Chapter 33: Next
The tavern stood empty, its pulse a quiet hum in the late afternoon light.
Kio lingered at the second-floor landing, a rag in one hand, slowly polishing the rail where Mira had lounged countless times—half-dressed, her bronze skin glowing, her red hair wild, smirking as if she didn’t crave the attention she always drew.
Her fireblood had burned fierce, a blaze that demanded notice, but in her final days, she hadn’t burned.
She’d glowed, soft and steady, her trust a warmth that lingered in the wood.
Kio moved through the rooms in silence, his steps unhurried, his dark eyes tracing the tavern’s familiar scars.
Mira’s tea cup sat in the dish rack, its rim faintly stained with mint.
Her scarf—the threadbare one she’d chosen over the mended version he’d stitched—lay folded in a drawer with the others, its frayed edges a quiet testament to her departure.
He smoothed it with a steady hand, the faint scent of her fireblood—smoky, warm—clinging to the fabric.
Upstairs, her bed held traces of mint and sweat, the air heavy with her presence.
Beneath the bedframe, she’d carved a fire pattern—not for power, but for memory, its lines mirroring the tattoo etched beneath her breast, a non-magical guide for her fireblood’s rhythm.