I sat on the side of the road until the moon rose, high and indifferent. The cold of the night seeped into my bones, but I didn't light a fire. I didn't deserve warmth.
"You look like someone who has lost the map to their own life."
The voice was smooth, like silk dragged over gravel.
I looked up.
A man stood there. He wore robes that seemed to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it. His face was hidden beneath a deep hood, but I could see his smile—pale and knowing.
He was an Archon. A Liturgist of the Cult.
I didn't know those names then. I only knew he didn't look at me with disgust. He looked at me with hunger.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice hoarse from crying.
"A friend to the abandoned," he said, stepping closer. "My name is not important. What is important is your pain."
He crouched down, his robes pooling around him like spilled ink.
"I watched you," he whispered. "At the Academy. You have a fire in you, child. A magnificent, destructive fire. But they tried to smother it. They tried to make you small."
He reached out a hand. I flinched, expecting a blow. But he didn't hit me. He gestured to the Academy walls behind me.
"They took everything from you, didn't they? Your pride. Your home. Your parents."
My breath hitched. "How do you know about my parents?"
"We know all sorrows," he purred. "We know that the Royals killed them. We know that the world is built on lies meant to keep the strong weak."
He touched a nerve so raw I thought I would bleed.
"They call you a villain," he said softy. "But you are simply a victim who refused to die quietly."
He stood up and offered his hand.
"Come with us. We don't fear the fire. We worship it. We can give you the power to burn down the lies. To take revenge on the Royals who orphaned you. To make the Sinclairs beg for your mercy."
Revenge.
The word tasted like copper and ash.
'Revenge,' I thought. 'For Mommy. For Daddy. For the little girl who just wanted cookies.'
I looked at his hand. It was pale, skeletal.
I took it.
"Show me," I said.
That was the moment Serene died.
I followed him into the darkness. Into the hidden places of the world where the light of the sun never reached.
They took me to a sanctuary beneath the earth. The air smelled of sulfur and old blood. There were others there—Archons, Acolytes—chanting in a language that made my teeth ache.
They told me about their god. A Dark God of destruction and rebirth. They told me that my fire was a gift, but it was incomplete.
"To truly burn the world," the Liturgist told me, "you must burn yourself first."
The ritual was agony.
I stood in a circle of obsidian runes. They poured a black, viscous liquid over me. It burned cold. It seeped into my pores, hunting for my soul.
I screamed. I felt my spirit tearing in half. The golden ember—the legacy of my mother—screamed as it was corrupted.
'No! Stop! It hurts!'
But I didn't stop. I fed the pain with my hatred.
'Take it,' I thought. 'Take my humanity. I don't need it. It only hurts.'
When I woke up, I was different.
I looked in a mirror of polished black glass.
My skin was no longer porcelain pale. Half of my body—my right arm, my neck, part of my face—had turned pitch black, like charred wood. Veins of glowing crimson magma pulsed beneath the charcoal skin.
I summoned a flame.
It wasn't red anymore. It was black. A void-fire that devoured light.
The 'Gift' of Destruction.
"Beautiful," the Liturgist whispered, bowing to me. "A Bishop is born."
I rose through the ranks quickly.
My power was absolute. I commanded the lower Archons. I led raids on villages that were loyal to the crown.
I burned them.
I watched houses collapse into ash, just like my house had. But this time, I was the fire.
'If I burn them,' I reasoned with a twisted logic, 'then I am not the one burning.'
I wiped out entire regions. The "Black Flame Witch." That was my new name.
I felt nothing.
When I heard screams, I didn't hear people. I heard the echo of my own scream. When I saw bodies, I didn't see victims. I saw numbers.
I became an Arch-Bishop.
My humanity eroded until I was more elemental than human. I forgot the taste of cookies. I forgot the sound of my mother's songs. All I knew was the crackle of the flame and the silence of the ash.
Finally, the day came.
The capital. The Royal Palace.
I marched toward it, a trail of destruction behind me. The sky was choked with black smoke.
"I'm here," I whispered, my voice sounding like two stones grinding together. "I'm here to end it."
I breached the gates. The Royal Guards were nothing. Ash in the wind.
I stepped into the grand courtyard.
And he was there.
Aurelius de Solaria.
He looked older. Stronger. He held a sword that shone with a blinding white light. A Sword Master.
"Serene," he said. His voice was sad. "Stop this."
"Serene is dead," I spat, black flames curling from my lips. "There is only Destruction."
We fought.
It was a battle of legends. My black fire against his white aura. The heat melted the stone beneath our feet. I unleashed hell. I poured every ounce of my pain, every year of my suffering, into those flames.
I was winning.
I cornered him. I burned his arm. I shattered his defense.
'Die,' I thought, raising my hand for the final blast. 'Die and let me rest.'
But fate… fate loved him more.
In that moment of near-death, Aurelius screamed. His aura exploded. He broke through.
Grandmaster.
The pressure forced me to my knees. His sword extended, a beam of pure light that cut through my black fire like it wasn't even there.
He countered. He struck.
I was thrown back, crashing against the palace steps. My body was broken. My mana was empty.
He walked toward me, his sword raised.
I looked up at him. I could still kill him. I had one last spell. A suicide burst. I could detonate my core and take him—and this entire palace—with me.
I gathered the last of my black mana.
'Do it. End it all.'
But then…
My vision blurred. The smoke cleared for a second.
And I saw them.
Standing behind Aurelius, shimmering like a mirage.
Mommy. Daddy.
They weren't headless. They were whole. They were wearing the clothes from the ball.
My mother was crying. My father looked at me with such profound sorrow.
They didn't look proud.
They looked heartbroken.
'I promised…' I thought, my concentration shattering. 'I promised to be a lady they could brag about.'
I looked at my charred black arm. I looked at the ruins around me.
'Is this what I became?'
The magic faded from my fingertips. The black fire died.
I slumped back against the stone steps.
Aurelius stood over me. He hesitated for a second, seeing the fight leave my eyes.
But he couldn't stop. I was a monster. I was a threat to the world.
He swung the sword.
Time slowed down.
I didn't feel fear. I felt relief.
"I am coming, Mom… Dad," I murmured, a single, clear tear cutting through the soot on my face.
Snick.
The blade passed through my neck.
The world spun.
My head rolled to the side, coming to a stop on the cold marble.
Just like them.
My body slumped.
As the darkness took me, my last thought wasn't of revenge. It wasn't of hate.
It was just a wish.
'I hope… in the next life… I can just eat the cookies.'
And then, there was nothing.