Echoes and Embers

Chapter Seven – Echoes and Embers

Issac sat down abruptly on the straw mattress, the lingering warmth of the blanket falling from his chest. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. Sweat beaded on his brow, and the room seemed to sway around him. The haze of sleep hadn't fully left his mind, but clarity began to sharpen like a blade.

"Arcacia…"

The name hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Of all places… how did I end up here?"

His thoughts stormed as panic began to claw at his chest. He rubbed his temple, trying to anchor himself in the moment. How long had he been out? Where were Idris and Azar? Were they even alive?

Sweat trickled down his face in serpentine streams.

Emma, who had been folding cloth near the window, noticed the shift in his demeanor and quickly walked over.

"Jeez—you okay?" she asked. "You're sweating like crazy." She scanned the room, spotted a rag draped over a chair, and tossed it to him. "Here. Use this."

Issac didn't respond.

He stared forward, breathing heavy, his fingers tightening around the coarse fabric. Emma hesitated, then reached out to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

The moment she touched him, Issac jerked violently, shrugging her off.

His eyes—moments ago glazed with confusion—now burned with focus.

"How long..." he growled, voice deeper and colder, "...have I been unconscious?"

Emma blinked, startled. "I—uh—"

He stepped forward and gripped her shoulders with both hands, his grip startlingly strong for someone still recovering. His frown deepened, wild intensity swelling behind his eyes.

"Tell me!"

Emma flinched. "About... a week!" she choked.

Issac's hands remained locked on her shoulders, unmoving, as if the world had paused around him.

"You... you're hurting me," she whispered, wincing.

"Let go of her!" a small voice cried.

Anne rushed forward and began hitting Issac's leg with her fists. "Let Emma go!"

The tension broke as a boy stormed into the room from a side hallway.

"Anne?! What happened—?"

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Emma pinned and Anne shouting. His emerald eyes flashed.

He was a young man around Issac's age—light-skinned, freckled, with messy brown curls. His apron was smeared with flour, gloves coated in dough. He wore cracked leather boots and had the rough, worn look of someone who worked with his hands daily.

In one swift motion, he lunged and yanked Issac back, sending him stumbling to the floor.

"You filthy mongrel," the boy snapped. "We gave you shelter. We treated your wounds. And this is how you repay us?!"

He raised his right hand, water spiraling to his palm, forming a clear, pulsing orb.

"I should teach you the respect your parents clearly failed to."

"Julio, stop!" Emma cried, grabbing his shoulder. "He's still injured. You might really hurt him!"

"He made you cry, Emma!" Julio barked. "He deserves it!"

Julio shrugged her off and advanced toward Issac, who lay groaning on the floor, clutching his side. Each breath came with pain. Every attempt to summon energy made his limbs seize in agony.

Julio loomed over him, smirking. "I bet you don't even have an elemental law. You're just some wild beast from across the border."

He raised the orb, preparing to strike—

—and Issac sprang forward like a cornered animal.

He slammed his shoulder into Julio's nose with brutal force. The impact sent Julio reeling, crashing to the ground with a cry. Blood spurted from his nostrils.

"Julio!" Anne screamed, racing to his side.

Emma dropped beside him. "Julio, are you okay?"

"You don't have to do this," Anne whispered. Her voice trembled.

But Julio's pride was already fractured. The sting of being knocked down—by a wounded stranger, no less—burned hotter than the pain in his nose.

"Get off me!" he snarled.

He began to rise again, fury boiling.

And then the air shifted.

A weight pressed down on the room, invisible yet undeniable. A voice cut through the tension. Quiet, raspy, but soaked in danger.

"I wouldn't do that... not if you value your life."

The children froze.

Issac stood hunched, blood seeping from reopened wounds. His chest heaved. His eyes—no longer just tired or hurt—glowed with a dim, unnatural white. Aura spilled from his frame like steam from hot iron.

Julio's eyes widened. "That... that's no elemental law..."

Emma's lips parted, but no words came. Anne watched, captivated.

Issac's expression was distant, hollow.

And then, like a puppet with cut strings, he collapsed to the floor.

Later, as the sun dipped behind Arcacia's smog-draped skyline, the home of Mr. Owens filled with the clatter of utensils and soft chatter. Ten children gathered around the long dining table, bowls steaming with stew.

Emma and Alice, the eldest girls, helped serve. Everyone ate joyfully—everyone except Julio.

He poked at his food, face blank.

Mr. Owens chuckled. "Julio? Something wrong with your appetite tonight?"

Julio didn't answer. Annie grinned and blurted, "He got beat by the new boy!"

Julio slammed his spoon down. "He's not normal! His eyes glowed white. He moved like lightning—"

Laughter erupted across the table.

"You got beat by the guy in bandages?"

"In front of Emma too!" someone jeered.

Mr. Owens raised a hand and smacked it on the table. "Enough. It's dinnertime. Show respect."

The room went quiet. The children muttered apologies.

Just then, footsteps echoed down the stairs.

Issac appeared.

He walked with slow, careful steps. His expression was calm, collected—but his gaze still burned with something cold.

He met Julio's eyes briefly, then turned to Emma.

"I'm sorry... for earlier. I wasn't in control."

Julio scoffed and looked away.

Issac bowed slightly to Mr. Owens. "Thank you—for helping me. But I need to leave."

He turned and walked toward the front door, each step echoing through the dining room.

"Finally," Julio muttered.

"He even sounds royal," another boy whispered.

"This is who you lost to, Julio? A pampered brat?"

Laughter followed again.

Mr. Owens sighed, wiped his mouth, and stood.

"You all eat. I'll be back."

Outside, the fog rolled thick across the streets like drifting spirits. Owens caught up to Issac under the flickering streetlamps.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

Issac didn't turn. "Away. I've done enough. I can't stay here."

"I'm in Arcacia now," he muttered. "The den of lions. I won't last long."

Owens exhaled deeply. "That's not what your grandfather would've wanted..."

Issac stopped cold.

"What... did you say?"

Owens' voice softened. "Azar. That's what he called himself, right?"

Issac's heart thudded. His eyes began to glow faintly.

"Easy," Owens said, lifting his hands. "I'm not your enemy."

He smiled warmly and placed a hand on Issac's shoulder. "Come. We'll talk over food. Don't mind Julio—he needed that knock."

Issac hesitated... then let out a tired sigh.

Together, they walked back toward the house, two silhouettes vanishing into the thickening fog.