Page 70 of Bound in Flames

Gornak continued, his voice rising with each word. “We know the words! They have power and we need to give it to our shaman.”

I felt a pang of gratitude toward Gornak. He had seen the path forward when I had been blinded by fear for my mate, blind to the old ways. He’d reminded me that we weren’t alone in this fight. I clapped his shoulder in thanks, a tired smile pulled at the corner of his scarred lips.

The chant spread along the wall, the words ancient and powerful, resonating through the night. They spoke of strength, of resilience, of a future that we would carve out of the darkness, no matter how deep it ran. The frayed bond between Cleo and me flared with renewed energy, no longer a blistering heat, instead, it was tempered, as if the fire that raged through her had found an anchor.

With my heart pounding, I turned back toward the flames and prayed that whatever strength we gave her would be enough. Desperation and shame burned through me at what I had done to her.

Chapter 39

Seer Arna

The cries of the battle reached us deep in the mountain. My mind was elsewhere, turning over the decisions that had led us to this moment. I had known, from the moment Dex proposed seeking the shaman beyond the Wild Lands, that they would see her as a weapon, a means to strike back at the humans who had driven us from our home. But Cleo was more than that. She was a flame the earth itself had chosen, and flames could not be wielded without consequence. I had warned them, yet even I couldn’t foresee the full weight of what would come.

Inside the inner chambers, we huddled together—women, children, and elders—faces pale with fear, our bodies tense as we listened to the distant shouts. Every cry of pain, every clash of steel, and each deafening bellow of the shadow dragon sent chills through me. The very air seemed to tremble with the weight of the battle unfolding beyond our sight.

The ground beneath us shook with a ripple of the power she fought to control. It was too much for one so young, one so unprepared. Cleo carried not just the magic but the weight of our hope, and I feared that burden would shatter her before it saved us. How could they not see? She was no weapon to beforged in fire—shewasthe fire. She was dangerous. The power she had unleashed was consuming the dark creatures that dared to threaten our home, but the price she paid was clear. I could feel it in the vibrations that trembled through the stones beneath us, in the way the air crackled with energy. Cleo was struggling—suffering—to control the magic that she unleashed.

I had known the risks when I sent them South to find her, had seen the threads of fate pulling us toward this moment. But seeing it now, hearing the pain in her voice, I questioned whether I had been wrong to trust the earth’s will. Cleo had not chosen this path—it had been thrust upon her by all of us, myself included. And yet, as much as I wished to shield her, I knew she had to walk this road alone. The earth had chosen her, and it would not be denied.

And then there was Dex, his voice filled with fear for his mate, carried over the cacophony of battle. He was calling for her, pleading with Cleo to come back to him. His grief echoed through the silence of our sanctuary, carrying the rawness of his dread. Around me, the women clutched their children closer, tears streaming down their faces as they wept for not only their Chieftain, but for their shaman. Their friend.

Beside me, Old Mother Soli sat with her back straight, her sharp eyes fixed on the ceiling as if she could see through the stone. Her hands were calloused from years of labor, and though she no longer wielded a blade, the strength of her spirit had not dimmed with age. I had known her all my life, seen her endure more than many could bear, and now, I saw that same endurance in her gaze. She was listening—feeling—just as I was.

“She fights for us, despite our deception, our shaman fights, but her fate does not have to be final. She is one of us.” Soli murmured, her voice echoing through the chambers.

I nodded my agreement, the bond I had insistent on between her and the clan was more than just spells and rituals—it was belief, a shared strength that could tip the scales of fate.

“We need to help her. Our power can reach her. We cannot let the darkness take her. She is part of this clan!” Soli continued, her voice growing stronger.

Above us, through the thick stone, we heard the distant sound of voices—deep and resonant, flowing with a familiar rhythm.

The warriors had begun to chant.

The ancient words of the prophecy, passed down through generations, filled the air, their voices carrying a promise older than any of us. A shiver ran through me as an old magic responded.

I rose to my feet, old bones protesting the movement, but my heart thrummed with purpose. “They are calling to her. And so will we.”

Beside me, Soli’s gaze burned with fierce conviction, a wisdom that reached back through the ages. She motioned with a weathered hand, urging them to rise. “We chant with them. We give her our strength and call her home.”

The others stood as well, some clutching the hands of their loved ones, their children, while others leaned on each other for support. Their fear was palpable, but so was their determination.Their regret.We were part of this fight, and now, more than ever, our shaman needed us too.

Our voices joined the warriors. At first, the sound was low, hesitant, but then it grew—filling the chamber with a deep, steady melody that reverberated off the walls. I felt the words move through me, ancient and powerful, carrying with them the weight of generations.

When the earth is torn and the sky burns red,

And the balance falters and the green is dead.

From the lands of men shall a fire arise,

With hair of flame and storm in her eyes.

She shall walk with the magic deep in her veins,

And call to the earth through its roots and rains.

The shaman will come to heal and to fight,

To bring back the dawn after endless night.

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