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He paused his sharpening. "What's it saying?"

My father's name. The man who had tried to drown me in a river because my first flame had singed his favorite cloak.

"The truth," I said, finally standing up. The fire rose with me, a column of gold and rage that stretched twice as high as a man before I forced it back down with a flick of my wrist. Kael flinched. Good.

Let him find his own light. I had ashes to deliver.

I watched them spiral upward, each orange spark a tiny sun born from a log I’d chosen, a flame I’d whispered to. The others saw fire. I saw a language. The crackle wasn't random noise; it was the pop of a secret shared between me and the deep, molten heart of the world.