Burn With Me

Burn With Me

The golden dawn spilled over Vaeloria like melted honey, setting the city ablaze with light. The streets hummed with the clash of old magic and new greed, where the poor scraped for crumbs and the rich feasted on power. In the soot-stained lanes of **Cinderwick**, where the air smelled of crushed herbs and burning wood, **Saria Wren** stirred a pot of glowing elixirs. Her fingers, stained violet from twilight sage, moved with the quiet certainty of someone who knew the secrets of fire.

The Drayen people—her people—believed love was kindled by the sun itself. A spark meant for those who dared to reach for it.

Across the city, in the cold marble towers of **Aurspire**, **Gavren Holt** adjusted his emerald-green coat, the fabric heavy with gold thread. His father’s voice still rang in his ears: *"Marry for advantage, not for heart."* The Voryth did not believe in love—only contracts, alliances, the careful exchange of power.

But Gavren’s heart was restless.

And then, the **Sunveil Festival** began.

---

The Spark That Lit the Fire

Saria’s stall was a riot of color—jars of shimmering tinctures, bundles of dried flame-kissed petals, charms that pulsed like tiny captured stars. She hummed as she worked, her patched skirt swaying, her dark braid slipping over her shoulder.

That was when **he** appeared.

Tall, polished, out of place among the dusty market crowds. His eyes—sharp green, like sunlight through leaves—locked onto a small vial in her hands. It glowed gold between her fingers.

*"What’s this?"* His voice was low, curious.

Saria smiled. *"A Drayen charm. It lights up for those who seek true love."*

Their fingers brushed as she handed it to him.

A spark jumped between them.

Not magic.

Something hotter.

Stolen Moments in Sunlit Glades

They met in secret after that.

A hidden grove where the sunflowers glowed faintly at dusk, their faces turned toward the last light. Gavren brought her stolen pastries from the Aurspire kitchens, still warm. Saria taught him the names of herbs, guiding his hands as he crushed petals between his fingers.

*"You’re terrible at this,"* she laughed.

*"I’m learning,"* he murmured, and then his mouth was on hers, sweet with honey and desperation.

The world melted away.

But shadows lingered at the edges.

---

The Poison in the Air

**Klythe Varn** watched them with a serpent’s patience.

She was everything Saria was not—sharp where Saria was soft, cold where Saria burned. And she wanted Gavren, not for love, but for the weight of his family’s name.

So she whispered.

*"Her potions are cursed."*

*"She steals memories with her charms."*

*"Witch."*

The word slithered through Cinderwick, turning neighbors wary, making mothers pull their children away from Saria’s stall. Even the Drayen elders frowned, their trust crumbling like old parchment.

Gavren heard the lies. He stormed into the Voryth council hall, his voice cutting through the cold air.

*"You’re tearing her apart to cage me!"*

Klythe’s smile was knife-thin. *"She’s nothing. You belong to **us**."*

---

The Fire That Consumed Them

The **Sunweave Fair** was Saria’s last hope.

She had spent nights weaving a tapestry of herbs and golden thread, a vision of Vaeloria united—Drayen and Voryth, fire and stone. Gavren stood beside her, his jaw set, defiance burning in his eyes.

Then—**flames erupted.**

A dark spirit, twisted and snarling, tore free from the tapestry. The crowd screamed.

Klythe’s final trick—a cursed ember, hidden in the threads.

Gavren didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the burning shard, his hands blistering, his voice raw as he shouted, *"This is **her** doing!"*

The sun spirit returned in a burst of gold, its light swallowing the shadow. *"Truth burns brighter than lies."*

Klythe’s face twisted in rage as the crowd turned on her. She fled, her schemes crumbling to ash.

Saria and Gavren stood together, breathless, victorious.

For a moment, the world was only sunlight and their shared pulse.

Then—

**A whistle in the dark.**

**An arrow.**

Gavren shoved Saria aside.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She hit the ground, scrambling up just in time to see Gavren stagger, an arrow buried deep in his chest.

*"No—"* Her voice broke.

He collapsed into her arms. Blood soaked through his fine green coat, too much, too fast.

*"Saria,"* he whispered, his hand trembling against her cheek.

She pressed her forehead to his, tears searing her skin. *"Don’t you dare leave me."*

His breath shuddered.

Then stilled.

---

The Ashes Left Behind

Saria held him until the sun rose.

Until the festival’s embers died.

Until her tears ran dry.

She took the sunburst pendant he had given her—the one that matched the glow of her charms—and pressed it to her lips.

Then she walked into her stall.

Lit a match.

**Let the fire take her too.**

---

Epilogue: The Legend of the Sunveil Lovers

Some say, if you stand in Cinderwick at dawn, you can still see them—two figures wreathed in golden flame, forever dancing at the edge of daylight.

A love that burned too bright.

A love that even death couldn’t extinguish.

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THE END.