Page 7 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

“Except, you aren’t my real parents, are you?

!” My voice rose, sharp and filled with anguish.

“You both lied to me! For twenty-seven cursed years! How could you do this? Did you suppress my magic with your tonics? Where are my pointed ears?!” My heart ached as I grappled with the reality of my existence, now splintered into chaos.

“Wh-what? No! Not your magic, Elara. I could never betray you like that.” Her voice trembled, a fragile whisper caught between hope and despair.

“You just… haven’t received it yet. I was hoping that once I revealed the truth to you, your magic would finally begin to awaken.

But… your ears,” she said, swallowing hard, her sorrow palpable in the air around us.

“Ah, yes, the pointed Fae ears. You did take those, didn’t you?” I responded, my tone laced with a mix of sarcasm and resignation.

“I’m so sorry… It’s just a tonic! You can learn to hide them yourself. Please, Elara, forgive us,” she pleaded, her desperation evident as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Suddenly, something unholy surged through my body—raw, electric, and far too powerful to contain.

It wasn’t just energy; it was like the earth itself had cracked open beneath my skin, releasing a force that had been buried for lifetimes.

It coursed through my veins like molten lightning, scorching and freezing at once, as if my blood had turned into a storm of fire and ice.

It surged from deep within me, igniting something long dormant, a flicker of potential waiting to be set free.

My knees buckled. I collapsed to the floor with a strangled cry, clutching my temples as the energy clawed at my mind. My thoughts scattered like ashes in the wind. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t feel anything but the unbearable pressure building in my chest.

Hot.

Cold.

Darkness.

Anger.

It was everything at once, swirling in a vortex that demanded to be released.

I screamed.

The kitchen window shattered, sending shards of glass spiraling outward, glittering like fireflies before raining to the floor. Light—searing, red-orange light—pulsed from my skin, veins glowing as if my very soul had caught fire.

The energy roared within me, relentless and untamed, gnawing at my insides like a wild beast desperate to break free.

“Elara, breathe, my darling—” Mother’s voice rang out, trembling, urgent. Her silhouette appeared in front of me, eyes wide with terror, hands reaching forward.

But it was too late.

My body arched, and my skin ignited with unbearable heat as if flames were consuming me.

The raw energy surged outward, and I felt the fierce fire begin to dance in the palms of my hands.

In an explosive surge of instinctive desperation, I slammed my fist into the kitchen floor with a force that reverberated through the ground.

In response, a tempest of flames erupted around me, bursting into a magnificent spectacle reminiscent of a fiery dragon.

The inferno swept across the floor beneath me, devouring everything in its path and leaving behind a searing trail that twisted and danced, crackling with wild, insatiable hunger.

The air grew thick with heat and the scent of charred wood as the fierce flames roared and lunged forward, hungry for more.

Panic clawed at my throat as the flames spiraled higher up my arms. Mother gasped sharply, her breath catching in the chaos.

I was scarcely aware of her presence until I felt her hand settle firmly on my shoulder, a grounding weight amidst the turmoil, as she tried to pull me back from the brink. But all I could feel was agony.

I staggered backward, the fire now coiling around me like serpents. My arms glowed with molten veins of flame. I tried to stop it—tried—but the magic wouldn’t listen. It didn’t care that I was scared. It didn’t care that Mother was still inside the house.

The next things to go were the shelves—their rows of dried herbs and glass jars, shattering into sparks and shards, scattering her life’s work across the floor.

The beeswax candles cracked and melted in an instant, dripping golden rivulets that hissed into the fire.

Honey jars exploded like little suns, molten sweetness running across the table before the flames devoured it.

Our home became an inferno. The cottage that had always smelled of chamomile tea, lavender poultices, and warm bread with honey now reeked of smoke, ash, and ruin.

Another agonized scream erupted from my lips as the relentless fire crept further up my body, the heat singeing my tunic but not my skin.

In a surreal moment, I watched helplessly as my mother was thrown across the fiery room by an unseen force of magic, her body crashing against the wall with a sickening thud.

What had I done?!

“Mother!” I screamed, my voice cracking with desperation, torn between the searing pain coursing through me and the uncontainable blaze that raged within.

My heart raced as I saw her motionless form. The flames roared hungrily, licking up the walls and devouring the ceiling, where layers of paint began to peel away like shedding skin. Splintering wood beams tumbled from above, crashing perilously close to my mother’s still body.

“Mother!” I cried, my voice hoarse, lost in the roar.

The urgency of my voice rose as the fire consumed everything around me. Summoning an inner strength I didn’t know I possessed, I forced myself to rise despite the consuming power swirling within.

I raced toward her, panic driving my every step.

The fire parted briefly around me, as if recognizing me as its source.

I dropped beside Mother, eyes stinging from the smoke.

I reached for her, needing to feel her, to pull her into safety, to fix everything.

But the moment my hand touched her skin, she screamed—a sound so sharp, so pained, it split something inside me.

She screamed because I had burned her.

A searing imprint of my hand bubbled across her arm, angry and red, already blistering. I tore my hand back as if she had burned me instead, my heart shattering.

“No—no no no—” The word tangled in my throat as the ceiling groaned again and more flaming debris rained down like the wrath of the gods themselves.

Then—something hit me. A rush of air, fierce and sudden, slammed into my chest and hurled me backward. My body collided with the edge of the wooden table, ribs cracking, the breath knocked clean from my lungs.

And then brief darkness.

A heavy crack as something struck the side of my skull—blinding light, then shadows, then pain so sharp it made me choke. Warmth trickled down my cheek.

Blood.

Smoke coiled in my lungs, clawing at my throat, and I gagged, my vision splintering like shattered glass.

For a heartbeat, I lay there, paralyzed.

I saw it before it happened. I screamed before it landed.

More of the ceiling crashed down, debris raining around us. I instinctively shielded my head as another heavy beam plummeted from above, this time landing directly over Mother. The impact was deafening. The beam crushed her beneath it, burying her fragile frame under its merciless weight.

“M-Mother!” I croaked, dragging my broken body across the wreckage. My hands shook violently as I reached for her, and when my fingers touched her skin—it was cold. So cold.

I could barely hear myself over the sound of everything I knew being torn apart.

She didn’t move.

“Mother, say something, please!” I cradled her lifeless arm in my trembling hands, pressing it to my chest, as if I could will warmth back into her.

Flames flickered at my fingertips again—taunting me. Mocking me. I quickly dropped Mother’s arm so I didn’t hurt her again. They danced like cruel spirits across my skin, and I screamed at them to stop. Stop!

And… they did.

The fire bent to my will. Extinguished into nothing.

But hope didn’t come.

I pressed my forehead to her still hand, calling out to the only one I had left.

“Lunara,” I whispered. “Goddess of the Moon, please—please calm the storm in me. Please don’t let me kill her. Not her.”

A hum spread through my skin. Not heat. Electricity. A thousand tiny needles sparking across my flesh. I looked down, horrified, as faint bolts of lightning danced across my fingertips like some cruel joke.

I recoiled from her, yanking my hands away as if they’d betrayed me again.

What in the divine was happening to me?

The flames screamed louder than I did. They devoured everything in their path—wild, insatiable, a beast unchained—and they knew what they were taking from me.

Our home, once so full of warmth and laughter, was now reduced to a cage of fire and smoke.

Glass vials exploded around me with violent snaps, their shards skittering across the floor like dying stars.

Mead bottles burst, their sweet, enchanted contents hissing into the blaze.

I flinched at each burst, the sound sharp and cruel against the backdrop of chaos.

The shelves buckled next, collapsing like the spine of a broken beast, their once-proud burden of books consumed in seconds.

The pages curled inward like they were weeping—my past, my childhood, every whispered bedtime story and sacred ritual, reduced to ash.

Memories turned to smoke. History erased by flame.

“No—no, please!” I screamed, the desperation in my voice raw enough to rip the very air. Something inside me cracked open. Power surged from my lungs like a tidal wave, and with it, the front door blasted off its hinges.

A feral wind tore through the inferno, whipping around me, scattering fire and embers. For a moment, the flames hesitated, drawn back as if by some unseen force. My force.

But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not if I couldn’t save her.

I turned back to the beam crushing Mother’s body, my hands bleeding but not burnt. I had to move it. I had to.