THE FESTIVAL OF FLAMES
Drenvale was nothing if not predictable. Every year, at the height of the dry season, the villagers celebrated the Festival of Flames. They lit torches in a spiral around the square, draped lanterns on goats (with mildly interested expressions), and danced to a tuba-and-fiddle band that had zero sense of rhythm but an overabundance of enthusiasm.
Kael despised it. Too many eyes. Too much heat. Too much chance for a cosmic sneeze to turn a potato cart into a miniature black hole.
He tried to avoid the festivities by hiding behind the spice stall, clutching a sack of heavily scented saffron. Reginald, the goat, ambled over, head-down as if sniffing out Kael's intentions.
"Not today," Kael muttered.
Reginald responded by headbutting the saffron sack, sending golden clouds into the air. Villagers sneezed in unison. A toddler cried. A distant pig threatened insurrection.
Kael sighed and followed the goat, defeated.
He found Elara near the bonfire platform, wearing a bright orange cloak that made her look like a walking flame. She waved an arm enthusiastically, nearly toppling a row of mead cups.
"Glad you could make it!" she shouted over the din.
Kael offered her a wan smile. "Yeah, I'm here. Because goats are relentless."
Elara grinned. "And because you promised not to mukbang the goddess of fire this year."
"I did not—"
She held up a half-eaten roasted insect. "Last year's centerpiece. You scarfed it down."
Kael looked away. "It was crunchy."
Elara laughed and tossed him the skewer. "Alright, come on. Let's find a spot away from the pyrotechnics—but close enough to enjoy the questionable music."
TORCHES & TENSION
They settled on a patch of flattened grass near the edge of the spiral. The torches sputtered orange light across the villagers' faces—mirthful, curious, oblivious to the brewing storm.
A fiddler hit a sour note. A tuba player sneezed, sending a low honk across the crowd.
Kael chewed on the insect skewer. Every crunch echoed in his mind like a drumbeat warning of impending doom.
Elara elbowed him. "You okay? You look like you just remembered you left the oven on."
He forced a grin. "Maybe that's what's burning."
She rolled her eyes. "I'll stop asking questions if you promise not to vaporize the choir."
"I make no promises," he said, taking another bite.
"Kael." She nudged him again. "You've been twitchier than a rabbit in a thunderstorm all week. Talk to me."
He hesitated. "Do you ever feel like something's watching you? Not a person—something big. Cold. Like... the sky's waiting for you to slip?"
She blinked, chewing her lip. "I feel that when I forget to return library books."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. That librarian is terrifying."
Kael managed a laugh. It helped. Briefly.
THE OBSERVER
Then it happened.
The temperature dipped—not much, just enough to feel like the air had taken a nervous breath.
The torches flickered. Shadows danced unnaturally.
Kael turned.
There—just beyond the final torch's glow—stood a figure.
Tall. Still. Too clean. Clothes crisp. Face smooth. Expression unreadable. Eyes... hollow, like a forgotten memory.
"Elara..."
"I see him," she said, her voice taut. "That's not someone from here."
"No one else notices," Kael whispered.
The villagers laughed. A child set off a sparkler. The band played a stumbling tune about cider.
But that figure—he was fixed. Watching. Calculating.
Elara squeezed Kael's arm. "Do you know him?"
"I think he knows me," Kael said.
The figure raised a hand. Slowly. Deliberately.
He pointed directly at Kael.
Then faded. Not walked away. Just—vanished.
Like the space he occupied changed its mind.
Kael dropped his skewer.
"Kael?" Elara asked, worried. "What the hell was that?!"
"I think... I think he's why the dreams are getting worse."
"What dreams?"
"The ones where I ruin everything. Where everything ends."
"...That's a bad dream."
"You think?"
THE SURGE
Kael's vision blurred. His heartbeat sounded like thunder in his ears.
Breathe.
Be small. Be still. Be nothing.
But the fire felt him.
It shrank. Folded. Inhaled its own light.
The bonfire disappeared in a burst of silence, leaving only a perfect black circle of scorched earth.
Screams erupted.
"Where's the fire?!"
"Is this part of the show?"
"No, this is NOT part of the show!"
Elara pulled Kael backward. "We have to go. Now."
Villagers rushed forward. Some dropped buckets of water on the empty pit. Others made signs of protection. A priest muttered a prayer.
Kael stared, pale. "I didn't mean to."
"I know," Elara whispered. "But we need to get you away from here before someone decides it was your fault."
5. AFTERMATH
By morning, Drenvale buzzed with fear and superstition:
"The fire was stolen."
"A spirit has cursed us."
"That boy... he was there."
Maera barred the doors. Thomlin stood guard with a hoe.
Inside, Kael sat curled on a chair, clutching a pillow like a lifeline.
"Maybe I should leave," he murmured.
Maera turned. "You are not leaving. You're not a danger—you're a child. My child."
"I don't know what I am," he replied.
"Then let's figure it out together," Thomlin added, setting down the hoe. "But not by running."
Elara climbed in through the window later, ignoring the door entirely.
"You missed all the crazy," she said, plopping down beside him.
"I was the crazy."
"Okay. But like, not on purpose."
Kael cracked a smile. "You always say the right dumb thing."
She grinned. "That's my gift."
6. ECHOES IN THE SHADOWS
That night, Kael couldn't sleep. The shadows whispered again.
He stepped outside, moonlight tracing his steps.
The circle where the bonfire once stood was untouched—no ash, no wood, no sign of heat. Just nothingness.
He crouched, brushing the soil. It felt colder than snow.
Then a breath tickled his ear:
"Found you."
He spun.
Nothing. Just wind. And footprints beside his.
He ran, heart hammering.
7. A PROMISE IN MOONLIGHT
Back at the willow, Kael gasped for breath.
Elara was already there. Lantern in hand.
"You always come here when things go sideways," she said.
Kael collapsed beside her. "Because this is where I first remembered... before."
She sat quietly, holding the light between them. "Do you think you were someone else?"
"I don't think—I know. I've broken a world before. I don't want to do it again."
"You haven't broken this one yet."
He looked at her, eyes rimmed red. "I don't know if I can stop it."
She took his hand. "Then let me help."
The lantern's flame flickered. Soft. Steady.
For the first time that night, Kael exhaled.