of Sword and Flame

Chapter 38: The Fire

The little Kreddish girl stared at King Malum with an anger she had never felt before.

Show me what you're capable of, he had said.

He wanted fire? He wanted flames? She would give it to him.

The girl felt a fury boiling beneath the surface. It rose, spiked, stretched into her heart, and pumped adrenaline into it with such haste she had to work hard to keep breathing, panting like a wild beast, hungering for the fire.

The flames began. They unleashed with a fury like never before, bright and red. The king's eye gleamed, impressed by the action. He was pleased with how grand the flames were, watching as they licked at the sky hungrily.

But they didn't stop. They expanded, enveloping the girl before him. The king jumped back, followed by the doctor. Soon, the girl wasn't producing the flames. She was the flames. The girl on fire screamed. The flames continued to spread. They were no longer flames; they were wildfires. They grew with the girl's hatred.

The girl walked across the ashes of what used to be the grass and soil beneath her. Her shoes burned away, and she felt the ashes stain the underside of her feet and melt the flesh. She stared as the flames began to reach the forest around her. The entire clearing was enveloped in flames, and her lips spread into a shivering smile as the king and Dr. Lithian retreated into the building.

The girl stood at the center of it all, the eye of the hurricane created from swirling fire and magic. She didn't know it then; no one did. But she became the Phoenix that day.

The girl at last tried to contain the flames. They were beginning to spread, touching past the edges of the forest surrounding them all. She didn't need to take more than the clearing.

Then she felt it.

The burning.

The scorching.

The agony.

The Kreddish girl felt the flames eat through to her skin, taking control of her, biting at her arms and legs. She began to scream, letting out a wave of anguish from her throat as the pain burned inside and outside of her. It was too much, all of it.

Her tears began to fall. And in that moment, Kyra, a girl, a child, reached up to do what any child would have done when they cried—she tried to wipe her tears. But her hand, still burning with the powers she never asked for, touched the skin around her eye. The skin began to melt, and the first sign of burning, the searing cold cut through her hand. She screamed in excruciation as the flesh around her eye and cheek began to melt.

She curled in on herself, burying her head into the singed dirt, pulling her hands over the back of her head. She felt the skin against her neck begin to burn, and she screamed weakly, broken by sobs that caused her to choke in the ashy air. The burning continued. She rocked forward, falling into the grass. Finally, she passed out on the burned ground.

She lay there for hours before anyone dared to come within arm's length.

Kyra stared at the flames before her. The town of Vanderfeld, which was so beautiful and ancient before the battle, was now in shambles, dust and smoke settling across the streets. The fire before her might as well have been the town. It filled everyone's vision, tricking even the soldiers standing outside the town, scaring them into thinking they, too, were on fire. Those inside the flames were in denial. Kyra knew what they must be thinking.

No, they would think. No, I'm not on fire. It's the rest of the world that is burning. They're the ones on fire. I am safe.

The clouds that were hovering above them all earlier were gone now, replaced with the sooty, dry taste of cinders.

A scream from within the flames. Kyra was snapped out of her trance. She opened her mouth, whispering to the wind.

She brought a hand before her, clenching it into a fist. The fire died down with the action until, at last, only a single dancing flame waved before Kyra's foot. She stomped on it, crushing the retaliation beneath her boot.

Before her, an entire army writhed on the floor, charred corpses splayed across the ground like strewn trash. The smell of burned bodies hit her nose, and Kyra clamped her hand over the lower half of her face. The king was gone, along with Eryssa and Kian. The only sign as to how was a chunk of ice, crystallized against the floor, glittering through the haze of smoke like diamonds.

Pierre slowly approached the sight. Ren appeared on the street as Kyra turned, face filled with indescribable agony, biting down on the words in her mouth. She didn't look like a woman who had won a great battle. She looked like a girl who had lost a war.

"The battle is over," she muttered. "The battle of Vanderfeld is over."