CH. 30 How to Set Your Blood on Fire （Accidentally）
I jolt awake.
The air is wrong.
My room is drowned in shadow, though the moon outside is bright enough to paint the walls silver. The candles I left burning are out, snuffed all at once — their smoke curling into faint, whispering shapes.
Something hums in the dark.
Low. Off-key. Familiar.
A lullaby.
My lullaby.
"Little star, little flame... sleep beneath the broken name..."
My heart stops.
I haven't heard that voice since I was eight — rough as gravel, sweet as honey, always followed by the smell of herbs and iron and something faintly burning.
"Grandmama?"
The word slips out before I can stop it.
And then I see her.
She stands by the window, her back to me, veil floating weightless like smoke in water. Her shadow stretches far too long across the floor, its fingers crawling toward my bed.
"Grandmama?" I whisper again, softer. "Is that—?"
"Come, Andromeda."
The sound of my name in her mouth makes my skin crawl. No one calls me that anymore.
Not even Aunt Agitha.
But my body moves before my mind can argue.
Barefoot, trembling, I step down the corridor.
The palace feels different — quieter than silence should be.
Every painting I pass has its eyes scratched out. Every torch flickers blue.
When I reach the outer door, I find myself standing in the forest.
No guards. No walls.
Only trees — black and skeletal — and that haunting hum threading through them.
I follow.
The mist thickens, swirling around my feet like it's alive. The moon overhead bleeds into crimson.
And there — in the clearing — she waits.
Grandmama.
Her form flickers like a candle behind fog — her face both there and not, her voice both whisper and thunder.
Her arms open slightly.
"You've forgotten the old ways, child."
I shake my head, taking a step back. "You're dead."
"Death doesn't end blood. It remembers."
Her eyes blaze, twin coals in the dark.
"You've played with toys — little potions, little poisons. But our craft runs deeper. It runs through the veins."
She gestures, and the air between us burns. The mist curls inward, and I feel the pull — a tug deep inside me, in the place where heartbeat meets hunger.
"Your blood," she says, "is the oldest fire. It feeds curses and births stars. But you've never learned to wake it."
The forest hums with her voice. The trees bend inward, listening.
"Say it with me, child. Khera vel'thir."
I try, my lips trembling. "K–Khera vel'thir."
"Now again. Let it know your name."
I whisper it a second time.
And a third.
The world tilts.
Heat blooms in my chest — first soft, then sharp, like liquid lightning under my skin. My veins glow faintly red beneath my wrists.
"Grandmama—!"
"Don't fight it."
Pain flares — molten, wild. The smell of iron fills the air.
My blood rises to the surface, beading along my palm. It hisses when it touches the air — faint smoke rising, then a spark.
Then a flame.
A tiny ember dances above my open hand, flickering with my pulse. My eyes widen, breath caught between awe and horror.
"It— it burns."
"It lives," she corrects. "And it obeys only will. Your blood is your command. Remember that."
The flame brightens, white-hot, almost sentient.
And then — just as quickly — it's gone.
So is she.
The forest collapses into darkness.
The hum fades.
The smell of mint and ash lingers.
I wake again.
This time, for real — heart pounding, sweat cold on my neck. My hand throbs faintly. When I lift it, I see it: a single thin line across my palm, glowing faintly red before fading.
I whisper the words, just to be sure.
"Khera vel'thir."
A spark leaps from my fingertip — brief, soft, gone.
I stare at my hand.
"Okay," I breathe shakily. "That's... new."
From somewhere beyond the walls, the Seer's bells begin to toll.
Dawn.
The summons for the next trial.
I blow out a slow breath, smiling faintly despite myself. "Well, Grandmama... guess I'll try not to burn anyone. Yet."