Page 180 of Fires of the Forsaken
Surprisingly, her words did not bring relief. “It wasn’t?”
“No. This is Seruf’s work.” Unshed tears made the woman’s eyes glisten. “Vaporia’s streets were ablaze before we crossed its borders. You didn’t do this. But you do not burn. And you claim you are innocent. If you’ve no wish to harm people,helpthem.” She knelt before me. The wind blew her hair across her face, causing several strands to stick to her tear-streaked cheeks. “The citizens of Vaporia are dying; many are trapped inside their homes. The fire spread too quickly. There was no time for them to evacuate. But youdon’t burn!You can save some of them. Prove your innocence,” she whispered, “and I’ll free you.”
Truthfully, it was tempting to use my ability for something good. Perhaps the act of valor would have eased some of the guilt I’d been carrying with me.
Perhaps not.
Saving a life wouldn’t change the fact that I’d taken lives. Many of them.
“And if I were to lose control, what then?” I fought to steady my voice. “Will you kill me? Or continue to make empty threats?”
She swallowed. “Well, you could hardly do more damage—”
“I certainly could.” A bitter sensation coiled in my chest. “Some may yet have a chance to escape and live. I can ensure no one survives.”
The woman’s breath hitched. “You would damn them all to die?”
“You would have damned me to a fate far worse.” My vision grew so blurry, the woman was reduced to little more than a shadow. “You used me as a scapegoat, an outlet for your own fears and shortcomings. You’ve hunted me. Tortured me. Despised me." I wiped the moisture from my eyes. “And now you want me to show compassion for people who would have gladly seen me suffer? I will not. I haveneverworked for Seruf. But I will not protect you from her wrath.”
“You insolent wench!”The woman reached for her knife.
“Kill me. I’m begging you to,” I taunted.
She paused, shaking her head. “No. I will not grant you that wish.I’d rather yousuffer.”
“Then leave me.” I shrugged. “Or stay if you’ll not be satisfied until you see me in pain. But I, as you already pointed out, will not burn in this inferno. You will.”
She stood and stepped back, her eyes roaming around the towering flames encircling us.
“You all wished me to be a monster,” I said. “And I’m tired of trying to convince you I’m not. So a monster I shall be.”
A gust of wind caused glittering embers to rain down upon us. The cinders evaporated off my skin but left welts on the woman’s exposed flesh.
She gave me one long, frightened look before she ran.
Her sudden departure wasn’t a surprise. Death by fire is one of the mostexcrutiating—excruciatingways to perish. Or so I’ve been told.
Perhaps I’d been foolish in letting my anger best me. Perhaps the woman would have upheld her end of the bargain and granted meleinceny—leniency if I’d saved some of the townsfolk.
Even if she had, my freedom would’ve been short-lived. Because humans never changed. They feared what they didn’t understand, and that fear drove them to cruelty.
My life stretched before me as an endless cycle. I would live in peace, for a time. But the fire would take control again. It would kill again. And I would be hunted. Until someone else made an offer of peace and began the cycle over.
I was tired of traveling around that eternal loop.
So I made it stop.
And I felt nothing as I listened to the people of Vaporia die.
Perhaps my body was too weary to process emotions. Or, perhaps, their accusations had been right, and I’d never been fully human. I was merely a creature with fire in my veins and a heart made of coal.
I sat, listening to their cries, their shouts, their pleas, and I watched as the fire crept ever closer to me.
Flames can be quite tranquil, can they not?
I’d never noticed before because I’d always regarded them with terror. But, as I sat there, in the middle of a dying village, I found peace. There was something soothing in the scintillating light. The smoke billowing around me seemed to be a healing balm. The more I inhaled it, the less my chest ached.
Time slid away. I might’ve sat there for moments, or hours. Or longer.
