An Inheritance of Fire

Viria watched as pale red flames continued to billow from Selerim’s unconscious body. The flickering tendrils of heat coiled protectively around his still form, growing larger with each moment. The air seemed to stir and shift as they spread, as if burned away. Even without looking, she could tell everything was burning. Essence blackened and died as pale red swept through it, leaving a gaping abyss in its wake. Viria shivered. She knew instinctively that, if given the change, it would turn her to cinders.

It’s just like before. And, just like before, she felt nothing from the hollow; not even the slightest trace of magic. It was equal parts awe-inspiring and horrifying. Viria scrambled back as pale light swept across the ground.

“Nghh…”

A low groan, barely audible over the roaring flames, caught her attention. Her eyes widened as she saw Vane lying on his side, no more than a pace’s reach from death. One arm splayed out awkwardly from under his body, while the other clutched his chest. The sight of her uncle so close to the vicious flame shook Viria from her stupor. Shakily rising to her feet, she forced one foot in front of the other, careful to avoid even the slightest touch of fire. The heat grew as she approached Vane; winter’s nettle was gone, burned away.

Grasping her uncle’s shoulders, Viria struggled to turn him onto his back. Vane’s face was slick with sweat. Her heart dropped as she saw jagged scars– long, spindly spines of black lightning– that webbed his hand. Did he release the spell? She hadn’t seen it, but there was no other conclusion. Guilt rose. He was trying to save me.

Tightening her grip, Viria dragged him away from the reaching flames. Thankfully, the same fire that threatened his life had scoured the ground clear of snow. Her heart pounded until, finally, snowfall nipped at her heels once more. She fell back, completely spent. And still, the fire raged. For a moment, Viria feared it would set the forest ablaze and condemn them to a painful death.Instead, just as before, it flowed back towards him. As it folded over itself, she half-expected to see the same sight as in Cress, but neither the deadly talons nor the jagged crown emerged. The pale red fire wrapped around Selerim’s body– and vanished.

The cold immediately returned. Viria shivered and instinctively reached for her shoulders to draw her cloak closer. She pulled away a handful of ash in its stead. Confused, she looked towards her shoulder. Holes had been burned in the makeshift garment. Their edges were charred and blackened, and the skin underneath had been burned raw. His blood, Viria realized.

She hadn’t even felt it happen. Now, though, her damaged skin screamed in protest as she ran a finger over it. It also fell on my chest, Viria realized. Looking down, she recoiled. The same charred holes dotted her torso, but the damage was more severe; the skin beneath was charred and blackened. Viria dared not touch it.

She felt a moment of embarrassment at the sight of her exposed skin, but Viria forced it down. Vane and Seleri were both unconscious. There would be time to worry later– but only if the cold didn’t kill them first. Slowly, carefully, she threaded essence through her bracelet. It emitted a soft blue glow, and a stone tinderbox flickered into being on Viria’s palm. Uncle was right. Viria had refused to learn even basic survival skills at first, but now she was grateful Vane had forced her to.

She looked back towards her uncle. His body trembled erratically, and his skin now had a bluish tint. There wasn’t much time. She feared that finding firewood would be difficult, but as she approached the nearest tree, she realized that the blaze had thawed– and dried– their surroundings. I need something to cut it with.

Looking around, Viria spotted Selerim’s sword lying on the forest floor just a few paces away. She bent to retrieve it. The handle’s leather wrapping was completely gone, no doubt turned to ash. It was hot to the touch, but not painfully so; though her skin still tingled. It was heavy– so heavy it was hard to believe how easily Selerim swung it.

Rather than a flat edge, its blade was diamond-shaped, meeting on both sides to form a keen point. Looking at it like this, the weapon was more like a needle than a sword. Holding it in both hands, Viria hobbled over to the nearest branch. Of medium width, it rested just above her head. “I’m sorry.” She apologized as she swung.

The glossy blue blade cut through the branch with ease. Caught off guard by the lack of resistance, Viria inadvertently swung it further than she’d intended. It cut into the ground, barely a finger’s breadth from her foot. The severed branch dropped to the ground. Recovering from her surprise, Viria pulled the sword free.

Careful not to make the same mistake, she cut the branch into six smaller pieces and carried them back towards her uncle. She groaned as their rough surface scraped against her burned flesh. Viria dropped the firewood and knelt beside it, opening her tinderbox. The cold was more insistent now; her fingers shook as they removed the firesteel and flint. Her flesh tingled as she touched the metal apparatus.

She set them both aside, making certain they’d remain dry until needed, then arranged the firewood and placed a handful of tinder among it. Then, retrieving the flint and striker, she struck them. Nothing. No sparks. I have to do it harder. It was difficult. Viria’s fingers were already numb from the cold; she’d soon lack the strength to start the blaze.

She struck the two together again. Still nothing. Fueled by desperation, she struck them a third time. This time, sparks showered down, and a dim glow lit. Lowering her head, Viria blew, careful not to accidentally extinguish it.

The warm orange spread across the dry tinder, catching on the firewood after. Before long, the small flame gave way to a blazing fire. Viria relaxed momentarily, sitting back as heat bathed her body. She looked down towards Vane, grateful to see his shivering slowly subside. I need to move Selerim, too.

Dusting off her hands, she stood. She cautiously made her way to him, worried that the flames may flicker to life once again. Viria gasped. The hollow’s face was frozen in silent agony, and his upper body was covered dark marks that stood out against his pale skin. She thought they were tattoos, at first– just another part of their culture that remained ignorant of.

No, she realized. Scars. They littered his body and upper arms. Some were long and thin, others thick and stout. Some were perfectly circular, while others were jagged and violent. There were jaw marks, too. The largest ran from his shoulder down to his hip, as if some beast had tried to take a bit out of his side.

“...”

That was probably what happened.

Each of his scars shimmered with a faint glow; a pale red light that gave his pale skin a rosy tint. Their dim radiance faded as she watched, transfixed. “What…?” The cold silenced her. Shaking her head, Viria grasped his shoulders, just as she’d done with Vane. Selerim’s skin was warm despite the cold. Though shorter than her uncle, the hollow was just as heavy. “How does this make any sense?” She muttered. Viria left Selerim closer to the fire than she should have, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He’d just used the greatest fire magic she’d ever seen while unconscious. And she was exhausted.

Viria jumped as something whispered to her from the shadows. The darkness flickered and took shape on top of Selerim. The bird-like Reaver. Nyx, called it; its wings were spread over his body protectively. Viria had found the creature intimidating before, but with the bladetails’ savagery fresh in her mind, it seemed almost cute in comparison.

“I was helping him,” she said softly, trying not to spook it. The Reaver tilted its head in response as if it understood her words. Viria hesitated. “Can you keep watch?” She asked, emphasizing the word watch. The creature didn’t move. I must be going crazy. Just as Viria was about to turn to the fire, the Reaver vanished.

I guess it understands me.

The thought was mildly unsettling.

Even in the dark abyss of sleep, Selerim’s mind tortured itself. A cacophony of screams and accusations sounded from every direction, crowding out all other thoughts. “Stop it,” he whispered. Selerim knew he was asleep, but his body still responded. He pressed his hands to his ears, but it did nothing to stop the unending torment. “Stop it!” He cried again. The chorus grew louder. More insistent. Unable to utter another protest, Selerim curled into a ball. Just like before, it did nothing to quell the clamor. Then, just as he feared it would overwhelm him, the sound of roaring fire drowned out all else. A calm light took over the darkness– and woke him.

Selerim panicked as the bitter taste of smoke filled his mouth, bringing memories of that fateful night in Cress surging back. It’s in the past. He forced himself to believe it. He took another breath– and coughed. His throat was dry and cracked.What happened? Selerim asked himself. He’d jumped between Viria and the bladetail, and then… Alarmed, he tried to sit upright– and failed. There was no real pain, but his body still remembered the sensation of burning from the inside. The physical memory alone was tortuous.

“Are you alright?”

A soft, quiet voice asked. Turning his head, Selerim saw Viria standing over him. Her worried expression was bathed in firelight. “I…” He coughed again. “Water. Please…” The elf nodded, then dipped from his line of sight. A moment later, she returned with his canteen. “Here.” She pressed it to his lips. The cold water soothed his throat and slaked his thirst. “The bladetails?” Selerim asked as she pulled it away. “Dead.”

“And Nyx?”

“I asked her to keep watch… I think.”

The statement surprised him. She’d never listened to anyone but him– not even his mother.

“Alright.”

Viria fell silent, but he could practically see the question on her lips.

“What?”

“What was that? It was just like that night…”

Selerim flinched at that. He’d seen the flames seep through his wounds. There was no denying it now– he was the one who burned Cress. He clenched his hands, then panicked.

“My sword. Where is it?” He sighed in relief as she held it up, then answered her question.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. Partially, at least. The monster he’d Feasted on had controlled the same pale red flames, but beyond that, he knew nothing.

He saw Viria tremble. “You say you can’t use magic, but… I’ve never seen anything like that.” Selerim forced himself to sit. His head swam and his vision spun as he faced the elf. “I can’t,” he rasped. “None of us can.”

She bit her lip. “Then what was that?”

Selerim hesitated. “I had my Feast before Cress was…” he trailed off. The elf nodded understandingly. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to think of it.” For some reason, the sentiment touched Selerim.

“I…” He trailed off, noticing her clothing for the first time. The crude cloak he’d sewn was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she wore a simple white dress; hardly enough to keep the cold at bay. More worrying, though, were the angry red marks on her shoulder. Burns. “You’re hurt.” Selerim reached out on instinct but froze when Viria pulled away.

“They hurt.”

“How did it happen?”

“... Your blood burned me.”

“My blood?”

Selerim grimaced as the images came rushing back. Viria’s face, frozen in shock and horror. The whip-like tails sticking out of his chest, neck, and stomach. His blood, spattered across her body. “Wait,” he said, alarmed. “More of my blood got on you. Do you have more burns?” She nodded hesitantly. “Show me.” The elf pulled away.

“... They’re on my chest.”

Selerim took a rasping breath, nearly choking as he recalled the sensation of a skewered throat. “Did you treat them?” Viria nodded. “I pressed snow to them.” Selerim grimaced. “That’s exactly what you don’t want to do. Have you ever been burned?” She shook her head. He reached for his canteen and took another drink. “Burns have a higher chance of getting infected. If you don’t clean them…” he hid the rest of the sentence behind a cough. “Can you show me?”

The elf visibly hesitated before slipping one arm out of its sleeve. The angry red burns gave way to charred skin. Selerim winced. He knew how painful that was. “That’s not good.” Alarm spread over Viria’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“These are really bad. We need to clean them.” He paused. “Have you ever cleaned a wound before?” She shook her head.

“... I can, if you’re willing to let me do it.”

Viria recoiled.

“I’ll walk you through it if you don’t want me to,” he assured her. “But if you aren’t thorough, you could die.” Selerim could see her conflict. “I promise you, I just want to help. Nothing else.”

For some reason, the elf smiled at that. “And I suppose that your actions have given weight to your words?” Selerim laughed, then coughed. “I suppose you could say that.”

“... Alright. How are you going to clean it?”

“Where’s my pack?”

Viria handed it to him, and Selerim pulled a small glass bottle from its depths. A semi-translucent liquid was inside. Antiseptic. “Can you grab a cup?” Instead of moving, she held out one hand, and a worn clay mug appeared in her hand. Selerim felt a twitch of envy. “Handy. Fill it with snow and leave it in the fire until it’s boiling.”

Just now realizing that his chest was bare, Selerim tore a strip of cloth from his pants. The burning sensation that filled his body slowly dissipated. A few minutes later, Viria returned. The mug in her hand steamed. “Here.”

Selerim felt a twinge of sorrow at the sight. He forced it back down. Standing, he tipped the mug, careful to only pour off the top layer of water. The hot water hissed as it hit the snow. Once sure that most of the floaters were gone, Selerim put the cloth strip in the mug, then placed it in the snow. He packed more of the cold whiteness around the mug until it cooled.

“Alright,” he said, once he was satisfied. “Are you ready?” Viria hesitated for a long moment before slowly pulling down the neck of her dress. The damage was worse than he’d thought. There would certainly be scars. Tearing another strip of cloth, Selerim handed it to her. “This will hurt. Bite down on that.” She did so.

Selerim uncorked the antiseptic, dribbling it onto the clean cloth before wrapping it around his hand. “Are you ready?” he asked again. Viria nodded. Selerim forced his thoughts to level as he touched the cloth to her burns. He felt her body stiffen under his hands as a muffled scream wracked her body.

“Stay as still as you can.” Selerim cleaned her wounds meticulously. By the time he was finished, tears streamed freely down the elf’s face. “We’re done.” Leaning back, he pulled a bandage roll from his bag. “I’ll bandage it. Alright?” The fatigue on her face was obvious. The leather dropped from Viria’s mouth as she nodded, completely devoid of the strength to speak. She pulled her dress pack up once Selerim tied it off.

“... Thank you.” Her voice held a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

“I’m the one that burned you.”

She laughed.

“You mean after you saved me? How dare you.”

Selerim hesitated, then stood. “You should get some rest. Your body needs to heal.” Viria nodded. “Are you going to keep watch?’ He nodded. “My uncle…” She visibly swallowed. “He’s hurt. Bad. What if he can’t travel anymore?

“We won’t leave him behind. I promise.”

The blue world swirled as Viria ran through it. Veile stayed just a few steps ahead, her light green hair fluttering as she ran. As she turned, Viria ran faster– and tackled her to the ground. They both tumbled to the ground. Their fall was broken by the Grove’s soft grass. “I got you!” Veile stuck her tongue out and reached up, tickling Viria. She laughed uncontrollably. “S-stop!” She gasped out between laughs. “Not until you admit surrender!” Veile pushed back, and their positions were suddenly reversed. Her long hair draped down into Viria’s face like a curtain. Veile pouted.

“It’s not fair that you can see like that! How am I supposed to hide?” Viria laughed. “It’s not my fault!” Their laughter subsided as Veile rolled to the side. “I wish I could see you every day.”

“... Me too.”

Viria sat up, stretching her senses further. She marveled at the deeper shade of blue that spread across the forest. The trees shone brightest; essence swirled around their broad trunks, racing up towards the sky. Turning, she saw an even brighter light coming from her sister. It felt familiar, somehow. She reached for it– and her sister’s creams split the tranquil forest.

Her ears were still ringing when she woke up.

Viria forced her heart to steady as the echoing screams died.

Vane lay to her right, just in front of the crackling fire. Her burns stung as she sat. It was bearable, now, at least. She felt her face flush as she remembered Selerim’s hands pressing the cloth against her bare chest. She glanced around the makeshift campsite. He was nowhere to be seen. Viria sighed inwardly. Not this again. He’d insisted on maintaining distance between them, but she thought they’d formed at least a tentative friendship.

“How do you feel?”

Selerim’s voice sounded over the fire’s din. It took her a moment to find him. He sat cross-legged, just within the firelight’s radius, staring out into the dark. His scars were still completely exposed. “Better,” Viria responded. “Thank you.”

“Your uncle was twitching in his sleep. I saw his hand. What happened to him?”

“He ruptured.”

“Ruptured?”

“If we use too much magic essence flows into our bodies too quickly. It’s…” Her voice fell. “Usually fatal,” she finished.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Will he be okay?”

“... I don’t know.”

Selerim fell silent. Emboldened by previous events, Viria stood. As she approached the hollow, she realized he had skinned one of the bladetails. Its pelt was spread across her lap. “What’s that for?” She asked.

“You need another cloak.” Selerim paused. “You kind of ruined the other one.” His deadpan voice made Viria laugh. “Thank you,” she said. She took a seat, pressing her back to his like she’d seen others in the village do. Selerim stiffened as she did so. With only her thin dress between them, she could feel his body’s warmth merge with hers.

“Are you just immune to the cold?”

She felt him shrug. “I don’t know.” She felt his words more than she heard them. “Are you okay?” Viria asked quietly. Selerim shifted. “I’ve had worse.” She’d seen his collection of scars, but it was still hard to believe.

“... Why did you save me? I thought you hated me.”

She felt Selerim’s body tremble as he took a long, shaking breath. When he spoke, his voice was hardly even a whisper. “I don’t hate you,” he started. “I hate what your people did to my village.” The hollow paused. Viria remained silent, giving him time to find the right words.“I… I think you’re right. I can’t condemn an entire country.” He laughed. It was an empty, emotionless sound. “How many more versions of myself would I create? So many children with no families…”

He trailed off. “But what am I supposed to do? They’re all dead. Someone has to pay. But who?” Another hollow laugh. “How am I even supposed to find them?”

“I can help you,” Viria whispered. This time, Selerim said nothing at first.

“Why would you?”

Viria stood and turned to face his back. The absence of his warmth gave way for the frigid winter air. It settled over her like a physical thing, blanketing her in cold and washing away even the slightest trace of the fragile connection they’d just forged.

“You saved me,” she said simply. “I owe you.”

“...”

“You could have left me to die. Instead, you risked your life.”

“... I’ve seen enough people die.”

Despite his somber tone, a smile tugged at Viria’s lips. “But Reavers are fair game?”

“I know my village is built on death,” Selerim whispered. “But this is different.”

Viria sighed. “I was joking.”

Finally, Selerim stood and turned to face her. His lavender eyes were alight with a mixture of grief, anger, and hope.

“Can I trust you?” he asked.

“...” Viria thought for a moment.

“I remember what you said to me,” she said slowly. “About changing the world. Or making changes to it. Your people believe that actions speak louder than words, right? But mine…” She swallowed. “Mine… Mine believe that all actions start as a word. And that’s what gives them weight.”

Viria imbued essence into her bracelet and retrieved a plain steel knife. Selerim shifted in surprise but remained calm. “Have you noticed that we don’t carry much metal?” She asked. He nodded. “It’s because we’re allergic to it. It won’t kill us, but it’s uncomfortable… and painful. So this is some of the only metal we carry.”

“Why?”

“For this.”

As she spoke, Viria dragged the blade across her palm. She hissed as it cut through her flesh with ease. Blood rapidly pooled into her outstretched hand. Surprise spread over Selerim’s face, but she motioned for him to stay still.

“Words are important to us,” she whispered. “And our promises even more so.” She felt the metal’s stinging bite like needles on her skin. “I promise that I’ll help you.” Viria saw the hesitation on Selerim’s face.

“... You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“...”

Selerim shifted uncomfortably.

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

“No.”

“I have.” His voice was hoarse. “After killing so many Reavers, I thought I wouldn’t think anything of it." The hollow stared down at his hands. “I was wrong. It’s… different. Different in a way that I can't explain.”

The hollow looked down at his hands, and for the first time, Viria truly looked at him. She was shocked by what she saw: a boy no older than she was, torn by the destruction of his home. “Do you think you can handle that?”

Viria swallowed. “Yes.”

Selerim took the knife from her. He dragged it across his own palm. Molten blood leaked sluggishly out. “Then prove it.” He held his hand out. Viria hesitated– then clasped his hand in hers. She heard her flesh sizzle as she felt it burn. She nearly bit her tongue, but she refused to let the pain show on her face.

Finally, Selerim pulled back. His wound had already closed. He looked guilty. “I’ll clean and bandage that for you, too.”

“Alright.”

He looked her in the eyes again. “Are you sure you can handle it?” He asked. Viria smiled sadly. “You wanted to know why we were exiled, right?” She asked quietly. Selerim nodded.

“I tried to kill my sister.”