The heat shimmered in the air of Vel'Kareth, but inside the home it was cool.
Anna's house was on the far side of the outermost ring, away from the roaring markets and the plazas paved with lava. It had been carved from volcanic stone, half an altar of raw enchanted rock risen from the ground, part tomb fashioned by fire mages long ago. Living structures, and respiratory coals in the walls.
Michael stepped through the archway slowly, dripping causally from the neck down. His boots squished on the polished black floor, leaving a trail of ash-streaked water.
Anna turned from the hearth, kettle in hand, steam and sweet spice escaping.
Her eyes crinkled a little not in anger, but something gentler. Amused, maybe.
"Shoes off," she said, gesturing to the floor with her chin.
Michael froze. He glanced down at his drowned boots. "Right. Sorry."
She laughed just a bit and spun around, setting the kettle down on a rune-scarred warmer. The fire spirit sitting next to him crept into a fiery orb in the corner, next to an iron basin. It didn't ask for permission. Anna didn't mind.
He took off his boots and placed them by the door, embarrassed. His socks made the floor feel warm. Not hot just warm, like a blanket fresh out of the sun
"You're going to want to clean yourself up," she said, tossing him a folded towel, and nodding toward a side room. "There is spring flow water in the basin. Don't worry it's filtered. I'm not a savage."
Michael hesitated. "You didn't have to do this."
All Anna did was smile and walk back to the hearth.
"I know."
…..
The water was clean.
Michael hadn't known how badly the weight of grime, blood, and Realm dust had stuck to him until it was gone. Obsidian lined the basin. Enchanted mist rose through the air, mixed with herbs that felt cool to the skin. He looked down at his reflection in the water his silver hair, his tired eyes, the faint ember pulse in his chest from where the Thread Mark still glowed beneath his skin.
He had not yet recognized himself.
Not fully.
But he was starting to.
At the Hearth
He came back wearing a loose robe Anna had folded next to the basin. It smelled slightly of dried leaves and warmth. He stepped into the main room, and saw the table set; two bowls, bread blistered on rune coals, and stood straightened with dark root and spice.
"I didn't know if you could actually eat Pyrrhion food," she said, offering him a spoon.
"We'll find out."
They ate in silence at first. Not awkward just comfortable. He stared at her across the table. She danced, though not with effort. She didn't attempt to fill the silence with noise. She let it breathe.
"You don't behave like a summoner," he finally said.
She looked up.
"We'll I wouldn't say I'm not or I am ."
"But the guards referred to you as Flameborn."
"Titles don't equal truth," she said quietly, taking a sip of her tea. "I've lived here before. Helped people. That's sufficient to deserve a name."
Michael nodded slowly. "You've lived in other Realms as well, haven't you?"
For a split second, her eyes flickered.
"Yes. Pieces of me, anyway."
He wanted to ask more. About her Thread. About what she remembered. About why he believed she was the only real thing in this burning world.
But instead, he just said:
"Thank you. For the food. And the silence."
She smiled.
"Sometimes that's all people need to recover."
....
There was no sunrise the next morning.
Vel'Kareth never saw the skies clear. There was only light soft, slow throbs of red and gold that pulsed like breath across the sky. Michael stood outside Anna's house, barefoot on warm stone, as wisps of smoke drifted up from the city's rooftops like incense from the lungs of gods.
The fire spirit once again sat next to him. Silent. Watchful.
He still hadn't named it.
Anna stepped next to him, holding two cups carved from obsidian. One she passed to him, wordlessly. It smelled sweet of citrus and firewood.
"You will be acclimated to the sky," she said. "Eventually you stop searching for blue."
Michael took a sip. It burned but in a good way. Like something one is supposed to endure.
"Is that what Pyrrhion is?" he asked. "A lesson in endurance?"
She shrugged a little, her black robe swaying at the edges like living ink.
"Pyrrhion is whatever you want it to be. For some, it's a prison. For others, it's a forge."
"And for you?"
She focused her eyes on the distant city towers.
"For me… it's a place I always go back to. Whether I want to or not."
Market Stones and Molten Gold
That day, they strolled together through the Threadwalk Market a sprawling, multi-leveled bazaar built around a spiraled trench of lava. It was thick with the scent of burning spice, forge smoke, and incense, crowded but reverent.
Michael watched everything.
● A summoner trading spirit-ink scrolls with a hooded merchant.
• A blacksmith hammering fire-glass into a blade that sang.
• Kids frolicking around a fountain of molten gold jellied like tadpoles midair into statues by pure dented will.
MSN greeted Anna as they walked by. With bows. With hand signs. With gentle smiles.
No one questioned her. No one interrupted her. She navigated the world as if she had a right to it not because she appropriated space, but because space made way for her.
"You've accomplished something here," Michael told them as they strolled.
She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"People know you. Not just your name. You."
There was a pause, then she replied honestly:
"I've helped. Healed. Listened. The majority of people don't require miracles. They just need someone to stick around."
…..
And then, on an isolated outcrop high above the lower city, Michael sat cross-legged. The fire spirit curled beside him, near, but not in his way.
"Do you have a name?" he asked quietly.
It didn't answer. But it flickered once and its flame changed color, for an instant, from ember-orange to deep blue.
"Blue," Michael said. "Do you want to be called that?"
The spirit gave no sign. But it didn't leave.
Anna sat nearby, observing him, but not too close.
"You don't have to make it an order," she said. "Let it remember you. Fire doesn't follow orders. It chooses."
"And if I fail it?"
Anna met his eyes.
"Then it goes back to the Thread. And waits."