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It was deep into the night. Countless stars adorned the sky above the kingdom of Aeren, their faint glimmer filtering through the open bedroom window and casting a pale light across Cyra’s face. A gentle breeze drifted in from afar, brushing against her skin. Yet with every passing moment, it grew stronger, as though stirred by the wings of some enormous creature—perhaps a giant bird, or even a dragon, like the ones spoken of in legends. But Cyra paid little mind to that.
Cyra sat on her bed, completely absorbed in her book, when she suddenly heard Sanctus crying in the room next door. And a moment later, she caught that smell, the one she would never forget. The unmistakable scent of smoke, burning wood and fire.
Before she could fully understand what was happening, Cyra sprang to her feet. Her book slipped from her hands and landed on the floor as she rushed toward Sanctus. She ran down the corridor, her heart pounding in her chest, and the moment she reached the door, she threw it open.
Fear gripped her at the sight before her. Flames had already begun to consume part of the wall beside the cradle, spreading quickly toward Sanctus. He was crying desperately, his tiny arms and legs flailing as he struggled against the heat and the fear of what was happening.
Without thinking, Cyra rushed forward and pulled Sanctus into her arms. His small body felt cool against hers compared to the unbearable heat of the room. He kept weeping, but the moment he realized that Cyra was holding him, his sobs began to soften. He reached up with one tiny hand and touched her face, his little fingers brushing gently against her cheek, as though simply making sure she was there.
As the fire spread further, Cyra made her way toward the stairs.
However, when she reached the ground floor, a desperate cry escaped her lips. All she could see was fire, endless flames consuming everything she had ever learned to call home. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her from breaking down, she realized. That, and the need to get her little brother out of there.
At the end of the corridor, beyond the living room and the kitchen, was their parents’ bedroom. Cyra could barely see the door through the thick smoke.
Everything was burning.
The wooden beams in the ceiling were starting to sag and crack, and the smoke had become unbearable. Cyra’s throat burned and her eyes watered as she coughed. Instinctively, she pulled Sanctus closer, holding him tightly against her chest.
She had to protect him. No matter what.
Cyra broke into a run, heading for the front door and throwing it open with all her strength. As she did, a large section of the ceiling collapsed behind them, missing them by only a few steps. Ash and debris rained down onto her shoulders, but she barely noticed. There was only one thought filling her mind: she had to get out of there, and keep Sanctus alive.
The moment they stepped outside and the fresh air hit her face, Cyra gasped as if she had nearly drowned. She dragged in deep breaths, her lungs filling with clean air as she finally escaped the choking smoke.
She carried Sanctus farther from the house before gently placing him on the ground at a safe distance. The moment she let go, he began to sob harder, weakly reaching for her clothes as if he didn’t want her to leave his side.
However, Cyra had to go back. She had to make sure that everything was truly lost. She had to know whether her parents were still alive. Otherwise, she knew she would never be able to forgive herself.
She spared Sanctus one last glance before turning back toward the house. Then she stepped once more into what remained of their home, now little more than a burning ruin.
Coughing, she crossed the threshold. The heat had become unbearable. She could feel her skin boiling beneath her clothes, her body drenched in sweat. Every part of her ached.
She tried to navigate the kitchen, weaving through the maze of flames and burning debris, but it was futile. A towering wall of fire had engulfed the part of the house where her parents’ bedroom was located.
No human could survive that, Cyra realized.
Then she heard a crack above her.
Before she could react, a wooden beam engulfed in flames came crashing down, landing beside her and striking the left side of her body. Cyra heard the sickening sound of bones breaking in her shoulder just before the beam hit the floor. The flames brushed against her cheek, the same spot where Sanctus had caressed her only moments before, and spread down the rest of her arm.
Even before the pain came, Cyra realized that much of her skin was burning. She could see it clearly: between her thumb and forefinger, near her elbow, along her arm. Where there had once been healthy skin, there were now patches of bright red, burned down to the flesh beneath.
Her arm had become unrecognizable.
For a moment, Cyra thought it belonged to someone else. She simply couldn’t believe the extent of the damage.
Then came the pain.
And the screaming.
Her vision blurred as tears gathered in her eyes. She could barely breathe because of the smoke. All she could feel was pain radiating through her arm, as if a million needles had pierced her flesh, tearing her apart, killing her.
Or perhaps she was already dead.
Cyra couldn’t tell anymore. All she could feel was her skin burning, the unbearable pain spreading through her body, and the fog slowly taking over her mind.
She now realized that coming back had been a mistake. Her parents had probably barely had time to wake up before the fire engulfed them.
And yet, through all the pain and confusion, one clear thought broke through the fog of her mind.
Sanctus was alive. He was waiting for her.
Cyra forced herself to move. Slowly she began dragging herself toward the exit. The doorway was now engulfed in flames, but she walked straight through them anyway. She barely noticed the heat anymore. There was no pain left for the flames to add to what she was already feeling.
This time, the fresh air brought her no relief.
She simply continued coughing, again and again, until even her throat felt numb.
Then, somewhere in the distance, she heard the cries of a child.
Sanctus.
Cyra followed the sound blindly, guided only by the faint sound of his voice. Only when she was close did her strength finally leave her, making her collapse to the ground.
For a moment, she could do nothing but lie there, barely conscious.
Then she opened her eyes.Sanctus was standing before her. His eyes were filled with tears, reflecting her own.
With her uninjured arm, Cyra reached out and gently touched his face. Her fingers trembled against his cheek.
“I will protect you,” she whispered, the words barely more than a breath, before the darkness finally claimed her.
The last thing she could have sworn she heard was the distant beating of a dragon’s wings.
Cyra had dragged her body and carried Sanctus in her arms for hours before the two Axoniax men found them.
She could not recall much of that moment, her mind too clouded by the searing pain of her burns and the desperate need to protect her little brother at all costs.
At Axon, they tended to her wounds, bandaging them and cleansing them with a strange sage she had never seen before. The fire had left permanent marks upon her entire left arm and part of her face, they told her.
But Cyra soon realized she did not care. It was a small price to pay, if it meant Sanctus was safe.
Sagarika, the ruler of Axon, took pity on the siblings and offered them a new home. They were placed in a small shelter used to house children who, like them, had lost their parents in the dragon attack or for other reasons. They allowed Cyra to share a room with Sanctus, so she found she had little to complain about.
She did not socialize much with the other children, who often stared at her burns for far too long, hoping she would not notice. Instead, she began spending much of her time in the Axon library, assisting Sagarika in her work by searching through ancient texts, despite Zagarika’s insistence that she need not do so.
The truth was that Cyra desperately wished to repay her debt to the people of Axon, who had taken her and her brother in and treated them as if they were their own.
When she was not in the library, she was with Sanctus. Unlike Cyra, he delighted in the company of the other children and the Axonians who looked after them in the shelter.
For this reason, Cyra often found herself longing for the hours when everyone else had fallen asleep and she could finally be alone with her brother.
Sanctus was fast asleep in his little bed, while Cyra watched him, wide awake, her gaze fixed on the gentle rise and fall of his small chest.
She was afraid to sleep. Afraid that she would wake to find the room engulfed in flames. She was even more afraid of dreaming of her parents’ death, of seeing them scream and burn in the fire.
Only when she looked at Sanctus could her thoughts finally quiet, allowing Cyra a brief moment of serenity. He was the only family she had left, and she knew she would be lost without him.
Many years passed like that in Axon. Eventually, Cyra and Sanctus grew older, becoming more accustomed to the heat of the desert and to the life they had built in their new home. By then, Cyra was fifteen, while her brother was only eleven.
Cyra had officially begun working at the library while studying law and natural sciences. Sagarika had officially taken her under her wing, helping her with her studies and providing her with a small house near the temple, which she could share with her brother.
Sanctus, on the other hand, had developed some rather…unique interests. He enjoyed playing cards and dice, taking care of the horses in the stables, and had recently become fascinated by the topic of magic.
Cyra only hoped he would eventually find his calling, but these days she was hardly ever home to help him. She was too busy with work, her studies, and the private lessons Sagarika gave her.
She hoped Sanctus would understand. Every moment she spent away from him was spent trying to ensure that the two of them could continue to live a decent life together.
But she soon realized that Sanctus did not see things the same way.
It all began with an unimportant argument. Her brother wasn’t doing very well in school, and Cyra had scolded him, hoping it would push him to do better. She hadn’t expected, however, what Sanctus would say moments later.
He was visibly angry, his fingers repeatedly tugging at the hem of his blue tunic in a restless, absent-minded motion. Cyra reminded him of how important it was to study, that it was necessary if he wanted to secure a stable future for himself in Axon.
“Maybe…” he began, his voice rising. “Maybe I don’t want to be like you, so busy that you can’t even spend time with your own family.”
Cyra was stunned by her brother’s words. For a moment, she could only stare at him, unable to believe what she had just heard. Was that truly what Sanctus thought?
“All I do is for you, Sanctus!” she shouted back. “Since our parents died, you have been my one and only priority.”
Sanctus gave a small laugh, the sarcasm unmistakable in his voice.
“Well, you don’t act like it.”
But the sarcastic tone soon faded away. His voice broke as he continued, tears beginning to fill his eyes. Her brother had never been good at trying to act tough, and Cyra knew that better than anyone.
“I am always alone in this house,” he cried. “Even when you are home, you seem so distant. It doesn’t even feel like you’re my sister anymore!”
“Sanctus… I–”
He suddenly began pulling at his hair, his movements growing desperate. Cyra wanted nothing more than to stop him, to take him into her arms and wipe away his tears.
“Maybe I should have died instead of our parents,” he said, his voice breaking. “It’s obvious you don’t want to spend time with me anyway.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he turned and ran. Cyra didn’t even have time to reply. She instinctively reached out to grab his arm, but to no avail. Sanctus had already left the house, disappearing from sight.
When his footsteps finally faded into the distance, Cyra’s body went limp. She collapsed onto the sofa, all the strength suddenly draining from her.
For the first time in a very long while, she allowed herself to think about her parents.
All she wanted was to hug them.
They would have known what to do with Sanctus. Her brother was right—she was a poor excuse for a sister. She had spent so much time away from home, neglecting her brother so badly that he had begun to wonder whether she loved him at all.
And now, she was completely alone, and could feel the tears running down her burned cheek.
The sun had already set by the time Sanctus returned home.
Cyra had fallen asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, utterly exhausted after a long and stressful day of studying. And arguing with her brother had done little to help.
She woke with a start at the sound of footsteps. For a brief moment, fear seized her at the thought that a stranger might have entered the house. But her unease quickly faded when she realized the footsteps were coming from the roof. Only she and Sanctus knew how to reach it without falling.
Relieved that he had finally come home, Cyra quickly rose from her bed. She slipped into one of her nightgowns and made her way toward the balcony. Hidden among the ceramic pots and flowering plants was a small staircase leading up to the roof.
She climbed carefully, her movements still heavy with sleep.
When she reached the top, the entire Temple of Axon stretched before her. A little farther away, curled up at the edge of the roof, was the small figure of her brother.
Cyra approached him quietly and sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been spending much time with you, Sanctus… I truly am,” she said, breaking the silence. “But you need to understand that it’s the only way I can provide for us.”
Sanctus lifted his head from where it rested against his knees. Their eyes met, and Cyra saw the apology written plainly across his face.
“I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said those things.”
He hesitated for a moment before looking at her again. “I’m glad you’re my sister. And that you saved me from that fire.”
There was such sincerity in his eyes that Cyra felt her chest tighten. Without another word, she pulled him into her arms. Sanctus stiffened in surprise at first, but a moment later, he melted into her embrace.
“I couldn’t imagine leaving you behind,” Cyra whispered into his hair. The cool night air brushed gently against her face as the stars shone above them. For a while, neither of them spoke. It felt as though hours passed before they finally pulled apart.
Sanctus was the first to let go. He reached for something beside him, on the opposite side from Cyra. She soon realized what he was holding.
Two white masks.
“You do so much for me,” he explained, holding one out to her, “so I wanted to make something for you, too. With this, you can cover your burns, and people won’t give you those dirty looks anymore.”
He paused before adding, almost shyly, “I made one for myself, too. So everyone will know that I’m your brother.”
Cyra smiled as she accepted the mask from him.
Sanctus put on his own first. Two black, triangle-like shapes now stared back at her where his eyes had been only moments before.
Then Cyra slowly raised her own mask to her face. The smooth material brushed against her scarred skin almost affectionately.
As soon as it settled into place, reality seemed to grow more distant. Wearing the mask felt like stepping into another world, Cyra realized.
A world where only she and Sanctus could enter.