Nyra slept for nearly two days.
Wrapped in a blanket of moonlight and cooled by healing runes, her fire finally stilled. Lyra stayed by her side, never letting go of her hand, feeling the ebb and flow of unstable magic within her.
"She's strong," Lyra murmured, brushing hair from Nyra's brow. "But she's been fighting alone for too long."
Kael stood nearby, sharpening his blade. "She was lucky you reached her first. If the Crimson Cloaks had gotten to her…"
Lyra didn't want to finish that thought. She had seen what the Crimson Moon's influence did—how it twisted power and fed on pain.
But Nyra wasn't beyond saving.
She was just scared.
Like Lyra had once been.
When Nyra finally woke, her voice was hoarse. "You should have let me burn."
Lyra shook her head gently. "You didn't want to. I felt it."
Nyra stared up at her, eyes rimmed with gold. "I couldn't stop. They kept pushing, forcing the fire out of me. I thought if I burned everything… they'd stop coming."
"They will," Kael said, stepping forward. "We won't let them touch you again."
But Nyra's eyes narrowed. "You don't understand. I'm not like her."
She looked to Lyra. "Your power is calm. Light. Mine devours."
"You're wrong," Lyra said softly. "Our magic is the same song—just different verses. You were chosen too. Not cursed."
Nyra's eyes brimmed with tears. "Then why does it hurt so much?"
Lyra squeezed her hand. "Because it's too big for one heart to carry."
They camped at the base of the Ember Spire that night.
Lyra began to teach Nyra how to listen to the moon's voice, not fight it. "You don't have to control it," she said. "Just let it speak. Let it guide your rhythm."
Nyra was skeptical at first. Her fire sputtered and flared with every emotion.
But when Lyra sang, soft and low, a thread of silver wove through Nyra's flames.
The heat dimmed.
The fire became warm, not wild.
Nyra stared at her hands in wonder. "I didn't know it could feel like this."
"You were born under a different moon," Lyra said. "The Ember Moon. It's not evil—it's just full of passion. Purpose."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "How many moons are there?"
Lyra tilted her head, her pendant glowing. "Four. Each representing a pillar of balance: Light, Fire, Storm, and Shadow. I was called by the Silver Moon. Nyra by the Ember. That means two more are out there. Two more chosen."
Kael looked troubled. "And two more being hunted."
Nyra shivered. "If they find the one born under Shadow… they'll use them to open the gate."
Lyra's eyes darkened. "The Crimson Gate?"
Nyra nodded. "The cult believes the gate will return their forgotten god. But to open it, they need all four moon-blooded. Dead or alive."
Lyra's pulse quickened. "Then we find them first."
That night, as the stars blinked above the firelands, Lyra and Nyra sat by the glowing coals.
Nyra looked up. "When the moon first called to you… what did it feel like?"
Lyra smiled faintly. "Like drowning and flying at the same time."
Nyra laughed quietly. "Yeah. That sounds about right."
They sat in silence for a while, watching the moon rise over the cliffs—its silver glow touching the edges of Nyra's fire.
Two moons. Two girls.
Two songs beginning to harmonize.
And somewhere far to the east, in the lands where storms never slept, the wind stirred with new energy.
Another had awakened.