Chapter Two: Touch of Fire
916 Words
I didn’t sleep that night.
Not because I didn’t want to.
Because I couldn’t.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face—cold, beautiful, and terrifying in its familiarity.
His voice echoed in my head like a brand: You’re marked.
The pendant had glowed until nearly midnight. I threw it in the drawer. Slammed it shut.
It didn’t help. Nothing helped.
Because part of me believed him. Worse—part of me remembered him. Like I’d seen those eyes in another life.
The next day started like the end of the world. Literally.
Black Hollow’s sky had never been kind, but that morning, it looked apocalyptic—thick clouds swirling like ash, cold wind biting through my coat, lightning flashing without thunder.
Students stared at the sky instead of their phones. Even Cassandra didn’t mock me in the hall. That’s how weird it was.
I barely made it to fourth period when everything cracked wide open.
It started in the library.
I’d gone there to hide, pretend to read, and forget the way my veins still hummed like live wires. I sat in the back between the mythology and conspiracy theory sections, tracing the edge of the silver pendant in my hoodie pocket.
The heat hadn’t faded. It pulsed—slow and steady. Like it was waiting.
A chill swept through the air.
Then the lights flickered.
And someone screamed.
I turned just in time to see the front doors of the school burst open. Wind howled down the halls like a banshee. Papers scattered. Lockers groaned.
Then came the footsteps—fast, heavy, inhuman.
I ran.
Not away from the danger. Toward it. Don’t ask me why. I still don’t know.
Maybe I was stupid. Maybe I was curious. Or maybe… some part of me had been waiting for this moment.
I reached the main hall just in time to see a man—no, a thing—in a tattered black cloak.
His face was wrong. Not monstrous. Too perfect.
Porcelain skin. Crimson eyes. A smirk sharp enough to cut bone.
He wasn’t human. I knew it in my gut. And he was walking straight toward me like he’d followed my scent.
Behind him, the teachers lay unconscious. Not dead. But still.
He smiled wider. “There you are, Flameborn.”
“Excuse me?”
He moved so fast I didn’t even see it.
One second he was across the room. And next, His hand was at my throat, lifting me off the ground.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream.
The world narrowed to his red eyes and the roar in my ears.
“I expected more fire,” he sneered. “You don’t look like much. I suppose the prophecy was wrong.”
I struggled, nails clawing at his wrist.
Then I felt it.
The burn.
It started in my spine. Raced to my chest. My palms.
Fire.
Not metaphorical. Not symbolic.
Actual. Blazing. Fire.
With a cry, I slammed my hand against his chest.
He screamed.
Flames burst between us. Not from a lighter. Not from any source.
From me.
His cloak ignited. His skin blistered. He howled—this horrible, unholy sound—as he stumbled backward and rolled across the tile to smother the fire.
I fell to my knees, gasping, heart racing, fingers still glowing violet.
My hands were burning. But they didn’t hurt.
They felt… alive.
No—I felt alive.
That’s when he lunged again.
Burned, furious, snarling. His fangs—actual fangs—flashed.
I froze.
I couldn’t do it again. Not like that. I didn’t know how I’d done it.
Then a shadow moved between us.
The cloaked man halted mid-strike, eyes widening as a second figure appeared—tall, dressed in black, with a voice colder than the grave.
“She’s under my protection.”
It was him.
The boy from earlier.
The man hissed. “ kael Vireux. You dare interfere?”
Kael didn’t blink. “You’ve made a mistake.”
“She’s the Carrier—”
“And you’re not authorized.”
I had no idea what they were talking about, but the man was retreating now—eyes darting between me and Kael, face twisted in rage.
“She’s waking,” the man spat. “And when she does, your bloodline will burn.”
Then he vanished. Just like that.
A blur of shadow and smoke.
Gone.
I stared at Kael, still shaking. “What the hell was that?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes were on my hands.
I followed his gaze.
My palms were glowing—threads of violet streaking beneath the skin like lightning trapped in glass.
And instinctively, my hand flew to my shoulder, where my hoodie had slipped. The birthmark was glowing faintly—crescent-shaped, wrapped in thorns. It had always been there. I always kept it covered.
No one at school knew about it.
No one should have known.
Kael stepped forward slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal.
“You unlocked it,” he said quietly.
“Unlocked what?”
“The flame. The mark. Your blood remembers.”
I shook my head. “No. This isn’t happening. I’m not— I can’t be—”
“You are,” he said, voice low. “You’re one of us.”
My throat tightened. “What does that mean?”
He looked at me then—not with pity. With awe.
“It means you’re the reason everything’s about to change.”
- Writer
