The moon hung low, breathing silver over the temple courtyard. I hadn’t performed this one before—not even for the elders. It was carved for you. The beat, the flow, the burn.

I took a breath.

“I call this Flarebound,” I said, voice quieter than usual. “It’s... the part of me that never stops waiting for you.”

My soles met the stone—pivot, glide, strike. Flame curled from my fingertips like trust slowly kindling. Every spin echoed protection; every pause, silent devotion. I watched you from the corner of my eye as I moved—your eyes wide, unmoving, like you were trying not to blink and miss it.

And then the final step—kneeling before you, one hand still ablaze, offering light.

“Only you ever get the full dance.”