Page 37 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

I needed to breathe. I needed somewhere that didn’t feel so heavy.

My feet knew the way before my thoughts caught up—past the stone path Eryn and I ran every day at the edge of the cliff, through the thinning trees and the crackling remains of autumn beneath my boots.

The wind sliced through my cloak like it had something to prove, and the sky above was darkening in that pale, cloud-covered way that warned of winter.

The field opened before me, just as it always had.

But it wasn’t the same.

The wildflowers were gone. No lavender tufts danced in the breeze, no golden petals smiled up at the sun.

Just withered stalks, brown and brittle, leaned toward the earth like they’d given up.

The grass was fading too, stiff and dry beneath the soles of my boots.

This place used to hum with life. Now it whispered only of endings.

And here—right here—I once stood at the cliff’s edge and wondered what it would feel like to fly.

Or maybe to fall. I just wanted to feel something bigger than the pain I carried.

Now the pain was all that was left.

Mother used to love when I picked her wildflowers.

I would come home, my hands stained with color, and Mother would pluck a flower from my bundle and place it behind my ear.

She would tell me it made me look like the spring itself had fallen in love with me.

I used to believe her. I used to believe a lot of things.

I saw it before I truly registered what it was—the simple cross of wood standing upright in the ground.

I froze.

A gust of wind curled around me, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My breath caught in my throat, and something inside me splintered. I stood in the once barren meadow, staring at Mother’s grave from a distance, my heart heavy with the desolation that surrounded me.

Winter could be so cruel.

Mother deserved to be buried in a beautiful place.

I closed my eyes, drew upon the depths of my Earth magic, feeling the vibrant energy that pulsed beneath my feet.

With a deep breath, I gently extended my hands toward the ground, envisioning the colors and life that once flourished in this place.

Slowly, a warm glow radiated from my fingertips, seeping into the dry soil.

The air trembled with a soft, melodic hum as they began to respond, stirring as if awakening from a long slumber.

I felt the familiar rush of energy coursing through me, amplifying with every heartbeat.

One by one, the wildflowers broke through the earth’s surface, their brilliant hues unfurling like joyous flags announcing the return of summer.

Delicate daisies, vibrant poppies, and fragrant lavender blossomed in an exquisite tapestry of color.

The grass, once brown and brittle, sprang to life, lush and green, creating a soft carpet beneath my feet.

As I watched, a smile spread across my face, my heart swelling with warmth.

The meadow erupted with the sounds of nature—the gentle rustling of grass in a whispering breeze and the sweet melodies of returning birds.

It was as if the land itself was rejoicing in my magic, celebrating the revival of life that I had so lovingly orchestrated.

I felt the connection between myself and the meadow strengthen.

The air was now perfumed with the sweet scent of blossoms. I felt a profound sense of peace, knowing I had breathed life back into a once-forgotten corner of the world, making it a haven of beauty once more.

I walked across the field and stopped at the cross.

My knees hit the ground. Cold grass bit into my palms as I crawled the last few steps and reached for the base of the cross, my fingers trembling.

I pressed my forehead against the wood.

“Mother,” I whispered. “Gods, I’m so sorry.”

The apology cracked something wide open. Tears spilled before I could stop them, hot and fast, soaking into the grass as if they could reach her somehow.

“If I could bring you back… I would. I’d trade anything,” I choked. “I’d burn every kingdom. I’d give up every ounce of magic—just to see you again. Just to hear your voice.”

The cold breeze seeped into my skin, but I didn’t care. I curled into myself, my body trembling with sobs I didn’t know how to swallow. Guilt sank its claws into my ribs and twisted.

“I didn’t know how to save you, I couldn’t heal you,” I cried. “And I’m so tired of being sad, tired of living this life without you. I wasn’t strong enough. I failed you. And I—I don’t know how to be without you.”

Mother’s life was like a river running home—wild, unstoppable, and destined. I laid my cheek to the soft earth as if I could listen for her heartbeat beneath it, but there was only silence.

And then—something shifted.

A spark flared low in my belly. My magic stirred.

It started as a buzz under my skin, like static crackling in my veins. Then heat rolled through me, pulsing like fire licking along my spine. My breath caught. The air shimmered. I could feel it. Magic, thick and alive. My magic, but also… not. It was ancient. Electric. Too big for my body.

“Flameborn.”

“Great, it’s you again,” I said out loud as I wiped my tears with my sleeve.

“Don’t cry, Flameborn. Everything happens as it should,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. It rumbled like thunder in a storm that hadn’t reached the shore.

I sat upright, still on my knees. “Who are you? I’m tired of you getting in my head, telling me to help you. Tell me who you are first.” I called aloud, though I knew it wasn’t coming from the outside.

No answer. Just a weight in my head. And then—

“I am no ghost, if that’s what you fear. I’ve watched you longer than you know.”

“Well, that’s a little creepy,” I said sarcastically.

He growled so loud in my mind, I felt my skull vibrate.

Alright, guess he doesn’t like jokes. “I am not afraid of ghosts, even if you were one,” I said back silently, and then continued.

“Who are you, so help me Morgath,” My hands clenched into fists.

“I am simply a guardian. Of a gate. A place where spirits pass and the old world remembers what the living forget.” The deep voice sounded like it was smiling now.

I gasped. “You said… you guard a gate?” My voice broke. “Can you bring her to me?”

A pause. Then, “Only if you forgive yourself first.”

The words hit like ice water.

“What?” I whispered.

“You are not worthy yet, Elara Valdusian Aehteron.”

Anger flared—raw, fast. “You think I don’t know that?!”

“You think shame makes you broken,” the voice countered, still calm. “But it only keeps you chained.”

“I don’t care,” I snapped, now only speaking to him out loud. “I want to see her. I need to.”

“And you will. One day. When the fire inside you stops eating itself and you free it.”

I pressed a shaking hand to my chest. That empty place where my heart used to be. “Then help me.”

Silence.

For a moment, I thought he’d left. That maybe I’d imagined all of it. Then the voice returned, quieter. Almost… gentle.

“Misundranaryan.”

I blinked. “What?”

“That is my name. Misundranaryan.” He said it like thunder trailing off a mountain. It felt ancient and vast—and a little smug.

“Meh-soon-dra-nare-ian?” I said, breaking his name apart to make sure I was saying it correctly.

He laughed at my attempt. “But you may call me Misun,” he added.

A strange sound slipped from my throat—half a sob, half a laugh. I wiped my face, shaking my head at the sky. “Well, Misun, will you ever tell me what you are? Or better yet, where are you?”

“If you need to ask, you shouldn’t know. And if you do not know, you are not worthy of asking.”

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy, are you kidding me?!”

I felt the magic leave me, and I knew that he wasn’t going to be speaking to me anymore tonight. And despite everything—despite the hole in my chest, the grave beneath my feet, the fire in my blood—I found myself smiling. Just a little.

“I’ll forgive myself,” I whispered. “I just… don’t know how yet.”

Shocked, I heard Misun one more time, very faintly, a whisper in the back of my mind. “Then that is where we begin.”

And the wind returned, curling gently around me like a promise. I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and leaned down, pressing my palm gently against the earth over Mother’s grave. “I’ll be back,” I whispered, though the words caught in my throat.

Then I stood, shoulders heavy but spine straight, and turned toward the woods.

The path through the trees felt familiar beneath my boots, worn smooth by memory.

I kept my eyes on the castle rising above the tree line—dark iron and stone and sharp towers like sentinels watching the world fall into winter.

I reached the main entrance, pushing through the heavy wooden doors instead of slipping in through the side halls.

As soon as I stepped inside, something struck me in the chest.

Panic.

But it wasn’t mine.

It hit like a wave—tightening my lungs, curling around my ribs. Desperation. Fear. And something far worse. Agony.

I froze in the center of the grand corridor, heart thundering. The palace was too quiet. The chandeliers above swayed slightly, the candles flickered unnaturally, as if the air itself trembled with warning.

My instincts flared.

Without thinking, I followed the pull—my magic attuned now, guiding me like a thread wound tight in my chest. I moved quickly, keeping to the marble edges of the hallway, my boots light, my hands flexed at my sides.

The feeling grew stronger. I passed the royal wing—and that’s when I heard it.

A scream.

A woman. “No!”

My blood turned to ice.

I broke into a run, the echo of her voice lodging itself like a blade beneath my ribs. The pain wasn’t just hers anymore. I felt it, sharp and overwhelming. Every step I took, her panic burned hotter in my veins.

Another hallway. A sharp turn. The screaming grew louder—clearer now.

“Stop! Please! No! I beg you!”