Of Shadow and Flame

Threads of Memory

Elira dreamed.

It was not a gentle dream, nor one of the simple sort that slipped through the mind and vanished with the morning.
This one clung.
Shifting. Fragmented. Too vivid to ignore.

She was young again, no more than thirteen summers, dressed in pale silks, her hair coiled into braids heavy with sapphires. She stood barefoot in a stone courtyard lined with banners, the weight of a crown she did not yet wear pressing invisible against her skull.

"Princess," a voice said, deep and steady behind her.

She turned, irritation already brimming, to find Rennathius kneeling before her—her new guard. He was barely older than she was, still carrying the awkwardness of youth, but his dark eyes held a startling steadiness, a quiet promise of loyalty that made her stomach knot.

"I do not need a guard," she'd spat, lifting her chin. "I'm not some delicate doll to be coddled."

He'~'''''''''''' smiled—soft, crooked, infuriatingly patient.
"No," he said simply. "You're not."
And yet, he stayed.

In the present, Elira tossed and turned, tangled in blankets. Her breath hitched as she whispered his name—
"Ren..."

Beside her, Rennathius stirred. His gaze softened instantly, all warrior-sharp edges melting away as he brushed her damp hair back from her temple. "Shhh," he murmured, his voice a low hum meant for her alone. "I'm here, Lirien." Beloved.

He pressed a feather-light kiss to her temple and stroked her cheek, fingers tracing her jaw as though grounding her to him.
Kael, nearby in wolf form, shifted restlessly on his paws, yellow eyes glowing faintly in the dim firelight. He didn't speak, but his worry thrummed across the bond, low and persistent.

The dream shifted violently.

She was older now. Armor strapped tight to her body, her hands bloodied and trembling as battle roared around her. A thousand screaming voices. Steel against steel. Magic burning the air.

Ren was there, cutting down an enemy before he could reach her, his blade flashing crimson. "Stay behind me!" he roared.
"Not a chance!" she shouted back, defiant even as arrows rained around them.

They fought back-to-back, breathless, desperate, unstoppable. And when it was done—when the last wave fell and silence claimed the battlefield—he turned to her, blood spattering his cheek, his chest heaving.

"I thought I'd lost you," he rasped, voice breaking for the first time she'd ever heard.

She remembered the way she'd reached for him then, finally letting down her walls. Fingers tangled in his tunic, she dragged him down and kissed him, wild and unrestrained. That was the night she first accepted his love.

In her sleep, Elira clutched at him now, seeking his warmth, murmuring his name like a prayer.

The dream cracked apart.

She was alone in a meadow, dew soaking her bare feet, the hush of silence stretching too far, too long. Her chest tightened as she spun, sensing eyes on her.

Two pairs of golden-yellow eyes glimmered faintly at the tree line. Watching. Waiting.
She blinked—and they were gone.

Another shudder, another jolt forward.

Rain dripped through the roof of an abandoned stone hall where she sat with Kael, his dark hair damp, his gaze fixed on her with quiet intensity.
"You're not human," he said softly, his voice reverent, unyielding. "You're a warrior fae princess. A fallen one."
The words felt like they should matter, should make her whole—but instead, emptiness yawned in her chest.