The city of Velmara was never quiet. Steam hissed through broken vents. Arcane lights flickered above the crooked streets like dying stars. Everything smelled like rust, ash, and old promises — the kind people made when they were desperate.
Perched on the slanted rooftop of her family's workshop, Elira let the wind toss her flame-colored hair across her face. The colors shimmered between burnt orange, deep red, and flickering gold — not dyed, not natural either. Her father used to say it was a mark of the old blood, the kind that once danced with fire instead of fearing it. No one believed in that kind of magic anymore.
Elira didn't believe in much either. But she believed in her family.
Three floors below, her father hammered away in the forge, singing off-key like he always did when focused. Her mother was probably cursing at the broken stove again, threatening to toss it into the canals. The sounds drifted up through the vents like lullabies.
She closed her eyes, breathing in the moment. A soft peace clung to her chest. Quiet. Warm. This was what safety felt like.
"Still brooding up here?"
Elira's eyes snapped open.
Kael stood at the edge of the roof, arms crossed, smirk loaded with charm. He had a way of sneaking up on people, like he owned the shadows he walked in. His silver-streaked black hair caught the sunset, and his coat — dark, worn, and laced with hidden knives — fluttered in the breeze.
He didn't belong here. He was from the Skybound District, where magic wasn't a myth and people bathed in power. But he kept coming back. To see her.
"Not brooding," Elira said. "Just… listening."
"To what? The rats arguing over dinner scraps?"
She smirked. Just barely. "To the city. It always says something if you're quiet enough."
Kael stepped closer, tossing something small into her lap. She caught it by reflex — a wooden charm shaped like a phoenix. Rough, hand‑carved. A little crooked, but full of care.
"What's this?" she asked.
"A warning," he said with a half‑smile. "You're gonna set this whole place on fire someday."
Elira stared at the charm, its wings spread mid‑flight. A phoenix — the symbol of rebirth. Of destruction and renewal.
"You're dramatic."
Kael sat beside her, legs dangling off the edge. "Not dramatic. Just… observant."
The two sat in silence as the sun dipped behind the towers, casting long shadows over Velmara.
"If you had power," Kael said suddenly, "what would you burn first?"
Elira didn't hesitate. "The Council."
Kael looked at her sideways. "Even at fourteen, you already hate the people running the city?"
"They let my mother beg for food. Let my father fix broken weapons for pennies. They sit on floating castles while kids starve in the gutter. Yeah, I hate them."
Kael didn't answer right away. "You know," he finally said, "not everyone stays poor forever. Some of us rise."
"And some of us get stepped on along the way," Elira replied, eyes sharp now.
They were quiet again. The kind of silence that came before something cracked.
When Kael finally stood up, there was something in his eyes she didn't understand yet — a flicker of guilt, or maybe regret.
"Don't lose that fire, Elira," he said softly. "One day, you'll need it."
Then he walked away.
She didn't know it yet, but that would be the last time she saw Kael standing in the light. The next time they met, it would be in the shadows — with blood on his hands.
And the phoenix charm? She still wore it when the fire came.