First Love, First War, First Step |√|

Daughter

Slowly, the story of the Igniters became clearer to me, and with it, the understanding of all that my parents had been.

I pestered Aunt Meara more and more after she had taken me to their graves, taking as much as my six-year-old mind could soak up.

The older I got, the more a haunted look dwelt in her eyes, and I started to realize that there was more to the story than she was telling me.

She glazed over why my mother was placed in the position she was in the first place. She refused to tell me how Enforcement had found out about my father.

My aunt hid many things from me including a box that was never far from her sight or was locked in a place I had yet to discover.

I wondered many times what it contained. Whether it was something had belonged to my parents or whether it was something from Matthew, I burned with the curiosity that every child has.

Soon enough, I got my chance to satisfy the curiosity. It wasn't in the way I expected though.

For ten years, Matthew had been gone, wandering the places outside of Cineres. Of course, Aunt Meara couldn't tell me how he was getting to those places or even why he had chosen to leave.

He showed up on our doorstep out of the blue: skinny, travel-worn, and sporting an impressive beard. My aunt had opened the door and for five minutes, they stood there, soaking in the sight of each other.

Then she whispered, "Matthew?" in a strangled voice, and he swept her up.

"I'm so sorry," he kept saying, but she was only laughing and kissing his cheeks with tears streaming down her face.

Seeing my chance, I made for my aunt's bedroom, to the painting that had hung above her bed for as long as I could remember. It was also the only thing that had moved after Aunt Meara had taken out the box.

Gently, I removed it and laid it on the bed before reaching greedily for the door to the compartment behind it.

The first thing that I found was not the box that I was looking for. Instead a painting filled the front space, and I lifted it out to study.

It was one I had never seen before. Within it, a young woman was burning, but despite the horrible pain she was in, her face was serene, maybe even relived.

Aunt Meara had titled it: The Phoenix.

Feeling like I had just seen something that was important yet deeply personal to my aunt, I flipped it facedown and reached back into the compartment for the long sought-after box.

Right on top of the contents was a small baby dress, shimmering with blue and green undertones. I raised it to my nose, wondering if it would smell of my mother.

It didn't, but I kept reaching in, pulling out a birth certificate printed with my name, a thick stack of notes tied with ribbon, a bunch of photographs.

The last item lying at the bottom of the rest was a book, the cover worn away from fingers opening and closing it.

I opened the cover, smoothing the first page down.

My story is a series of firsts.

My first day, week, month, year without my mother.

My first day training to be an Archivist.

My first time breaking a Founding Law.

My first and my last love.

My first secret meeting.

My first rebellion.

My first war.

My first moment with the only thing I had left of my love.

It was my mother's, the story chronicled only as an Archivist could. I could see so much about her just from the loops of her handwriting and the way she formed her sentences.

"Lucia!" Aunt Meara called from the kitchen, and I slammed the journal closed, staring dumbstruck at the mess I had made.

"Lucia, where are you?" She said in a sing-song voice, footsteps coming closer.

Deciding I didn't have enough time to hide, I took a deep breath and planted myself deeper in the bed, holding onto my mother's journal.

She appeared in the doorway, and I could see a kaleidoscope of emotions tumble across her face.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to find it," Meara whispered, joining me on the bed and picking up The Phoenix. "I probably shouldn't have hidden it away so long, but the memories are still scraping against my chest and I couldn't bear you understanding everything.

"I painted this after the image of your mother dying kept returning in the middle of the night. She was so brave, Lucia. Even when the flames were eating her flesh, she only screamed once before pleading with me to find you."

I looked closer at that painting, seeing that her hair was the shade of mine and the misty gray eyes that graced her face. "Did she know that she was going to die?"

"I think that she knew it was a huge possibility, but I don't know if she understood what exactly she had set herself up for until the moment came," Aunt Meara said. "I see so much of Luke and her in you everyday, and it makes me miss them all the more."

"Do you ever wish they hadn't met and had me?" I asked carefully, stroking the book still in my lap.

She met my gaze, and I saw tears swimming in her eyes. "Never, Meara. My brother would have probably died eventually anyway, and with you, I'm still able to see a piece of him live on. I wouldn't trade you for all the world, Lucia.

"Even if it meant that I would have my family back, I don't think I would change a thing. You've kept me alive all these years. Without you, I would have died long ago."

Unable to doubt her words when such sincerity shown in her eyes, I threw my arms around. "Bring the rest of our family to life for me, so you don't have to carry the burden any longer."

My legacy was blood and ashes.

My life was comprised of secrets and fire.

My family was made of love and courage.

I wanted to be worthy of everything that my parents left me, and for that, I would need to draw on every part of my heritage and history.

I was the reason my mother kept fighting, my mother was the reason my father kept fighting, and my father was the reason why the rest of my family dared to hope.

My father was the sacrifice that ignited the fight, but my mother was the Phoenix that lit the world on fire.

From the ashes, we rise.