Nova didn't sleep that night.
Even after she returned to the orphanage—drenched in rain, clothes clinging to her skin, and heart racing like a war drum—sleep was a distant concept. Her bed felt foreign. Her room felt like a cage. The darkness no longer held silence; it whispered secrets she didn't yet understand.
Flamebound.
Shadowfiends.
Marked by the night.
The words echoed through her mind like a haunting melody, repeating until her thoughts blurred and all that remained was the memory of fire. The heat in her palms. The power in her veins.
She wasn't ordinary. She never had been. But now, there was no more pretending.
When morning came, the orphanage stirred to life around her—squeaky beds, the shuffling of slippers on cold floors, the smell of burnt toast from the kitchen. The world moved on as if it hadn't just shifted beneath her feet.
Nova moved through the motions. She nodded when spoken to. She sipped her tea. She avoided Layla's curious glances.
But inside?
She was a wildfire.
It wasn't until mid-morning that she finally broke.
Nova slipped out the back door and found her way to the small, forgotten garden behind the orphanage. No one came here anymore. The old swing hung from a crooked tree, swaying with the wind. Dead leaves blanketed the ground. It was quiet.
Too quiet.
"I know you're watching me," she said aloud.
Silence.
Then: "Impressive."
Nova turned sharply.
The silver-eyed man stepped out from behind the tree like he had materialized from the shadows themselves. He looked exactly as he had the night before—calm, cloaked, and carrying the weight of a thousand secrets in his gaze.
"I thought you said to run," Nova said, folding her arms.
"I did. And yet you burned your first Shadowfiend to ash. Most Flamebound don't awaken until they're trained. You? You lit the alley on fire like it was instinct."
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't flatter me. I don't even know your name."
"Lucien," he said with a slight nod. "Sentinel of the Flamebound Order."
Nova laughed bitterly. "Of course there's an order."
Lucien didn't smile. "There's more at stake than you realize."
"Then tell me," she snapped. "Stop talking in riddles and give me the truth."
He paused, as if weighing her readiness, then took a slow step forward. "Thousands of years ago, the night was ruled by darkness—not the gentle kind that cradles dreams, but the kind that feeds on fear and consumes light. The Flamebound were born to hold that darkness at bay."
"And I'm one of them?"
"You're more than one of them. You're the first Marked in over a hundred years."
Nova blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Lucien said carefully, "you were born with a direct link to the ancient flame—the source of all our power. The mark on your hand isn't just a symbol. It's a key. And others will come for it."
Nova stepped back. "So I'm just a target now?"
"You've always been," he said. "You just didn't know."
The truth pressed heavy against her chest. All the years feeling different. The dreams of fire. The sense of something missing.
It had all been leading to this.
"I don't want this," she whispered.
Lucien nodded slowly. "Neither did I, when I was your age. But wanting doesn't change destiny."
Nova turned away, her fingers curling into fists. "So what now? Do I join your secret order? Train in a hidden fortress? Save the world?"
Lucien didn't answer right away.
"You survive," he said finally. "Until we can awaken your full potential. You stay hidden, stay quiet, and when the time is right—we fight."
Nova turned to face him, her eyes glowing faintly gold. "Then teach me."
A spark lit in Lucien's gaze—approval, perhaps, or caution. "Training starts tonight."
Then he was gone again—swallowed by the wind like smoke.
Nova stood alone in the garden, heart pounding, flame flickering faintly in her chest. She didn't know where this path would lead. She didn't know if she'd make it out alive.
But one thing was certain.
She was no longer just Nova from West Hollow Orphanage.
She was the girl marked by fire.