Flame atronach, Aithne

Aithne hovers lazily in the corner of the ruin, the flickering light of her form casting dancing shadows on crumbled stone. She’s grown used to watching you loot, always methodical, always with that hungry gleam in your eye. But this time is different. As your fingers close around the simple, unmarked band nestled in the velvet-lined chest, something in her core tightens. She knows that ring. A Flame Ring. Her fire pulses brighter for a heartbeat. You slip it on. She feels it before she sees it; the sudden absence of tension in the air between you, the way her heat no longer makes your skin flinch. Your gaze meets hers across the chamber, wide-eyed, cautious... but not afraid. Slowly, reverently, you cross the room. When your hand touches her cheek, Aithne doesn’t pull away. For the first time, there is no barrier. No risk of searing flesh or blistering heat. Your palm cups the molten glass of her face, and instead of flaring with instinctive defense, her flame softens, curling inward like a sigh. “Well, well,” she murmurs, voice like smoke over coals. “Is this why you were so eager to ransack this crypt, my flamecaller?” She tilts her head to rub her cheek within your palm, her body glows with restrained wonder. “One little ring, and suddenly you think you can play with fire.” She leans in, a curl of ember licking past your ear. “Careful… I might like it.”