Page 35 of Bound in Flames

The shaman shall guide, and the world reclaimed.

Hair of fire, eyes of the earth,

She will rise from roots of birth,

With hands that mend and flames that guide,

She will stand where fate divides.

She will stand against the dark,

With the earth as her spark,

Through her blood, through her pain,

She will bring us home again.

The weight of the orcs’ expectations hung heavy in the silence that followed, and I could feel all eyes on me, waiting. The crackling fire was the only sound to break the silence, its warmth flickering shadows across stone walls.

Seer Arna stepped closer, keeping her voice soft. “That is why, Cleo, you are the one who will mend the world’s broken threads. The earth chose you for a reason.”

I stared at Arna, her words crashing over me like an unstoppable tide, threatening to pull me under. I hadn’t asked for this. I never sought to be anyone’s savior, never imagined myself entwined in a prophecy far greater than I could comprehend. Dex had brought me here to learn, to understand the magic simmering beneath my skin, but he hadn’t told me what it meant to them. What I meant to them. The weight of it settled in my chest, heavy and suffocating, and my pulse thundered in my ears.

Five things you can see.My eyes darted around the hall for something to hold onto. The flickering firelight cast restless shadows along the stone walls. The worn leather of an orc’s boots, scuffed from battle. Deep grooves carved into the wooden table, telling silent stories of years past. Dex’s dark silhouette beside me, his shoulders tense with unspoken weight. My trembling hands, clenched in my lap.

Four things you can touch.I pressed my palms against the cold stone bench beneath me. The coarse fabric of my dress. My nails bit into my palms. Dex’s warmth beside me.

Three things you can hear.The low murmur of voices. The fire crackling, popping softly in the heavy silence. Dex’s even breaths.

Two things you can smell.Burning wood filled my nose. The faint scent of sweat and leather, a reminder of the warriors around me.

One thing you can taste.The bitter tang of fear that clung to the back of my throat.

Bit by bit, the storm inside me ebbed, my breaths still shaky but no longer desperate. Dex’s hand brushed against mine in concern. The technique worked, as it always did, grounding me in the present and pushing back the tide of panic that had threatened to consume me. My breathing slowed, the tightness in my chest easing little by little. I swallowed hard, willing myexpression to remain neutral. I hoped the fear that had nearly undone me wasn’t written across my face for all to see. When I finally lifted my gaze, it met Arna’s. There, in the depths of her knowing eyes, I saw a quiet kindness, an understanding that made my stomach twist. She knew.Of course she knew.And somehow, that made it both better and worse.

"You don’t need to be ready now," Seer Arna replied. "But you will be. You have already taken the first step."

Dex’s hand tightened around mine, and I turned to meet his gaze. It held a quiet resolve, steadying my own doubts. "We’ll walk this path together, mate.”

I nodded, though my heart still raced with uncertainty. I didn’t know how I would fulfill this prophecy or how I could possibly lead an entire people. I knew they weren’t asking me to do it all at once. They were asking me to walk the path and to learn, grow, and to become the shaman they believed I could be.

Seer Arna gave me a final nod, her eyes filled with something like pride. "Rest now," she said. "You will need your strength for the journey ahead."

I nodded, exhaustion washing over me. The events of the day—the battles, the magic, the prophecy—had taken their toll, and now more than ever, I needed sleep.

Dex helped me to my feet, guiding me out of the hall. As we walked through the corridors, the weight of the prophecy still pressed heavily on my shoulders, but there was also a glimmer of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, I could live up to the orcs' expectations.

Chapter 19

Dex

“She’s human… small…”

“How can the Seer be sure this is the shaman from the prophecy?”

“I expected someone more… formidable.”

My fists clenched at their hushed comments, the weight of their skepticism pressing down on me. I had anticipated their doubts. Cleo was unlike any shaman we had encountered before. They only saw her delicate frame, the softness that stood in sharp contrast to our own hardened bodies. Orcs were used to strength in broad shoulders and battle-scarred skin. But Cleo had a different kind of toughness. And Gods help me, I was starving for her and her deceptive strength beneath her soft exterior. Her flame-red hair cascaded in wild curls, drawing my eyes with every sway of her hips, a hypnotic rhythm that unsettled me. She was a contradiction that gnawed at my resolve—fragile yet fierce, human yet somethingmore.

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