Flame on the Path. Part 1

I stood at the edge of a cliff, the wind—tinged with the salt of the sea—whipping against my face, my long dark hair streaming like a banner. This was the Azure Continent—a land of blue waters, white cliffs, and cities that smelled of fish and spices, utterly unlike the rugged mountains of Dakota.

Two years ago, I had left the estate—after Tarvek cast out all the "useless," after Vild vanished that day the world trembled. I didn't know if he was alive, but I felt it—he was out there somewhere, my little brother, my funny little freak.

My hand rose, and mana—warm as a hearth's fire—gathered in my palm, swirling into a vortex of light. I whispered a spell, and it took shape—a drawing in the air: Vild, his crooked face, one eye larger than the other, his mouth a scar, but his eyes—alive, my eyes.

I missed him—his rasping voice, his trembling hands clapping when I showed him magic. This drawing was my companion, my way of keeping him close as I searched for something to stir my heart.

The Azure Continent was vast—its shores stretched for thousands of miles, dotted with ports where ships with crimson sails rocked on the waves. I walked through markets where vendors hawked pearls and fish, their shouts blending with the crash of the surf.

My goal was simple—to find a husband, a love that would ignite a flame within me, like the tales Mother read to me as a child. But Dakota lay behind me, its harshness and cold offering no such spark, so I left, taking only my magic and my sword.

I sat in a coastal tavern, its walls dark wood steeped in salt, its tables creaking under the weight of mugs. The men here varied—sailors with weathered faces, mages with rune tattoos, warriors with swords that reeked of blood.

One approached me—tall, bronze-skinned, his smile flashing like a blade. "You're from Dakota, aren't you? I can tell by your eyes," he said, his voice smooth as silk.

I nodded, my green tunic with the clan's crest swaying, and replied, "Yes, but now I'm here." He sat beside me, his hand resting on the table, and I waited—would my heart stir? It remained silent.

We spoke of the sea, of storms, of how he once slew a sea serpent with a spear. His words blazed like a sunset, but I thought of Vild—how he'd listen, nodding, his rasping laughter ringing in my ears.

I left the tavern, leaving the sailor with his mug, and pressed on—over white stone bridges linking the continent's islands. The water below was deep, sapphire-blue, alive with shadows—fish glowing with mana.

My magic grew—I learned to heal, to kindle fire, to craft drawings—but I couldn't forget how I'd failed to save Vild from that throat-aching pain. I drew him again and again, each time adding something—his trembling fingers, his awkward smile.

Cities gave way to villages—shell huts where children ran with nets, catching glowing crabs. I helped them, lighting fires for their hearths, and they called me "fire lady," their laughter clear as bell chimes.

Yet my heart stayed quiet—no man, no warrior, no mage sparked it. I thought of Father—his scars, his strength—and wondered, "Am I seeking his echo?"

The road led me to a desert—the Azure Continent's sand, white as bone, scorched my feet even through my boots. I saw caravans—camels with humps bearing fabrics and spices, traders in masks hiding their faces.

One—an old man with eyes like coals—stopped me and said, "You seek what isn't there." His voice was dry as the sand, and I frowned, but he walked away, leaving me with his words.

At night, I sat by a fire, the stars above the desert gleaming like mana in Dakota's caves, and I drew Vild again—his frail body, his stubborn gaze. My longing for him cut like a knife, and I whispered, "Where are you, my funny one?"

I recalled that day—the rumble, the collapse, his cry cut short as he vanished. The mana in my hand faltered, the drawing trembled, and I clutched it, as if I could pull him back.

The desert turned to jungle—green vines hung like the earth's hair, birds with glowing feathers shrieking in the canopy. I pressed through, my sword hacking branches, my mana warding off snakes with venom-lit eyes.

There, I met a woman—tall, walnut-skinned, her hair woven into countless braids. She was a warrior, her spear ablaze with green fire, and she said, "You're strong. Come with me."

We fought lizards—their scales hard as steel, claws tearing the earth—but my mana and her spear prevailed. She laughed, her voice loud as a river, yet my heart didn't stir—she was a friend, nothing more.

Days flowed like sand in an hourglass—I saw cities of glass reflecting the sky, towers where mages wove spells like webs. I helped, healed, fought, but searched—for a husband, a love, something to shake me.

In one port, I heard of a clan gathering—on a plain of another continent, where Dakota might be. My mind flared: "Vild… he could be there," and I resolved to go.

I stood on a ship's deck, its crimson sails catching the wind, the sea singing beneath me like living mana. My hand rose again, and Vild's drawing appeared—his crooked face gazed at me, and I smiled, tears stinging my eyes.

"I'll find you," I whispered, and the mana in my palm flared brighter, a promise. The ship bore me toward the plain, the gathering, and I knew—my heart awaited not just a husband, but my brother.