Chapter 163: My Fire
{Elira}
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My chest heaved as I thought of the years of being mocked.
Then I thought of Tamryn’s sharp edges softening for me, of Cambria’s steady kindness, of Nari’s teasing that always tried to cover her worry, of Juniper’s dramatic sighs when she thought I was hiding pain.
I thought of the brothers’ promise.
And then I thought of my mother. Kathryn Shaw. The woman who had loved me in her own way by keeping important pieces of information secret—and had still chosen to silence me.
"I choose yes," I whispered, though my hands shook violently. Then louder and fiercer I added, "I want it unsealed. I don’t care what it costs. I want to live as who I am."
The witch gave no comfort or smile. She only gave a single nod. "So be it."
Then, she rose and moved with slow, deliberate steps to the hearth. The air changed with her, heavy and charged. And every breath I drew tasted of smoke and iron.
"Sit," she commanded, motioning to the circle carved into the stone floor.
My knees wobbled as I obeyed, lowering myself onto the cold circle.
Rennon started forward, instinct pulling him to me, but the witch’s hand rose sharply. "Not one step further. This is hers to face."
Zenon held him back with a glance. Lennon swore under his breath but didn’t move.
The witch began to chant in a low, guttural tongue that made the air tremble.
My skin prickled, and suddenly I felt the weight of the seal itself—like iron bands around my chest, around my throat, around every vein in my body.
It squeezed tighter. My breath hitched, panic clawing at me.
And then the witch’s hands cut the air like blades, and the seal fought back.
The pressure slammed through me, forcing a scream from my throat. My body arched as if unseen chains were dragging me down, holding me under a tide I couldn’t escape.
I gasped, clawing at the stone beneath me. "It—it hurts—"
"Endure," the witch said, her voice steady but edged with command. "This was never meant to be easy."
’But she never mentioned this part of the unsealing to me.’
Heat burst in my chest, raw and searing. My vision blurred red and gold, like fire behind my eyes. My mother’s choice—my mother’s chains—were fighting to stay.
I wanted to collapse, to beg for it to stop. But somewhere in the roar of it, I heard Zenon’s voice, low and unyielding, "Do not give in, Elira."
Then Rennon’s softer but steady voice, "Breathe. Find the rhythm in it. You are stronger than this."
And then Lennon, fierce and burning voice, "Show it who you are, sweetheart. Burn it down."
Their voices wove through the storm, pulling me up when I thought I would break.
I pressed my palms to the cold stone, my teeth gritting, and my body shaking violently.
"I am not weak," I whispered with half a sob, and half a snarl. "I am not an Omega. I am not nothing."
The seal cracked. I felt it, a shudder inside me.
Then the witch’s voice rose louder, her words sharp and final.
Something snapped. A soundless explosion tore through my body, light searing behind my eyes. I screamed as the bands shattered, heat flooding my veins.
And then it was there. The fire, alive in me. My fire.
I collapsed forward, gasping, my palms slick with sweat against the stone. My chest heaved, every breath heavy, but the tremble running through me wasn’t weakness—it was power.
The witch’s voice steadied the air. "It is done."
I lifted my head slowly, my vision swimming, but the world felt... different. Clearer and sharper. My veins hummed with an energy that felt both terrifying and intoxicating.
I stayed on my hands and knees for a while, gasping, sweat dripping onto the stone. The fire still crackled faintly under my skin, restless, as if it had only just woken and was testing the edges of its cage.
Just then, the witch’s voice broke the silence, calm but edged with weight.
"Do not mistake this moment for victory, child. What has been unsealed is not gentle. It is not merciful. It will not bow to you simply because it is yours."
I swallowed hard, lifting my head to look at her. My body trembled, but the hum in my veins was undeniable.
"Then how do I—" My voice cracked. "How do I control it?"
"You learn," she said simply. "Or it will consume you. Fire either forges or destroys. Which one you become depends on whether you master it... or it masters you."
My throat tightened. "And if I fail?"
Her eyes darkened, sharp as iron. "Then you will burn. And not only you."
The weight of her words pressed cold against the heat still thrumming in my chest. My fingers curled against the stone, nails digging into the grooves.
Rennon’s voice reached me, low and steady. "You will not fail."
Lennon’s fire sparked faintly in his palm, a grin tugging at his mouth, fierce and unyielding. "She’s right about one thing, though—you’re dangerous now. I like it."
Zenon said nothing. But when I turned my head toward him, his gaze was locked on me—hard, sharp, unreadable. And yet, deep within, there was something steady. Certain.
The witch finally leaned back in her chair, her hands folding neatly. "Go. What comes next is not mine to guide. It is yours."
Her gaze pinned me one last time. "Remember, Elira Shaw—this fire does not care if you are ready. It only cares that you are alive."
I exhaled shakily, pushing myself to a standing position. My legs trembled, but I forced them to hold.
Rennon’s hand brushed lightly against my arm, steadying me, while Lennon gave me a look that said he would fight the whole world just to see me stand taller.
And Zenon... Zenon was already turning toward the door, his voice clipped, final. "We are done here."