Burning Beneath

Sam awoke with a gasp.

The heat was gone. The fire, the Ember Guardian, the Burning Door—all of it vanished in an instant.

She sat upright, her breath uneven. Her body was cold, as if the flames had never touched her, but—no. That wasn’t right. There was something.

She flexed her fingers. They tingled. A faint warmth pulsed beneath her skin, as if embers still burned inside her.

The room around her was dim, bathed in the soft glow of her bedside lamp. It was the same room she had fallen asleep in. The same walls, the same books stacked carelessly on the desk, the same half-empty water bottle on the nightstand.

Everything was normal.

Except it wasn’t.

Sam swung her legs over the bed, exhaling. It was just another dream—wasn’t it? The fire, the Guardian, the Door… it all felt so real, but she had been in dreams like that before. She had lucid dreams often.

But never like this.

Never where the memory burned itself into her.

Her gaze flickered to her palm.

Her breath caught.

There—etched into her skin—was a faint, golden mark. Not a scar, not a wound, but something deeper. A brand. A tiny ember-like symbol, glowing just beneath the surface of her skin.

Her heart pounded.

She ran to the bathroom, flicking on the light. The mirror confirmed it.

It was still there. The dream hadn’t erased itself the way they always did upon waking. It had left something behind.

Sam pressed her fingers against the mark. Heat bloomed beneath her touch.

A flicker of orange light danced in her peripheral vision.

She turned sharply—but nothing was there.

Except—

The reflection in the mirror was wrong.

Not entirely—just enough to unsettle her. The edges of her hair shimmered like dying embers. The light behind her cast no proper shadow.

And then, the worst part—

Her reflection blinked a second too late.

She froze. A cold, electric fear slid through her spine.

Slowly, she reached toward the mirror. Her reflection mirrored her, perfectly now. No delay, no flicker. But something in her gut told her not to trust it.

Her voice was hoarse. “What the hell is happening?”

The ember mark on her palm pulsed, as if responding to the question.

And for a brief second—**just a second—**she swore she heard something.

A voice, deep and distant, crackling like fire.

“The fire does not take. The fire remakes.”

Sam staggered back.

The dream wasn’t over.

It had just followed her home.