CHAPTER 15: Cold Fires and Echoes of Flame
Dawn came grudgingly, the sun hidden behind a veil of dark clouds that cast everything in pale gray. The ruins around them groaned with morning mist, the temple stones sweating damp silence.
Arielle hadn't slept much—not after what she saw in her dream. A flicker of Riven's past, so sharp and brutal it lodged itself behind her ribs like glass. She sat near the dwindling fire now, rubbing the heel of her palm against her chest as if that might smother the ache.
Riven stood with his back to her, cloak brushing the mossy stones. He hadn't spoken since their return last night. It was like a wall had grown between them—tall, ancient, and mercilessly cold.
Still, he didn't leave.
Not yet.
Their journey continued into the northlands, where the earth grew twisted and the trees stood like rotting gods—arms stretched skyward in silent lament. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of their boots and the soft rustle of Arielle's red cloak against the underbrush.
She hadn't spoken much either. Every time she looked at him, something inside her twisted. Not from fear—but from the memory of that boy she'd seen in the dream. Alone. Empty.
She hated that she cared.
"You're quiet," Riven said at last, voice low.
Arielle glanced at him. "Maybe I've finally learned silence from you."
His eyes didn't leave the path. "Unlikely."
That earned the ghost of a smirk from her. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
She needed distraction.
The trees ahead darkened.
Not with shade—but something thicker.
Fog coiled around their ankles, heavy and bitter, like smoke poured into their lungs. Arielle froze, her body going rigid.
Riven turned. "Something wrong?"
She swallowed. Her voice was thin. "No."
He stared a moment longer, as if peeling her open with those infernal eyes. But he said nothing.
They pressed forward.
And then the path forked.
Riven gestured to the left—toward a craggy path flanked by dead lantern trees.
"This way."
Arielle hesitated. The right path led through the fog. Denser, but more direct.
"This one's faster."
"It's not safe."
"I can handle fog," she snapped, too fast.
Riven's gaze sharpened. "You're afraid of it."
"No."
"You're shaking."
"I'm not some helpless girl."
"It's a trap," Riven had said calmly.
"You're just afraid of detours."
He hadn't argued further.
He never did.
He didn't argue.
He simply turned and followed her. Arielle in front bridling in pride and mild shame.
""'
So they walked. And walked. And now, as the moss-draped trees closed in around them and the mist thickened with every breath, Arielle started to feel… unsettled.
Riven's silence was like a second fog.
She hated it more than the mist.
The fog swallowed her like a beast.
Each step sounded muffled. Distant.
She clenched her jaw. Her hand glowed faintly with magic. Just in case.
But would that really be enough, at this point she already conclude that she made the wrong choice but she couldn't bring herself to admit it.
""''
By late afternoon, they came to a clearing.
Ancient stone archways jutted from the ground like broken ribs, wrapped in creeping vines and faded sigils. At the center stood an obelisk of blackened crystal, pulsing faintly with red light.
The air shifted.
The path behind them vanished.
"What…?" Arielle turned around, heart leaping into her throat.
Mist. Nothing but mist.
Riven walked toward the obelisk.
"A blood-lock," he murmured. "And an old one."
He turned to her, eyes flat. "You stepped into a cursed circle. The moment your feet touched that stone ring, the riddle activated."
She crossed her arms, defensive. "I thought it was decorative."
He stared at her.
Flatly.
"You thought an ancient ruin deep in demon-infested lands was decorative?"
She flinched. "Well, when you say it like that—"
"Like what?"
"Like I'm stupid."
"I didn't say that."
"But you're thinking it."
"I don't think of you at all."
That one landed.
She turned away, lips pressed tight.
A low chime echoed from the obelisk.
Then a voice—genderless, ancient, like ice cracking beneath fire.
"Only the bound may pass. Solve the question of the twin flames. Speak the answer in unison, or remain until the sun swallows the sky."
Arielle frowned. "Twin flames?"
Riven's jaw tightened. "It means us."
"What?"
"We're bound, remember?"
She scowled. "You hate that."
"I hate being trapped more."
They turned to face the obelisk together. Fire flared across the stone, shaping words that floated midair:
"One burns with holy wrath, The other with shadow's breath. Together, they make destruction, Or salvation. Name the element they form, When flame and night are one."
Arielle frowned, arms crossed. "Obvious. Fire."
Riven shook his head. "Too simple."
She turned to him. "You think it's darkness, don't you?"
He didn't answer.
"You always assume the worst."
"I assume what makes sense."
They glared at each other.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Let's think. I'm flame. You're night. Together, what do we make?"
"Chaos," he said flatly.
She huffed. "You're impossible."
"And you're irrational."
A beat of silence.
Then she turned away, pacing. "There's something in the phrasing. 'Salvation or destruction.' It's a choice. It's… potential."
Riven's eyes flickered. "Balance."
She looked back. "What?"
"That's the answer. Not fire. Not night. Balance."
She blinked. Then nodded.
They turned back to the obelisk.
And spoke together, hesitantly at first—but in sync by the final word:
"Balance."
The obelisk pulsed once. Then dissolved into mist.
The path forward reappeared.
Arielle sighed. "Well. That was… a lot."
Riven walked past her.
She followed.
Halfway down the trail, she murmured, "You know, I was right about the shortcut."
"You nearly trapped us in a blood-locked puzzle made to torture mages to death."
"But we solved it."
"You're infuriating."
"Maybe you're just easily irritated."
He didn't answer.
But she saw it.
The faintest twitch of his lips.
She didn't smile back.
But inside, she did.
Because the tension hadn't vanished.
But it had… shifted.
And that, she thought, was almost better than a smile.