After the smoke-creature, nothing felt the same.
I stopped pretending.
I skipped school for good. I avoided Mom. I spent my days wandering abandoned places—the scrapyard, the rooftops, the broken chapel near the river. The places where no one could see the fire follow me.
I practiced.
At first, I could only spark a flame. Then I could shape it. Bend it. Stretch it into ropes, spheres, even a whip. The flames didn't burn me, didn't hurt me. They listened. Like they knew me.
Like they were mine.
⸻
I kept drawing too. More visions, more symbols. And always, always, him.
My father.
In the drawings, he stood at the center of a circle, hands raised, fire around him and beasts at his feet. His eyes weren't kind—they were endless. And behind him stood others… people like him. Like me?
No. Not like me.
They were colder. Hungrier. Their auras were wrong.
⸻
One night, I returned home to find the door open.
My stomach dropped. I crept inside, fingers glowing faint orange in the dark.
The apartment was trashed—papers everywhere, furniture overturned, scorch marks on the wall. No Mom. No sign of a struggle. Just… silence.
Except for the symbol drawn on the living room floor in ash.
The same one from my visions.
I dropped to my knees, heart racing.
Was she taken? Was this a message?
Or a warning?
Suddenly, the flames inside me surged. My hands lit on instinct. I turned—expecting another monster.
But no.
It was the woman from the tracks.
She stood in the corner like a shadow made solid. "He's calling you," she said softly.
"Where is my mother?" I demanded.
"Safe. For now."
My flames flared higher. "Where. Is. She."
She didn't blink. "You'll find her when you're ready. But first, he needs to know if you're his."
A sick chill ran through me. "What do you mean, his?"
"You were born from his fire, Ember. His gift runs through your blood. He's not a villain. He's your origin."
"No," I whispered. "I'm nothing like him."
Her golden eyes narrowed. "We'll see."
And then she was gone.
⸻
That night, I packed everything: my sketchbook, my hoodie, my courage. I wrote a single note and left it on my bed, just in case Mom came back:
"I'm going to find him. And I'm going to end this."
The flames lit my path as I stepped into the dark.