WHEN THE ASHES STIR

The garden air had changed.

The wind was still. The birds had stopped singing. Even the leaves on the tall hedge remained motionless, like the world itself was watching.

Daniel stepped out barefoot onto the grass.

The sun was dipping low, streaking the sky with burnt gold and deep purple. His body ached—not from work or exhaustion, but from something deeper. Something coiled. Brewing.

It had started earlier. A dull throb behind his ribs. A strange warmth under his skin. A strange silence in his own breath.

He told himself it was stress.

But now, standing in the middle of his backyard, Daniel knew it was something else.

The pressure grew.

His breathing quickened.

His knees weakened slightly, and he braced himself against the stone edge of the garden bench, his fingers curling into the carved surface.

Suddenly, a hot rush tore through his spine like liquid fire.

His eyes snapped shut, and he gasped as he dropped to one knee.

What is this?

He clutched at his chest.

His veins pulsed like they were filled with something other than blood. His skin felt too tight over his bones. His teeth clenched against a rising growl he didn't understand. His heart was no longer beating normally—it was beating louder, like a drum calling something forward.

Then it happened.

His eyes burned—not like irritation, not like tears—but like flame.

He opened them.

In the reflection of the garden's glass door, he caught a glimpse of himself—

His eyes…

Red.

Vibrant, glowing crimson.

Unnatural.

Wrong.

And not alone.

Because just above his reflection—faint and flickering like smoke—two horn-like shadows rose from his head. Not fully formed. Not solid. But there.

Real.

He staggered back, breath caught in his throat.

"No…" he whispered.

His hands trembled. His skin shimmered faintly, like something beneath it wanted to shed the disguise. His spine arched. His breath hissed between his teeth. He thought he heard whispers—soft, dark ones—coming from the trees.

Azrah'el.

The name again.

Calling him.

Claiming him.

And for a moment, he didn't feel like Daniel at all.

He felt older.

Vaster.

Like the earth beneath him remembered his name, even if he didn't.

"No," he growled again, louder this time.

He slammed his hand down onto the bench. The stone cracked beneath his palm.

He stared at it, wide-eyed.

The crack ran straight through the middle, splitting the ancient stone seat like it was cheap glass.

Then… it stopped.

The burning receded.

The whispers faded.

The red glow in his eyes dimmed.

The horn-like shapes vanished like smoke.

His body stilled.

And he was Daniel again.

Just Daniel.

He sank onto the grass, heart racing, fingers gripping the dirt like he needed to anchor himself to something real.

What's happening to me?

He stayed there a long moment, letting the garden breathe around him again.

Then, slowly, he stood.

He wiped his hands on his trousers.

He walked quietly back inside, leaving the cracked stone bench behind him.

---

Velma looked up from the living room as he stepped in.

"There you are," she said gently. "I was just about to come find you."

Daniel smiled faintly, hiding his shaken breath behind a steady tone. "Just needed some air. Lost track of time."

"Are you okay?" she asked, noticing the strain behind his eyes.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I'm okay."

But the words sat heavy on his tongue.

He didn't tell her about the fire in his chest.

The voice in the trees.

The horns in the glass.

He didn't tell her the name echoing in his blood.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.