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At my nod, she replies, “Alright then… so try communicating with it.”

That… might actually work. If I focus on speaking to it, showing it what I want through the way I felt in specific moments, and then sending it those memories….

Feeling more confident, I let my eyes flutter shut and clear my head. Then, I focus all my attention on the flame in my chest.

It’s so much easier to connect to it now than it was before. Like instead of speaking through a thick wall, we’re now in the same room, just on opposite sides.

Reaching out, I let myself fall back into the memory of that moment in the basement. I try filtering through all the intense emotions and instead pinpoint exactly how I felt right before I called on the fire that saved Daxen’s life.

I can feel the heat of the basement. How wrong the air itself feels. Heavier than it should be. Warmer. It presses against my skin, like it has a tangible presence.

The glowing iridescence of the runes pulses and hums, casting an eerie glow on our skin and giving the illusion that the shadows were twice as long as they really were.

And the smell. Ozone. So overpowering I can taste it. It doesn’t bother me, but it’s strange. Out of place, like everything else down there.

Most overwhelming, though, are my emotions. So I concentrate on those. First is the fear. Fear that I’ve led us all into a trap. Then, as the fighting increases, fear that Daxen’s ignoring my warnings on purpose, simply because they were coming from me, and that his hate might lead to his death.

Then comes the anger—that my Fated Mate is about to be seriously injured. Anger at him. Anger at the Severed, preparing to attack, pointed teeth exposed and dead eyes bright with anticipation.

Which is what led to the torrent of determination I felt when I realized that no one was going to save Daxen because no one was paying attention: no one but me.

And despite his cruelty, despite the pain he’d caused and the ache in my chest and the terrible truth of who we were to each other that I carried like a weight around my neck, I knew—with undeniable certainty—that I could not let him die.

The idea of losing him to some disgusting Severed filled me with rage.

I recall each moment, and I push the memory to the flame like a gift.

A gift wrapped in a request. A question.

‘Like this. When this happened, remember?’

The flame flickers, flares, and just like before, an intense warmth fills my limbs, rushing through my veins and heating me from the inside. I hold up my hands, palms out, and dismiss that night, replacing it with an older, far more comforting memory.

Like this, my love. See? Gently, now… if you blow on it too hard, it will go out.

Like this, mama?

Yes, my little ember. Perfect.

Eyes closed, I imagine that little flame given to me by my mother so many years ago. I imagine cupping it in my palms, blowing so, so gently. I imagine it growing, becoming bigger and bigger, burning hotter and hotter, until⁠—

WOOSH!!

My eyes shoot open as fire erupts from my hands. It blasts across the cavern, twin cyclones of flame, so hot the air around it shimmers. With a yelp, Branwen throws herself to the side right before it flies past her, inches from where she’d been standing.

In this moment I’d swear that the air itself is bending around the flames, which continue to pour in a stream from the center of my palms. I try to close my hands, to pull the torrent of fire back, but I can’t. It’s too much—too intense. It’s as though it’s waited this whole time to be free, and now that it is, it’s in no hurry to be extinguished.

It jets through the empty space, a spinning funnel of red, orange, blue, and white, swirling faster and faster toward the cavern's opposite wall.

I don’t need Branwen’s gifts to see what’s about to happen. I strain harder, screaming with the effort to curl my hands into fists.

It’s no use.

The pillars of flame slam into the wall with a thunderous roar. The stone itself screams as the wall blackens, then blisters, melting like candle wax.

I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand. Tears stream down my face, and even though the fire doesn’t feel overly warm against my skin, they evaporate from the strength of the heat.

Steam floats up around me as my clothes dry in less than a minute.