Fever and Fire

Everything was black.

Not the gentle, dreamlike darkness of sleep, but a void—unyielding and absolute. A silence so heavy it pressed against my skin like a second layer, wrapping around my limbs, crawling up my throat, threatening to smother every thought before it could form.

Then, through the stillness, came a voice.

Calm. Curious. Unsettlingly familiar.

"Hi, Lily. So… what new memory are you going to show me today?"

I blinked—or tried to. But there were no eyelids to close, no lashes to part. There was no body. No light. No gravity. I floated in nothing, my sense of self unraveling at the edges. Yet somehow, I could feel something above me. Or perhaps below. A presence, vast and cold, like a ceiling of ice suspended just inches from my soul.

Then I heard him.

A man's voice—measured, deep, and dreadfully familiar. The same voice that had haunted me during my kidnapping in Elyndor. I had never seen his face, only felt his presence in the dark like a claw around my throat. That voice had slithered through shadows, spoken softly and cruelly, as if he already knew I would break.

But this wasn't just my memory. No. This one wasn't mine at all.

It was Lily's.

Two voices murmured in the void.

One, unfamiliar. Chillingly composed.

The other—his.

"Are you sure you're willing to sacrifice yourself for her?"

"Yes."

"You understand what that means? You're going to suffer."

"I'll do anything… whatever it takes to make her happy."

"If you say so. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The next sound shattered me.

A scream—piercing, raw, human. Not of fury, but of torment so consuming it turned my bones to ice. It rang through the void like glass shattering underwater. And beneath it, a second voice chanted—words sharp and jagged, in a language I didn't know. An incantation. Or a curse.

Then, warmth.

Light bloomed from nowhere—soft and golden, like dawn seen through closed eyes. It wrapped around me like the arms of someone long-lost, lifting me gently. My body rose, though I had no body, carried upward on currents of heat and memory.

It felt familiar. Unsettlingly so.

Like the moment the strange man pushed me.

Like the moment I awoke in this world.

From the golden haze, a figure stepped forward.

A woman.

She did not speak, but her sorrow wrapped the air around her like a shroud. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders in silken waves, her eyes shimmering with tears that refused to fall. She stood tall, elegant, luminous.

I knew her.

The woman from the portrait in Charlotte Hartwell's study.

Lily's mother.

Was she the one they had spoken of? The one who made the sacrifice?

My mind swelled with questions, so many that they crashed against each other, tangled and fraying at the edges. But before I could form a single one—

Fire.

It ripped through me without warning. Searing heat poured into my veins like molten iron, licking beneath my skin, scorching every nerve.

And then—

"Lily."

The voice was real. Urgent. Close.

My eyes flew open.

The cottage ceiling loomed above, dim and blurry. My skin was slick with sweat, my breath ragged and shallow. I gasped like I'd been drowning. Hovering over me was Lucien, his expression carved from concern. His hand rested gently on my shoulder.

"Lily, are you okay?" he asked softly.

I nodded—barely. My heart thrashed inside my chest, and that scream still echoed in my ears like a wound that wouldn't close.

But something felt off.

His hand burned.

I jerked back, confused. "Lucien… you're burning up. Are you sick?"

He didn't answer.

When I reached toward him, fingers grazing the flushed skin of his forearm, he recoiled—too fast. Like he was afraid I might see something.

Then, without explanation, he staggered to his feet and disappeared into the washroom.

"Lucien?" I called, following instinctively.

No reply.

I stood outside the door, heart thudding, and knocked once, softly.

Still nothing.

Uncertain, I returned to the bed, wrapping the thin sheet around myself as though it could protect me from the questions clawing through my mind. This night—this memory—it felt different. Stranger. Deeper.

Was it even Lily's memory?

Or… was it her first?

And Lucien. His fever. His silence.

What was happening?

Eventually, the storm in my mind dulled enough to let sleep take me again.

When morning came, it did so gently.

Golden light streamed through the shutters, painting soft ribbons across the wooden floor. I stirred slowly, half-expecting Lucien to still be beside me.

But his bed was cold. Untouched.

My throat tightened.

It reminded me of home, of the way I used to smooth every wrinkle from my blanket, hoping that if my father found nothing out of place, he wouldn't raise his voice. Or his hand. That he wouldn't make my mother cry.

Even now, surrounded by safety, I still felt the need to fix things. To clean. To be quiet and invisible.

I made the bed, dressed in the simple clothes the old woman had left for me, and followed the scent of warm bread and herbs down the stairs.

In the kitchen, she waited with a steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.

"Here, Lily, come eat with me," she said, motioning toward the seat across from her.

"Thank you, ma'am… but I need to go."

"Eat first, before you go, okay?" she said kindly, reaching out to guide me into the chair.

I sat without protest. It felt too cruel to refuse her warmth.

Still, I couldn't stop my eyes from scanning the room.

"Ma'am… do you know where Lucien went?"

"Oh, he's already gone," she replied. "But he left something for you. It's in the other room—too heavy for me to carry."

"What did he leave?"

"A suitcase, I think. With a wolf-like emblem."

I stood so fast my chair scraped the floor.

My suitcase.

I rushed to the other room, and there it was. Every item I had packed. Every crease in the fabric was exactly as I'd folded it.

He'd carried it here.

For me.

"He also arranged for a coachman to take you to wherever you need to go," the old woman added, appearing beside me. "The carriage is already waiting outside."

I blinked at her, stunned.

He had done all of this without saying a word.

Why?

Still dazed, I opened the suitcase. Nestled inside, beneath my clothes, was a small pouch. I opened it.

Gold.

Twenty-five coins, neatly tied.

I held them for a long moment, then returned to the kitchen and pressed them into the woman's hands.

"Ma'am," I said quietly, "please take this."

Her eyes widened. "What is this for?"

"For your kindness. For everything you've done for us. Please… accept it."

She hesitated. Then her fingers closed around the pouch, and she gave me a soft smile, gentle as sunlight.

"Be careful, Lily. Have a safe journey."

Outside, the carriage waited—its horses pawing the dirt, impatient. I stood at the threshold, my suitcase beside me, and looked once more at the cottage that had sheltered me, even if only for a moment.

Then I stepped into the carriage.

And with too many thoughts in my chest and no answers to hold, I began my journey toward the capital city of the Kingdom of Lysoria.

Toward the truth.

Toward the past.

Or maybe… toward the beginning.