The Rune of Iteration
Mira knelt in the ashen soil, her fingers brushing against the charred remnants of an ancient altar. The flames that should have obeyed her command now writhed like serpents, refusing to be tamed. A gust of wind carried the scent of scorched parchment and forgotten incantations. She whispered the old tongue, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her chest. The fire did not answer. Instead, a searing warmth bloomed across her palm, revealing a mark hidden beneath her skin-a rune older than memory itself.
The rune pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, its edges glowing faintly as if awakened from a long slumber. Mira clenched her fist, trying to suppress the strange energy coursing through her veins. The air thickened, pressing against her like a living thing. Somewhere in the distance, the ground trembled, and the sky darkened as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.
A sudden gust of wind snatched the hood from her robe, exposing her to the cold dawn. The rune flared brighter, casting jagged shadows across the valley. Mira's breath came in short gasps as the fire whispered-not in words, but in memories. She saw figures cloaked in ash, their faces obscured, moving toward a place she could not name.
The memories were not her own. They flickered like dying embers, showing a hall of mirrors where flames danced in impossible patterns. A voice echoed through the void-soft, familiar, and laced with sorrow. Mira staggered back, her vision blurring as the rune burned brighter. The ground split with a deafening crack, sending plumes of ash into the sky.
A distant rumble shook the valley, rattling the brittle remains of the altar. Mira pressed her palm against the earth, feeling the vibrations echo through her bones. The rune burned with a feverish light, casting flickering patterns across the ashen ground. Shadows stretched and twisted, forming shapes that did not belong to this world. A single word, spoken in a voice not her own, whispered through the silence-'Iterate.'