The man’s voice cut the quiet like a blade.

“Who dares to use that again?” the man asked coldly.

Hanara stepped forward, every breath a small, stuttering flame. The candlelight trembled on the wooden beams. Dust hung in the air like tiny moons. She connected the pieces that had been gnawing at her heart for days.

“Are you… Uncle Varen?” she asked, connecting the dots of his reaction.

The word landed heavily. He froze, the shape of it wrenching something loose in his face. His lips trembled. He bowed his gaze as if the sound had unearthed guilt. For a moment, his eyes were all shadows and regret.

“I…”

Hanara saw his shoulders tighten. She could see the years on him, the way sorrow had carved hollows into his cheeks, the way his hands carried the memory of leaving. She closed the distance she’d spent so long closing in her mind.

“Mother has been looking for you for so long,” she cried, certain she was right.

Varen turned away as if to hide the shame in his expression. He wished she would not come closer. He wished he could undo years. But she reached him anyway, and, without a pause, she wrapped her small arms around him.

“You—”

“Please… don’t leave me. Not again. Hansel’s gone… I think they took him…” she begged, words raw and small.

Varen’s hand hovered over her head, then settled there, trembling. He closed his eyes and let out a long, frustrated breath.

“After what I did to your family, how could I ever care for you?” he asked.

Hanara stared up through tears, wiping them away stubbornly.

“Mother had always told me you were—”

“It doesn’t matter what she says or thinks of me… If I had never left, your grandfather wouldn’t have died…” he shouted, the sentence snapping like a brittle branch. His voice shook with pain and anger, not all of it aimed at the same place.

Hanara’s gaze dropped. For an instant, their eyes clashed: his remorse and something in her that flared—red and dangerous, like her grandfather’s. Varen saw it and flinched.

“So… you’ll leave me, too?” Hanara suddenly asked.

The question struck him like an accusation carved into bone. A storm churned behind his ribs—rage at himself, grief, a fierce longing for redemption. He clenched fists until his knuckles went white and tried to force the right answer out of a throat that had been shut by years.

“I can’t… I can’t take care of you…” he answered, voice cracking.

She collapsed to the ground, the weight of it pressing the air out of the room.

“They… they will take me away if they find out where I am…” Her hands clutched at her chest. The sobs came in shallow, animal breaths.

“I…” she hesitated, then confessed into the dimness. “I have dual auras.”

Time stilled. Varen’s eyes flew open, every line in his face hardened to stone. A chill crawled down his neck. The name of that secret, spoken aloud, was a detonator. Only Eliana had known. Only Eliana had sworn Hanara’s silence.

“Dual… auras?” he asked.

Hanara watched him, gut twisting between hope and terror. She nodded, lips trembling.

“I…”

Varen’s breath left him with a low, sharp sound. The danger of her truth rearranged the room. If anyone found them—if word spread—Hanara would not simply be hidden or detained. She would be hunted and torn apart for what she carried inside her.

Panic snapped through him like electricity. His gaze flicked across the sparse cabin—books, a cloak, a handful of dry provisions. He moved with the sudden efficiency of a man who had once packed to leave everything behind.

“You can’t stay here… If you do, you’ll definitely get captured,” he said hurriedly.

Hanara, still young and bewildered, only blinked.

“What do you mean?” she asked, brows furrowed.

His eyes landed on the only things that mattered—her hair, her face, those unmistakable features the Phoenix Clan would notice in an instant. He stepped forward, voice low but urgent.

“A place only your mother and I know,” he said quietly, and the conviction in it made her step back, confused.

Then, as if remembering something else just as urgent, he walked to the side of the house with quick, sure movements.

“It’s in there!” he said.

Hanara frowned.

“What is?”

He turned and produced a small vial, the contents inside a dull, herbal brown.

“Here! Drink this!” he commanded.

She held the potion and looked from it to him.

“Why?” she asked.

He gave a short, rueful chuckle.

“Your hair and eyes are too recognizable. Drink this. We can’t risk anyone noticing. Everyone knows how the physical features of the Princess of the Phoenix Clan,” he stated.

Recognition bloomed into fear. Hanara’s hand shook. She swallowed and lifted the vial to her lips. The liquid went down hot and bitter, a metallic tang on her tongue. She made a face.

She tasted it immediately.

“This tastes like boiled lizard feet…”

Varen only smiled, a small, tired expression that somehow carried relief.

“Your hair is now different,” he replied.

Under his hand, color shifted. Dark blue threads crept through the strands that had once been unmistakable as solar gold. Hanara held the change at arm’s length and watched it ripple.

She touched her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I…I have another eye color I can shift into, too… But,” she said, hesitation in the last word.

Varen turned his full attention to her, curious and careful.

“What?” he prompted.

“I have trouble holding it. It slips back to red when I get emotional,” she admitted, fingers worrying at their hems.

He let out a small, rueful laugh and, against habit, patted her head gently—an old, awkward kindness.

“What was your name again?” Varen asked seriously.

“Hanara Enya Solaris,” she responded plainly.

He exhaled the name like a prayer.

“Hanara… don’t doubt yourself. All that rage inside you—all that pain you’ve carried as you grew—don’t push it away. Feel it. Understand it. And then… accept it. Your dual auras aren’t your burden. They’re the fire in your blood. One day, they’ll be what makes you unstoppable,” Varen expressed, his voice a low ember of conviction.

Hanara felt the words like warmth against a cold place. She closed her eyes and let them settle. A tremor of grief moved her. The memory of Worish dying, of everything lost, came back so sharp it made her shiver. Varen noticed and slid a hand to the small of her back.

“Don’t leave it. What was the last thing that allowed you to feel happy?” he asked, steadying.

She started, then remembered.

“Happy? Like… When I flew on Yelenis that night… with that dragon boy?” The memory brightened and hurt at once—the wind, the way the sky had felt like an answer.

Varen’s breath hitched. When she opened her eyes, they were no longer the purely red embers they’d been. For a blink, they flashed spring-green. He blinked, surprised and almost reverent.

“You did it,” he cheered softly.

Hanara laughed, half-sobbed, and nodded.

“I did. Thank you,” she whispered.

He hugged her, brief and awkward at first, then with an earnestness he could no longer hide.

“I take that back… You do have your mother’s eyes,” he murmured, as if admitting it out loud made it safer.

She laughed through tears and leaned into him.

“I’m glad that you’re still that person she longed to see,” she said.

Varen’s laugh was soft as he remembered things he’d tried to bury.

“Let’s go. I’ll make sure to protect you,” he said, voice iron-lined with promise.

She nodded and followed. Varen helped her into the saddle and rode with a solemn steadiness. The land slid past, swampland and reed, dusk bleeding purple into the sky. He said little; he did not have to. Each mile was a step toward atonement.

They entered a village that still smelled of smoke and effort—people rebuilding, muttering about Dragon knights and torn loyalties. Villagers worked with stubborn hands. Some glared at the passing travelers with blame. Others dared to hope the travelers would restore what had been lost.

Hanara’s hands trembled. Varen felt the small panic and patted the back of her hand.

“Breathe slowly. I’m here, remember that. I’ll protect you if anything happens,” he whispered. She took a breath and nodded. When the horses slowed to graze, Varen offered something small, practical. “Let’s go find something to eat.”

She smiled and leaned forward as they walked into the market. The place was a knot of voices—some resentful of the Dragon knights, some cautious, some raw with grief. A shop owner shouted as a small figure darted past, clutching goods.

“Get that child! How dare you steal from me?! I don’t have enough to feed a useless child!” the shop owner screamed.

Hanara’s heart flipped. A dirt-streaked child stumbled in the crowd—bruised and terrified. The owner raised a stick and aimed. Instinct pushed Hanara forward. She grabbed the stick before it fell.

“Hey!” Varen called and started after her.

Hanara stepped between the child and the man.

“No need to beat her if she had already fallen… I’ll pay for what she stole,” Hanara said.

Varen watched her, the realization of her upbringing washing over him—trained in kindness and protection. The shop owner snatched back his stick, then demanded compensation.

“That’ll be five coins,” he replied.

Hanara checked her pouch and handed him the coins. The owner spat at the child and walked away. Hanara offered a hand.

“Are you okay?” Hanara asked.

The child hesitated, then took her hand and bolted. Varen smiled at Hanara for her compassion. She sat back beside him and accepted the loaf he offered. He had been watching her, always measuring the risk and the mercy.

“Who taught you to step into chaos like that?” he asked, curious.

“My father. He always said… if no one else will protect them, then you must,” she said simply.

Varen’s expression softened.

“I see. Of course, Felix would. Felix was a good man. I’m glad that he loved and cared for Eliana,” he said solemnly.

“They were the best parents in this entire world…” she said, and the sorrow in her voice made Varen’s chest ache.

He gave a small, warming pat to her head.

“I’m sure that they’re proud of you. You’re still here, and you found me whom your mother couldn’t find,” he teased, managing a half-smile.

Hanara smiled a brittle, grateful smile. Then the child who had run away returned, holding something small and glassy. She thrust it forward.

“This… Thank you,” the child said.

Hanara and Varen turned to the child and the small orb she held. It thrummed faintly—warm and alive in the girl’s palms. Hanara felt drawn to it in a way that made the hairs at the nape of her neck stand up.

The child’s voice was small and urgent.

“The rising phoenix.”

The orb seemed to breathe, pulsing blue and red when Hanara touched it. She felt the whisper of it like a tendril slipping along her spine. Varen’s instincts flared: a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Hana?” he called softly.

“It told me to find a girl with blue hair… You were the only one with blue hair,” the child said.

The words snagged at Varen. He reached, almost involuntarily, to take her hand away from the orb.

“Hana? Don—” he began.

“It knows me…” Hanara mumbled, voice thin.

The child knelt before them, eyes bright and pleading.

“Please take me, too…” she begged.

Varen hesitated, studied the girl. She was small, only a step from being nothing more than a shadow in a ruined world.

“I… I don’t know,” he answered carefully.

The child clasped her hands together and leaned forward.

“Please. I promise I won’t betray you,” she promised. “You can trust me…”

Hanara looked at the pleading face and felt the tug of compassion, as well as the need to protect their secrecy. Varen opened his mouth, then closed it.

“I’m sorry…” he said finally.

The child leaned a little closer and whispered, urgent and fierce.

“I know where you guys are going. I won’t tell anyone.”

They looked at her, stunned. She spoke as if guided by the orb.

“How did you?” Varen asked, eyes narrowing at the child and the glowing sphere.

“He told me to follow you, saying that crossing paths with you was fate,” the child claimed.

Hanara bit her lip. Relief and fear mingled inside her chest.

“What else did it say to you?” Varen asked.

“That he is safe. He is being protected,” the child answered, staring intently at Hanara.

Hanara paled, hope making her hands tremble.

“He… As in,” she started.

“The Phoenix boy,” the child whispered against her ear.

Hanara’s hands actually shook at the name. The revelation settled like a small, warm stone in her palms. Varen’s eyes widened as he realized the orb’s significance—this was no trinket but the Orb of the Great Kahni, an object that could reach beyond walls and mountains.

“Okay. But that orb stays far away from us,” Varen suggested, protective and sharp.

The child brightened. The orb, however, pulsed and seemed to speak in a tone only she could hear. She brought it closer to Varen, and a tiny, petulant voice seemed to spill from the glass.

“You dirty old man. I just want to see her ascend,” the orb said.

Varen’s lips twitched into a grin he could not hide.

“Instead of communicating through an orb, why don’t you get out of the Great Tower then?” he replied.

Hanara and the child stared in bemused silence as the orb made a series of grumpy noises.

“You… Ugh. I will! You better give me that booze when I come,” it argued.

“We will see,” Varen said with mock solemnity.

The orb went still for a moment and then dimmed. The child, suddenly without its constant murmuring, looked small and uncertain but still brimming with hope.

“Uncle…” Hanara said, reaching for him.

Varen met her gaze and nodded. He crouched and asked the child, “What was your name, child?”

“Salem,” she answered, cheeks wet with tears but smiling.

“Salem, we will be going far, so eat up,” Varen said, handing some of their bread to her.

She accepted it with a glowing, childlike thankfulness.

“Thank you!” Salem responded.

They finished quickly, saddled, and rode with a careful urgency, avoiding settlements and prying eyes. Twilight tumbled into night as the road curved and steepened.

Hours later, they stopped at the foot of a mountain where water screamed from a cliff, silver and wild under the moon. Salem and Hanara stared at its crown, at the dark rim of stone. Varen looked up and wore a smile like an old wound remembered with dignity.

“Where are we?” Hanara asked, curiosity and a new, fragile hope threading her voice.

He inhaled the smell of ash and wet stone as if it were memory itself.

“This… This was where your mother and I would run to and train together. To get closer to the fire core… A volcano. Lahaye Volcano,” Varen answered, feeling the distance of the years as a kind of ache and a promise at once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 🪶 🔥 Princess, Don’t Waver ❄️ 🐉 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~