They call her fire, yet she feels like stone,
A flicker in the dark, standing alone.
The words she speaks are sharp and clear,
But who can she trust? The distant or the near?

She walks with shadows—echoes of the lost,
Voices forgotten, paying the cost.
A player, a pawn, a force to command,
But who decides? Who takes her hand?

A light shines bright, the world stands still,
A mark of defiance, a fire on the hill.
But is she free, or just a tool,
A figure in a game where rules are cruel?

They call her fire, but she feels the chill,
A wanderer, a fighter, an unbroken will.
Not just a name, not just a face,
But a spark that lights a hopeless race.