The Purifying Fire

The night wrapped around me like a shroud: cold, unforgiving. My feet made no sound on the damp earth, and every step closer to the mercenaries' camp was a betrayal of reason. But reason had little room here-not when she was still inside.

I hunched behind a thick cluster of trees, my breath shallow as I surveyed the camp. The flicker of the torches cast jagged shadows on the wooden walls, and laughter drifted through the air. It wasn't the joyous kind of laughter; it was that cruel, guttural laughter that gnawed at your spine.

Torvin's dagger felt heavy in my hand, the leather-wrapped hilt slick with sweat. My palms stung from burns I'd gotten back at the forge, but I ignored the pain. It didn't matter now.

I crept forward, staying low, my heart pounding loud against my chest, louder than the rustling leaves around me.

A voice whispered behind me. "What's the plan, Kael?"

I practically leaped out of my skin. It wasn't real-it couldn't be real. Torvin wasn't here. But his words, his voice-they were alive in my head now.

"Shut up," I muttered, low.

"What was that?" a voice asked nearby.

I stiffened. There were two mercenaries by the gate, their faces obscured by the glow of the firepit.

"Probably the wind," one of them grunted.

The other didn't look sure, but he shrugged and went back to gnawing on a strip of dried meat. I lay for hours it felt like before I dared to move again.

The stench of the camp hit me like a fist, all sweat and smoke and putrid food, making my stomach turn over, but I kept my legs moving through it. In the middle, the column-her, my mother-chained like some beast.

"Kael?" she whispered.

Her voice was little more than a whisper, and yet it seemed to slice through the din around us like a knife. She'd spotted me before I'd even registered having stepped into view.

I hurried to her side, my fingers fumbling with the heavy iron chains. "I'm getting you out of here."

Her face was pale, her eyes hollow. "You shouldn't have come."

"I had to."

"No," she exclaimed, her tone firm, though her voice shook. "They'll kill you."

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder yanked me backward.

"Well, well," a gravelly voice said. "Looks like we've got a little rat."

The mercenary towered over me, his face twisted into a sneer. "What were you planning, boy? Heroic rescue?"

"Let him go!" my mother shouted, struggling against her bonds.

The mercenary chuckled, dragging me toward the firepit. "Oh, he's not going anywhere. Not yet."

I flailed against his hold, but it was like fighting a wall of stone.

"You're brave," he said, throwing me to the ground. "Stupid, but brave. I can respect that."

He pulled a knife, its blade flashing in the firelight. "But bravery won't save you."

The air distorted before I saw it-the heat, the glow. Flames burst to life at the edge of the camp, spreading faster than could be natural.

"What the—?" the mercenary began, but his words were cut off by the roar of the fire.

Pandemonium broke out. Mercenaries hollered, scrambling to gather arms, supplies—whatever they could lay hands on.

I took advantage of the commotion and scrambled back toward my mother. Flames swept in around me, skin charring in their heat.

"I'll cut you free," I said, reaching for the dagger.

"No, Kael," she said, clear amidst the storm of fire. "You have to leave."

"I'm not leaving you!"

"You must," she said, her eyes locked on mine. "If you stay, we both die."

Her words paralyzed me. The fire was alive now, a ravenous monster devouring everything in its way.

"Go!" she yelled, the tears streaming down her face.

"I'll come back for you," I said, my voice breaking.

She smiled—a sad, brittle smile. "I know."

I stumbled to my feet, the flames licking at my heels.

"Run, Kael!" she shrieked as the column began to splinter and collapse.

I ran.

I fell to my knees, panting at the treeline. The camp was an ablaze chaos behind me, her screams still echoing in my mind.

I could not save her.

The guilt was like a weight set upon me, promising to crush me, but my mind tugged in another direction. The symbol-the one I had seen in the forge, the one that had come to me in dreams-was carved into a tree, glowing faintly in the firelight.

It wasn't any accident. It wasn't any randomness.

"What do you want from me?" I whispered, shaking.

The symbol didn't reply, but I knew it was there: cold, unyielding, full of purpose.

I didn't know why it followed me or what it meant. Yet, I knew one thing: this was far from over.