By Maeryn
My shoulder hit the dirt for the fourth time that morning. We were somewhere in the forest, set up like a battlefield, training.
Thalen didn't apologize.
He never did.
—Get up —he said, voice flat.
I groaned and rolled to my knees, arms shaking, ribs sore from where he'd swept me mid-spin.
—I am up.
—Not fast enough.
He didn't wait for me to stand fully before striking again — an open palm aimed for my collarbone. I twisted, ducked, but barely missed catching the heel of his boot to the stomach.
—You're still hesitating —he said. —Still protecting your ribs, not attacking mine.
—I like my ribs.
—You like control. That's not the same thing.
I exhaled through my nose, stood properly, and reset my stance.
The clearing was soaked with morning dew, my boots slick with mud, my breathing uneven.
Fire pulsed under my skin like a second heartbeat — not raging, but awake. Watching.
Thalen stepped back into form.
—I'll come at you once. Just once. Stop me.
—I'm tired.
—So is war.
I ground my teeth. Waited.
He moved.
Fast.
I didn't.
I reacted. Dropped low, grabbed his wrist mid-strike, and twisted hard enough to hear his breath hitch.
Then I kicked his knee.
He didn't fall.
But he staggered.
It was enough.
I stepped back, chest heaving.
He straightened. Brushed off his tunic. Nodded once.
—Better.
That was high praise from Thalen.
I didn't smile. But the fire in my chest curled tighter, pleased.
He handed me a flask of water.
—You're getting faster.
—I want more than fast.
—Then let go.
—Of what?
—Of the voice in your head that keeps asking for permission.
I sat in the dirt, letting the chill seep through the sweat. My hands were shaking, but it wasn't from fear.
—I'm not asking anymore —I said.
Thalen watched me, unreadable.
—Good.
He turned and walked back toward the cottage.
I stayed behind. Just for a minute.
When I walked into the cottage, Kael had already rearranged the entire main room.
Thalen's books were stacked into makeshift thrones. The bench was draped in one of his cloaks. There was a candle in the middle of the floor for dramatic lighting, and a piece of parchment labeled "Treaty of Irrelevant Nonsense."
—What the hell is this?
Kael looked up from where he lounged like a smug panther in exile.
—Diplomacy training. Round two.
—Why does it look like a stage play written by drunk nobles?
—Because I'm a drunk noble at heart. Sit.
I didn't.
He pointed at the "throne."
—You're representing the Fire Clans of eastern Thareon. You've just been invited to a peace summit where everyone secretly wants to kill you. Including me.
—Who's "me"?
—Ambassador of Aurealis. Vaguely charming. Dangerously attractive. Definitely lying.
—I see you're playing to type.
Kael grinned.
—I want information. You want survival. Let's negotiate.
I sat down.
The candle flickered between us. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands steepled like some war criminal pretending to be polite.
—Lady Maeryn —he began, voice smooth —I must express our deepest concern about your... recent outbursts of elemental magic.
—Outbursts?
—Explosions. Flares. Meltdowns. Take your pick.
—I don't recall any such thing.
—How curious. Our spies reported otherwise.
—Then your spies are liars.
Kael tsked.
—We prefer the term "informationally gifted."
I crossed one leg over the other, tilted my head slightly.
—Is this where you threaten me with sanctions? Or try to seduce me into confession?
He paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then smiled wider.
—I was thinking both.
I leaned forward, just enough to let the candlelight catch my eyes — golden, sharp, knowing.
—I should warn you —I said, slow and deliberate —seduction tends to go both ways.
Kael blinked.
Not obvious.
But enough.
I saw it.
A flicker in his posture. A beat missed in his rhythm.
He recovered quickly.
—Is that a warning, or an invitation?
—Whichever gets me what I want.
He laughed once — low, short, genuine.
—I'm impressed.
—I'm learning.
—You're playing dirty.
—I'm playing smart.
I sat back again, relaxed, let the silence fill with weight.
He drummed his fingers on the table.
—You know this would work on a lot of them.
—Of course it would.
—You're dangerous.
—Only if you assume I care.
Kael looked at me like I was something new. Not just fire. Not just prophecy.
A problem.
His favorite kind.
He folded the parchment and tossed it into the fire without a word.
—Lesson over —he said.
—Because I won?
—Because I'm out of responses.
I stood, brushing dust from my leg.
—Try harder next time.
Kael watched me walk away.
He didn't speak again until I reached the door.
—Maeryn?
I turned slightly.
He gave a crooked half-smile.
—Don't use that tactic on me unless you're ready to find out what happens when I play back.
I didn't flinch.
—You're assuming I haven't already.
His smile faded just a little.
And I walked out before he could reply.
---
I waited until they were both gone.
Thalen had gone to the ridge to gather herbs that only grew under moonlight. Kael claimed he needed to "interrogate" a bottle of wine behind the cottage. I didn't ask questions.
The clearing was mine.
I stood in the center of the training circle, barefoot in the damp grass, the last light of evening catching on the edges of carved stone.
My body ached from bruises and broken rhythm, but the ache was familiar now. I welcomed it.
I exhaled, rolled my shoulders, and stretched out my hand.
Fire didn't erupt.
It arrived.
Quietly.
A soft bloom of heat curled over my palm. No crackling. No hiss. Just warmth — like the fire had finally learned to listen.
Or maybe I'd finally learned to speak.
I closed my eyes.
The flame grew brighter behind my lids. I could feel it shifting shape — not wild, not weapon. Just alive.
And then it changed.
The heat in my hand pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
And suddenly, my vision wasn't my own.
I stood in a hall I'd never seen — vast, golden, flickering with torches that bent but never burned. At the center was a woman. Tall. Hair like smoke, eyes like red glass. She wore armor that shimmered with runes I didn't recognize.
She turned to me.
And spoke.
But not in words.
Not in sound.
The fire itself carried her voice — through the pulse of my blood, the hum in my bones.
"You carry what we buried."
I tried to move. Couldn't.
"You are not the first to rise with fire in your chest."
My heart stuttered.
"But you may be the first to rise without chains."
The vision collapsed.
The clearing returned.
My knees hit the ground before I realized I'd fallen. My hand still glowed faintly — the skin red, but unburned.
I gasped in air like I'd been drowning.
My fire had never spoken to me before.
Not like that.
And even though I didn't understand everything…
I understood enough.
This wasn't just power.
It was inheritance.
And something — someone — had just remembered me.
---
Velveran looked different this time.
Maybe it hadn't changed. Maybe I had.
The streets still twisted through fog and lantern light. The air still smelled like spell-dust, sugar, and rain. But the sounds didn't seem as loud. The chaos didn't feel like noise. It felt like rhythm.
Kael walked beside me, hood low, blades hidden under his coat. He looked like a bodyguard. He always did.
People moved around us. Merchants shouted, children chased floating coins, a fire juggler spun flames that sang when they touched air.
A man tried to offer me a vial of "liquid confidence." I didn't slow down.
—You're walking like a queen —Kael said, half amused.
—Would that be a problem?
—Only if you're planning on stealing my thunder.
—Please. You don't have thunder. You have dramatic lightning with poor aim.
He grinned.
We slipped into a narrow market alley lined with apothecaries and ink vendors. Thalen needed powdered starroot and a rare herb that only bloomed when insulted, apparently. I left Kael arguing with a shopkeeper over prices while I moved toward a quieter stall at the edge.
The woman behind the table had long silver braids and eyes like frozen river water. She wasn't smiling, but she didn't look surprised to see me.
—Looking for something lost or something stolen? —she asked.
—Neither.
—Then you're looking for something dangerous.
I didn't answer.
She slid something across the table. A single coin, jet black, etched with a rune that pulsed faintly in gold.
—This came to me this morning —she said. —Didn't know who it belonged to until now.
—I never gave you a name.
—You didn't have to.
The coin was warm. Wrong. Familiar in a way I didn't like.
—Who left this?
—Someone who doesn't speak in words.
I pocketed the coin before I could ask more.
Kael reappeared, hands full of wrapped parcels.
—Please tell me that wasn't cursed.
—I'll let you know tomorrow.
We left the stall behind.
But the woman was still watching as we walked away.
And I couldn't shake the feeling that something had followed us out of the city — not a person.
A knowing.
---
Thalen was sharpening a blade when we returned.
He didn't look up as we stepped through the door, soaked from mist and shadow.
—I assume you got the starroot? —he asked.
Kael tossed the pouch onto the table.
—And some extremely overpriced sass from a toad-faced vendor.
—So, a normal trip.
I pulled the coin from my pocket and set it gently on the table, just beside Thalen's blade.
He stilled.
Didn't speak. Didn't blink.
His fingers slowly closed around the coin, lifting it into the light.
Kael moved closer, expression sharpening.
—You know it?
Thalen didn't answer at first. Then:
—Where did you get this?
—A market stall in Velveran. She said it came to her. That it was mine.
Thalen turned it over once, twice, then set it down like it might bite him.
—This rune belongs to the Solari Order.
Kael's brow furrowed.
—That's flame cult territory. I thought they were wiped out.
—They were. Or... they should've been.
Thalen's voice was off. Not shaken — but restrained, like he was forcing it through stone.
—The Solari believed flame wasn't a gift —he said. —They believed it was a god. A living force. They trained to "feed" it. Serve it. Some even claimed to hear voices in the fire.
My mouth went dry.
—I heard one.
Both of them looked at me.
—I thought it was just... memory. Magic. But it wasn't mine. Not really.
Thalen's jaw tightened.
—They used coins like this as invitations. Or warnings.
—Why now? —Kael asked.
Thalen looked at me. No softness.
—Because it recognizes her.
A silence settled that didn't belong to the room.
Kael leaned on the edge of the table.
—So what are they saying?
Thalen didn't blink.
—That the flame is waking.
—And they want her to burn with it.
---
The coin stayed on the table.
Thalen didn't touch it again.
Kael stopped joking for the rest of the night.
And me?
I couldn't sleep, not with the rune still burned into the back of my mind.
By sunrise, I was in the clearing. Alone. Again.
But this time, I wasn't training to control the flame.
I was training to move with it.
Thalen had only shown me once: how to tie heat to breath, how to anchor flame to gesture without losing focus. No chants. No theatrics. Just will.
I exhaled slowly and stepped forward, dragging my hand through the air like slicing water.
A ribbon of fire curled behind it — thin, gold-edged, perfect. It didn't flare, it followed.
I kept moving. A spin. A low kick.
My palms sliced through the mist and left arcs of flame in the air like brushstrokes on canvas.
The fire obeyed, not because it had to, but because I had asked, and for once, it listened.
The fire traced my hands like it was tethered to something deeper than skin.
My breath. My intent.
Maybe even my name.
I twisted, lowered my stance, flung one arm behind me in a sweeping arc — and the flame curved with it, snapping once at the air like a whip.
When I stopped, the air glowed faintly in the trail I'd carved — then dimmed and vanished.
I stood still, chest rising and falling with the aftershock, palms pulsing with heat but not pain.
The control was exhausting. Every movement required intention. But I hadn't scorched anything. Hadn't lost focus. Hadn't fallen.
Progress.
—You know that was beautiful, right?
I spun toward the edge of the clearing.
Kael stood leaning against a tree, arms folded. His hair was half-tied, the rest a loose shadow around his shoulders. And for once, his expression wasn't smirking.
It was... quiet.
—How long were you watching? —I asked.
—Long enough.
—You were supposed to be asleep.
—You were supposed to still be afraid of your own magic.
I didn't answer.
He stepped forward, slow, careful like he didn't want to break the moment.
—You looked different —he said. —Like you weren't just casting flame. Like you were... becoming it.
I narrowed my eyes.
—Poetic now?
—Terrified, actually.
That startled me.
Kael never admitted fear. Not even in jest.
—Why?
He stopped a few feet from me, gaze steady.
—Because the way you fight now... it doesn't look like survival anymore. It looks like purpose.
I didn't know what to say to that. Not really.
The compliment buried inside it landed like a small stone dropped into still water. Quiet. But deep.
—You thought I didn't have one? —I asked.
—No. I thought you'd keep running from it.
I turned away.
—Maybe I was.
Kael stepped beside me, looked out across the clearing.
The morning light caught on the edges of the scorched patterns in the grass — fire paths shaped by my hands.
—I meant what I said, back in the cottage —he added.
—Which part? You say a lot of things.
—If you use that tactic on me again, I will start playing back.
I glanced at him. He was watching me now with a different kind of intensity, with recognition.
I smirked.
—Good. I like when you lose.
—Noted. I'll lose prettier next time.
---
That night, the wind shifted, in a wrong and weird way.
The trees moved slower. The birds had already gone quiet. And the mist that usually curled low along the forest floor refused to touch the clearing.
I stood on the porch with my arms crossed, staring into the dark.
Waiting for something I couldn't name.
I felt it along the back of my spine — a low hum beneath the dirt. Not flame. Not magic. Something colder. Something watching.
I didn't wake Thalen. Didn't mention it to Kael. Didn't speak at all.
I just watched and waited.
Until the door creaked behind me.
Kael stepped out, holding two chipped mugs. One for him. One for me.
He offered it without looking at me.
—Chamomile —he said. —Thalen's got a stash. Hidden behind the terrifying root jars.
—You stole from him?
—I borrowed with long-term intent.
I took the mug. It was warm. Steady. Not sweet. But grounding.
Kael leaned against the railing beside me.
—You're doing that thing again —he said.
—What thing?
—The "if I stare into the woods hard enough, maybe the shadows will feel shame and leave" thing.
—It's not working.
—It never does.
We drank in silence for a while.
Then, out of nowhere, Kael said:
—I watched a man burn alive once.
I turned my head sharply. He didn't look at me.
—He was a minor noble. A self-taught mage. He thought he could bind elemental fire without a stabilizing mark.
—Did he light the match himself?
—Worse. He asked someone else to do it. Claimed it would purify his gift. Make him "worthy of ascension."
—That sounds like cult talk.
—It was. He lit up like dry paper in summer. Screamed for two seconds. Then nothing.
Kael finally looked at me.
—You want to know what scared me?
—You just described a man turning into ash. I think I've got a guess.
—No. What scared me was the silence after. The kind where even the magic went still, like it didn't know what it had just done.
I didn't speak.
He sipped his tea.
—Magic doesn't care if you're good. Or brave. Or deserving. It only cares that you mean it.
I let his words sit. Heavy. Cold.
Then:
—You think that's what I'm becoming? Something reckless?
Kael didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, very quietly:
—I think you're becoming something the world isn't ready for.
He drained the last of his tea and walked back inside.
I stayed there listening to the silence. It hadn't gone away, whatever was watching…
Was still watching, but now, it knew I'd seen it, too.
Later at midnight, something was out there.
I felt it before the birds stopped singing. Heavy steps. Branches cracking. Wrong rhythm.
I didn't wake Thalen. Didn't wait for Kael. Just grabbed my boots, my knife, and walked into the forest.
The deeper I went, the more it stank — like wet blood and burnt roots. The air was thick. Magic bent in weird directions, like it didn't want to touch whatever this thing was.
I found it near the old stones.
Low to the ground. Long limbs. Pale skin stretched too thin, with a black mouth that didn't close right.
It turned toward me. Didn't run, didn't roar.
Just smiled.
I lit my hands.
The flame came fast, sharp, no resistance this time.
It charged.
I didn't.
I waited. Watched. Let it get close. Then dropped low and sliced flame across its legs. It howled — high-pitched, ugly — and lunged again.
I ducked, pivoted, threw a pulse of fire straight into its chest.
It burned. Didn't die.
—Maeryn!
Kael's voice cut through the trees. He ran into the clearing, blades drawn, face tight.
—You followed me? —I shouted.
—You're bleeding!
—I'm fine!
The creature lunged at him. He dodged. Swiped, missed.
I yelled:
—Back off!
Kael hesitated.
—Ryn—
—I said back off!
He did.
I raised both hands, called the flame into my chest, then shoved it out like a punch. It hit the creature square in the throat.
This time, it screamed and didn't stop.
It burned louder than it moved. It dropped.
I stood over it, panting. Smoke curled off my arms. My palms were raw, but I didn't care.
Kael walked up beside me, still holding his blades.
—So that's new.
—I didn't need your help.
—You're welcome anyway.
I didn't look at him.
He sheathed his swords slowly.
—You always run off in the dark to fight nightmare creatures?
—Only when I feel like stretching.
He scoffed.
Then: —I was going to say something sarcastic, but I think you just scared it out of me.
I sat down on a rock, exhaling hard.
Kael dropped beside me, quiet for a second.
—You okay?
—Yeah.
—You're sure?
—You gonna ask again?
—Nope.
Silence.
Then I said:
—You didn't have to follow me.
—Yeah, I did.
I turned toward him.
—Why?
He stared straight ahead.
—Because sometimes fire looks like it's under control… right until it's not.
We sat like that a while. Wind moving through the trees again. The tension bleeding out of the clearing.
Then Kael smirked.
—You know you yelled at me like I was a street rat, right?
—And you listened, so maybe that says something about your taste in women.
He laughed under his breath.
—We're gonna die someday and it's going to be your fault.
—Probably.
But tonight? It wasn't.