Page 86 of Seared Fates

Golden gives me a thumbs up. “You got this, dude. Set fire to the fucking table, I believe in you.”

“Maybe not that far, but thanks, mate.”

Not wanting to waste my surge of confidence, I slap my palm on the piece of white paper Ramy provided. Heart-warming when I spy the little smiley face he drew as I slide it closer.

Unicorn pencil between my fingers, I tap it against the paper and…breathe out. Then the scratch of a pencil on paper pulls my subconscious to the surface.

A nostalgia settles over me. The same kind of nostalgia I feel looking atArchibald John Motley’spaintings—all bright colours and movement—and so much life the humidity of the people’s breath pushes against my skin.

I wasn’t there to inspire him to paint beautiful dancers, musicians, or a crowd at a BBQ. But maybe a swing-dancing, trumpet-playing, bikini-wearing ancestor hung out just outta frame.

I create something only my bones and my blood—and even my soul, though it’s not with me—remembers. And I wonder if someone, somewhere, once felt this too. Like they belong to something bigger than themselves.

The pencil drops with aclatter, and I find the stark white page full of symbols which dance together. Then, like an exhale or unclenching my hands, I simply allowitto happen. As if I’m releasing pieces of myself outwards.

Purple flame flicks up from the middle, a small fluttering fire like I’ve made a candle out of the paper.

Summer gasps. Vidar murmurs a ‘I knew you could, little prince.’

Since I stupidly gave my soul away, there’s been something uncomfortable lingering inside me, something…hollow. Yet my purple flame fills that emptiness and makes me complete.

For a bit, anyway.

It vanishes the moment purple flames spread out on the paper, eating the page full of symbols away. Becoming red and outside of my control, becoming normal fire. I shoot back as Vidar darts forward, his large hand snuffing out the flame with an indifferent slap.

“Vidar!” I call out. “Would you stop letting your hands get fucked up by touching dangerous shit?”

He shrugs, pulling back to show me his unblemished skin.

Unlike the table, which has a big scorch mark. “Oh shit. Oops…”

“You really did it,” Ramy gasps.

“Fuck the table!” Golden beams. “That was amazing.”

“Well done, lad. You should start burning more stuff,” Apollo says, grinning wide and throwing up devil horns. “Hell yeah!”

Summer’s head bonks onto the table.

I jump. “Holy shit, Summer! Would you be careful, too?”

“THIS is what you were talking about at Kings,” she shouts, words muffled. Arms flapping. “How could I have been so stupid? I thought you were just chatting about mages!”

“Technically, Kai’s the idiot here for keeping it a secret,” Apollo chimes in.

“Thanks, mate.”

“Anytime, lad.”

Summer waves her arms like a giant, pissed off bird in her fluffy purple coat. “I KNEW the symbols on your leather jacket were familiar, but I didn’t connect the dots.”

“So you know what this is, Summer?” Vidar asks.

Summer ignores him and shoots up to peer at me. “Kai?”

“Er, Summer?”

“Can I move your braids?”