Fire on Fire: A Koralie Story

Chapter Three: Kenric

Sorry I'm late! T/W for...torture reference? It's not graphic or anything but the implications are a little dark. Lmk if you want me to edit it to make it less so just a little.

Kenric POV!! I've been excited for him. The poor thing. This was kind of emotionally painful for me, but not as exhausting as the previous two chapters. Please vote and comment! <3

Kenric

A few hours earlier

In the midst of fire, Kenric decided, was not his favorite place to be.

Which wasn't abnormal for most people, and it wasn't new for him, but it was certainly peculiar how often he managed to be in the face of it when he so desperately tried to avoid it.

Before his capture, he'd thought the Everblaze would consume him, and he'd made his peace with that.

Ora was safe. She was strong. He had to believe that much. He'd sacrificed himself saving her, and that was the only way he ever wanted to die.

Except he didn't.

He was alive. But whatever this was, it wasn't living.

The cell was so dark he couldn't see, a stark contrast to the blinding Everblaze, and when his eyes finally adjusted to the single, taunting hint of light, it didn't make a difference. Shadows of walls. The bars of a cage silhouetted against nothing. Something cold and heavy weighed on his wrists until the skin was raw and he couldn't lift them without nearly passing out from the pain.

For days, he'd sat there as his stomach threatened to eat itself out and the metallic tang of blood infiltrated his senses. He'd wished for it to end. He prayed he'd be found. He begged for someone, anyone, rattling the prison bars, until his desperate cries finally wore out. It was the worst experience of his life.

Then somebody came, and he realized how sorely wrong he was.

He couldn't count the amount of times he'd faced fire since, crackling like cruel laughter in the palm of someone's hand. He wouldn't give in, not at first. Cold sweat trickled down his back like a spider, and he'd shut his eyes like a little boy, thinking if he couldn't see it, it wasn't there. But he could see the light of the fire through his eyelids.

Think of Ora, he told himself, imagining her smile as she tapped her glass of fizzleberry wine against his, toasting to a life they could never have.

Think of Ora, he told himself, wishing it was her touch trailing up his chest instead of the fire licking his skin.

Think of Ora, he told himself, biting his tongue as if it would distract him.

They rarely fed him, and he grew thinner and weaker as the days went on. When he stood, he feared his bones were so frail, they'd collapse at any moment. His mind grew fuzzy; days blurred into nights. After a while, his dreams of Ora turned into nightmares, into horrors, into what if's? What if she hadn't survived? What if she was somewhere in the same prison, facing the same torture?

Sometimes, if he listened hard enough, he could hear her screams.

He couldn't breathe without her. He couldn't think without her. He didn't want to live without her. And eventually, his traitorous mind began to associate thoughts of his beautiful, brave Ora to the fire. The hungry, roaring, untameable fire, burning his skin, ripping through his mind.

So he gathered all the precious, limp remains of her memories and tucked them into a little nook buried so deep in his mind, no one could take her away from him, even if all he had left of her was broken promises and endless regret.