The hum is back again.
I'm running, harsh breaths stabbing my lungs and gut with each broken inhale, burning my temples with each stuttering exhale.
It's under my skin. It fluctuates in intensity, becomes almost annoying.
I'm huffing and panting, but my legs keep moving, fast.
It's my fire. It hums and calls, answering the growls and snarls of the too-numerous pack of spidery monsters chasing us.
It begs to be let out.
Not here, I tell it. I'm terrified.
My feet pound on hard dirt.
We're in the middle of an abandoned village–most of the buildings are made of wood and cloth and causing a fire-
Miff grabs me by the collar and throws me sideways.
The portal sucks out what little air I had left in my lungs.
We land with a thud and then keep rolling.
The portal opened on a grassy hill–grass, again–and we tumble until the end of it, crashing into a neatly-cut row of bushes. Thorny bushes.
«Ow, ow ow ow.» I lay there, feeling each and every thorn dig into each and every one of my bruises, new and old ones.
Miff is panting somewhere behind me. He groans.
We both lay there for a while, catching our breath, looking up at a blue sky. The adrenaline slowly drifts from our systems, muscles cramping and head swimming.
I can feel the bright energy of the star warming this planet. Birds are singing nearby. I smell sweet flowers.
My breath is slowly calming, and I even manage a tired smile.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement in the disrupted bushes, near my face. A spider.
«No!»
Fire finally comes out. The monster surely perishes, as well as a noticeable section of hedge.
I jump to my feet and Miff is beside me, brandishing his blue blade, yanking me behind him, frantically looking around.
«Come then!» he shouts.
The birds keep singing, unfazed by the clamour.
Miff turns to me, very interrogative looking. I stammer incoherently and point to the bushes. There's the creeping realisation that I may have been tricked by tired eyes, perspective and a turmoiled brain.
«Spider...» I wheeze at Miff's, well, miffed face.
At least he's not on fire. The thorns didn't greet any eyeballs, either.
He sheaths the wicked blue blade and gestures to the burning bushes, calm as ever.
They are on fire, yes. Kind of dangerous. I try to mimic his interrogative, deadpan stare and his gestures. Judging by his unfazed demeanour, I don't succeed in making my point.
«Come on,» he tells me, pointing to the flames steadily engulfing the hedge. «Call them back as I've shown you.»
I sigh and extend my hand palm up.
The humming starts again. My skin itches.
This is wrong, hisses the voice in the back of my head. This is the wrong direction.
No, it isn't, I hiss back.
I envision a flow of smoke. It circles from me to the burning bushes and back to me.
YOU ARE READING
Legacy of Mayhem
FantasyStar-children aren't an oddity, but Ember, volatile like fire, born of death and new light, sure is-a very troublesome, talkative one, who has been kidnapped (twice) by a very miffed warrior, survivor of an apocalypse yet to come. Duly named Miff, s...
