Ember set the candles in a circle and waited for someone to understand. The visions had been getting louder for weeks now, filling their head with images of strangers sitting together in flickering light, speaking truths they'd never told anyone. The festival would be simple. Just candles and secrets and the kind of quiet that let people be honest. But the woman who approached carried a lantern that made Ember's chest tighten. The flame inside burned black, writhing behind ornate ironwork like something caged. "I've seen it too," the woman said, her voice soft and certain. "The festival. The strangers. The secrets." She set the lantern down between them, and the black flame cast shadows that seemed to move on their own. "But in my vision, the secrets don't just get spoken. They get taken. Consumed." Ember stared at the dark fire and felt something shift in their understanding. The visions weren't just theirs anymore, and maybe they never had been. Ember knelt beside their candles and lit them one by one. The flames rose warm and steady, casting gentle light across the stones. "This is what I see," Ember said, gesturing to the circle. "People sitting together. The fire just listens. It doesn't judge or take anything away." The woman crouched across from them, the black lantern between her hands. "Maybe we're both right," she said. "Maybe the vision shows different things to different people." Ember watched the two flames, one warm and one dark, and knew the festival would never be as simple as they'd hoped. The woman stood, lifting her lantern. "When you hold it, you'll see what I mean." She walked away into the darkness, leaving Ember alone with a choice they hadn't known existed. Ember reached for the lantern but stopped. Their hands hung in the air above the iron handle. The black flame pulled at something inside them, promising a deeper truth. But if they touched it, they would see the festival the way the woman saw it. They would know what secrets looked like when they got consumed. Ember pulled their hands back and looked at their own candles instead. The warm light flickered but held steady. They blew out each flame slowly, one at a time, then stood and walked toward the tavern lights in the distance. The festival couldn't happen until they understood what it was supposed to be, and right now, they didn't know anymore.

Ember walked back to the tavern with the woman's words still ringing in their head. The candles were gone. The circle was dark. But the vision hadn't stopped, and that meant something. They pushed open the door and stood in the doorway, letting the noise wash over them. Three strangers sat at a corner table, arguing in low voices. Ember recognized the way they leaned forward, urgent and certain. One man gestured sharply as he spoke. "The festival happens at dawn. The visions showed me sunlight through colored glass, secrets spoken as the world wakes up." A woman shook her head. "No. Midnight. I saw stars and smoke, people whispering in total darkness. That's when truth comes out." The third stranger, younger than the others, stared at them both. "You're both wrong. It's dusk. The vision showed me the moment between day and night, when nothing's decided yet." Ember's chest tightened. They all sounded like Ember had sounded yesterday, absolutely sure. The strangers noticed Ember watching and fell silent. "You're the one who set up the candles," the woman said. "Tell them I'm right." Ember looked at their three faces and felt the weight of what they were asking. They wanted Ember to choose a version, to make one vision real and the others false. But Ember didn't know which one was true anymore, or if any of them were. "I don't know," Ember said, and the words felt like falling. The strangers looked at each other, confused, then stood and walked toward the door. "There's a bell tower past the square," the young one said. "We'll figure it out there." They left without asking Ember to come. Ember followed them through the square to the old bell tower. Inside, the three strangers had spread their evidence across the dusty floor. The man had sketches of candles arranged in a sunrise pattern. The woman had written down every word from her midnight vision. The young one held out a small obsidian stone with purple light glowing through its cracks. A flame was etched into its surface. "I found this the morning after my first vision," they said. "It proves the festival happens at dusk, when fire and shadow meet." The other two shook their heads, insisting their proof was stronger. Ember knelt and looked at all three pieces. The stone. The sketches. The written words. Each one felt true in a way that made the others seem wrong. "We can't all be right," the man said, his voice hard. "One of us has to be seeing it clearly." But Ember thought about the woman with the black flame lantern, how her vision had been completely different from Ember's and still somehow real. "What if none of us are wrong?" Ember said. "What if we're all seeing pieces?" The strangers went quiet. Then the young one with the stone set it down in the center of the floor. The woman placed her writings beside it. The man added his sketches last, reluctant but willing. Ember watched the three objects sitting together and felt something shift. The festival didn't need one version. It needed all of them, held at the same time without forcing them to match. "I'm building a bonfire tomorrow," Ember said. "Bring wood that means something to your vision. We'll let the fire hold all of it." The strangers looked at each other, uncertain but curious. They didn't agree on what the festival was, but they agreed to show up. Ember left the bell tower and walked back through the square. The visions were real. They were just bigger than Ember had thought, big enough to show different people different truths. The festival would begin, and Ember wouldn't have to understand it all before lighting the first flame.

Ember woke to the sound of footsteps on gravel. The bonfire wasn't built yet, but already someone was coming. They pulled on their coat and stepped outside. Corwin Grey stood at the edge of the square, arms crossed, watching Ember with the kind of look that said he'd been waiting. Corwin held up a rolled parchment. "They're calling it a summoning," he said. Ember walked closer and saw the word BEWARE printed across the top in thick letters. Below it, someone had drawn a candle and a bell. "Where did you get that?" Ember asked. Corwin unrolled it further. "There are three more posted in the square. People are saying you're calling something here. Something dangerous." Ember's chest tightened. They'd planned a festival, a bonfire where people could bring their visions and share them. But the word summoning made it sound like magic, like control, like something Ember never intended. "I'm not summoning anything," Ember said. Corwin didn't look convinced. "Then what are you doing?" Ember looked past him toward the empty square where the bonfire would be built. "I'm making space for what's already coming." Corwin rolled up the parchment slowly. "That's what worries me," he said. "You don't even know what it is, and you're still building the fire." He was right. Ember didn't know. But the visions felt real, and the strangers believed them, and the woman with the black flame lantern had seen them too. Corwin tucked the parchment under his arm. "I'll help you build it," he said. "But if this goes wrong, we stop it together." Ember nodded. For the first time since the visions started, someone was staying instead of walking away. The festival was still happening, but now Ember knew what people feared. Not the fire. What the fire might call. By the time the sun cleared the rooftops, a small crowd had gathered at the pine tree in the square. Ember recognized a few faces from the tavern, but most were strangers carrying baskets and bundles. They stood in a loose half-circle, watching. One woman clutched a cloth bag against her chest. A man beside her held firewood wrapped in twine. They didn't come closer. Corwin set down his tools and turned to face the crowd. "You're all here because you've seen something," he said. "Ember's giving you a place to bring it. That's all this is." A voice called out from the back. "That's not what the posters say." Murmurs spread through the group. Ember stepped forward. "I didn't write those," they said. "I'm building a bonfire for people who want to share what they've seen. If you're afraid of what might happen, don't come. But don't stop the people who need this." The crowd went quiet. Then the woman with the cloth bag stepped forward and set it down near the tree. "I brought pine needles," she said. "For dawn." The man with the firewood followed. "Oak," he said. "For midnight." One by one, others moved forward, setting down their offerings without speaking. Corwin watched them, then looked at Ember. "They're not here because they trust you," he said quietly. "They're here because they're desperate." Ember knew he was right. But desperate people still deserved a place to stand. The bonfire would be built by noon, and whether it was called a festival or a summoning, it would burn. Corwin helped Ember stack the wood while the crowd watched from a distance. Some people left their offerings and walked away. Others stayed, waiting to see what would happen next. A tall pole stood near the center of the square, hung with charms and trinkets that caught the morning light. People had been tying things to it all week, little prayers and wishes left for no one in particular. Corwin nodded toward it. "That's where they'll gather when you light it," he said. "Right there, where they can see the fire but stay far enough away to run." Ember looked at the pole, then at the bonfire taking shape. The festival had become something bigger than the candle circle. It wasn't just about sharing secrets anymore. It was about whether Ember could hold something sacred without controlling what it meant to everyone else. Corwin tied off the last bundle of wood and stepped back. "You've got your bonfire," he said. "Now you have to decide when to light it." Ember thought about the three strangers and

Ember stood beside the finished bonfire, watching the crowd grow. More people arrived every few minutes, some carrying offerings, others just watching. The sun climbed higher. Corwin had left an hour ago to get rope, and Ember was alone with the waiting. A stranger walked into the square carrying a wooden platform under one arm. He set it down near the bonfire and climbed on top. "This fire belongs to me," he said, his voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. He held up a small flame that hovered above his palm, flickering with colors Ember had never seen in ordinary fire. "I saw it in a vision three months ago. Every log. Every branch. I've been waiting for someone to build it." The crowd shifted toward him. People who had been watching Ember turned to face the stranger instead. Someone near the front nodded slowly, and others followed. Ember stepped forward. "You didn't build it," they said. "You didn't gather the wood or listen to the people who brought their visions here." The stranger smiled. "I don't need to build what already belongs to me." He gestured at the bonfire. "This is the fire from my vision. That makes it mine." More people moved closer to the platform. A woman lit candles and placed them in a circle around where the stranger stood, creating a new center in the square. Ember felt the crowd's attention slide away like water. The bonfire was still there, but it no longer belonged to the people who had built it. Ember looked at the flame in the stranger's hand, then at the bonfire. The visions had never promised the fire would stay sacred. They had only promised it would burn. Ember realized they had been protecting an idea that was never theirs to control. The festival could still happen, but not the way Ember had imagined. People would gather around whoever made them believe most strongly. Ember stepped back from the bonfire and let the stranger keep talking. The crowd followed his voice, and Ember walked to the edge of the square alone, carrying the weight of what they'd learned: belief could be built, but it could also be claimed.