grabbed her.

"ELIRA!"

It was Aeren.

He was holding her, shaking her gently.

She blinked.

The fire was normal again.

They were back in the tower.

Her body was drenched in sweat.

Kael looked pale. "What did you see?"

"My memory," she said. Her voice was shaking. "It pulled me into it."

She looked at her hands. They were clean. No blood. No ash.

But it still felt real.

"It's getting stronger," Aeren said. "We can't let it do that again."

"We're close to the city," Kael said. "We need to move fast."

Elira stood, even though her legs were still weak.

She had faced her past once. She could do it again.

She had to.