THE BRIDE OF FLAMES

THE GIFT

The tiny bronze dragon shimmered in midair, its scales catching the moonlight like molten coins. With a powerful beat of its delicate wings, it surged forward, chasing the flickering blue light through the misty streets of a rundown neighborhood. Each wingbeat stirred dust and ash from the crumbling cobblestones below, until the dragon came to a halt above a small, neglected dwelling, a house forgotten by time.

The blue light drifted down through a cracked windowpane, passing like a ghost through the glass. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and something fainter... finality.

The bronze dragon followed, shrinking mid-flight as it slipped through the window, its form folding in on itself like liquid metal until it alighted gently on the sill.

The tiny flame came to rest above an old man, pale, unmoving, cocooned in a thin blanket. As the light hovered above his chest, there was a sudden stillness in the world. The candle flames in the room stilled. A breath held.

Then.... the flame entered his body.

The old man's chest rose with a long, shuddering breath. His eyes fluttered. For one suspended moment, it seemed as though the gods might have granted him one more sunrise.

But the breath left him… and did not return.

Time seemed to bend. The soft tick of the pocket watch slowed. The dragon hopped onto the edge of the bed, folding his wings. He placed a clawed hand on the human’s wrinkled one... still warm, but fading. His deep emerald eyes glistened.

“Goodbye, dear friend,” the bronze dragon whispered, voice like a wind through leaves. "You have served the gods well."

He closed the man’s eyelids gently, then turned. The pocket watch device, resting on the table, clicked open of its own accord. Gears turned without touch, glowing softly with enchanted light. The dragon leapt inside, folding into a stream of bronze light, and the device snapped shut.

With a hum, the pocket watch vanished in a flash of silver light, leaving behind only the faint smell of ozone and old smoke.

-------------------------

Elsewhere, in the silence of dawn, Winter Samaya, a twenty one year old girl stirred.

She is holding a basket containing herbs and fruits, she checked on her father's room before doing other household tasks but now, she was surprised by this unexpected look.

“Father, are you alright?” she called softly, expecting... hoping... for his usual morning rasp.

But her father's reactions? .... Nothing.

And then, the silence followed by her loudest screamed.

“No, no! Please, not yet!” she cried, scrambling to her feet.

She raced down the hall, the old floorboards groaning beneath her frantic steps. The door to his room was ajar, and inside, the room was bathed in an eerie stillness. The bundle of herbs hanging by the window barely moved, though a breeze blew.

She fell to her knees beside him, trembling fingers brushing his forehead.. damp, too damp. Sweat, but no fever. No breath.

“Please...” she whispered, dabbing him with a rag, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t go. I’m not ready...”

But the warmth was already fading.

And the pocket watch, the one she could have sworn was there on the nightstand, was gone.

Winter clutched his hand, her breath catching in her throat. His fingers were limp, the once-strong hands that had held her steady as a child, now still, weightless as leaves. Her tears fell silently onto the sheet.

“No,” she whispered. “You were supposed to make it. We were getting better. You promised me…”

A distant sound, like wind catching a distant chime, stirred the air. Her head snapped up.

Her eyes flicked to the nightstand. The space where the pocket watch had always sat, nestled beside his book of herbal notes and a cracked ceramic mug, was bare.

Gone.

She stood up, slowly, unease creeping into her limbs. Winter's gaze swept the room. Something was wrong, not just death-wrong, but otherworldly wrong. The room felt... lighter, like a presence had just left. Or had never been there at all.

A glint caught her eye.

Near the floor, tucked just beneath the dresser, a faint shimmer pulsed. She dropped to one knee, reaching out.

A single bronze scale lay on the wood floor, she touch it and found it warmed.

She stared at it, too perfect, too metallic, too real. She remembered the stories he used to tell her as a child, of the tiny bronze guardian who watched over chosen souls, who carried messages between gods and mortals. She’d laughed back then, believing them bedtime myths crafted by a whimsical old man with too many tales and too few visitors.

But now...

A sudden c***k echoed through the house... like wood splitting under immense weight. The floor trembled slightly. Then silence again.

A second later, the bedroom window suddenly open with a gust of wind, and every candle in the house extinguished at once.

The room was engulfed in darkness, except for a solitary golden spark that danced above the bed, where her father’s chest had just taken its final breath. The spark swirled in the air, as if it were trying to shape itself into something meaningful, but then it faded away with a soft ting, reminiscent of the last toll of a clock at midnight.

Winter stumbled back, her heart pounding. Her father’s death wasn’t natural. She could feel it in her bones.

She turned, wiping her eyes, and whispered to the empty room, “What did you do to my father? Why were you hiding from me?”

She's did not receive any answers.

Later that night, she visited her father's study room, because of unable to sleep.

The scent of dried sage and parchment lingered. She ran her fingers along the dusty shelves until her hand stopped on the leather-bound journal, in which her father's always kept locked. But tonight, it was already open.

Inside of it, her father's looping script message, greeted her:

If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone — or very nearly so.

There are things you don’t yet understand. About me. About the world. About the Watch.

When the bronze dragon returns, it will be for you, Winter.

You’ve always had the gift — though I prayed the gods would let you live free of it.

Forgive me.

Your true life is about to begin.

Her breath caught. Her hands trembled.

In the distance... far beyond the city, in the quiet depths of night, a bronze light shimmered across the horizon. Like molten metal, it arced gracefully through the sky, its glow vivid against the darkness. The air grew still with awe as the radiant trail faded, a fleeting reminder of the beauty that lies beyond the ordinary.

The watch had found its next keeper.