Chapter 18: Veya's Fire
The days had begun to blur together. The fire in the hearth had become a constant, its warm glow punctuating the quiet moments of Axel's life. The silence had settled between him and Veya—unspoken, but not uncomfortable. He had learned to read her gestures, the subtle movements of her eyes, the way her lips twitched in response to certain sounds or people. In her quiet, watchful way, she had become indispensable in the small shop, though Axel still didn't fully understand the girl or the mysterious air that seemed to cling to her.
The muted girl, now known to him as Veya, had started showing more initiative in the past few weeks. At first, she had simply washed the bowls, helped organize the meager stock of goods, and kept to herself in the quietest of ways. But lately, things had changed. She had started to take on more responsibility—arranging the supplies with an uncanny precision, ensuring that the shop's small collection of tools, herbs, and spices were neatly stored, organized, and ready for use. It wasn't just the work that had changed; it was her attitude.
Veya had started helping the children who came into the shop. They were regulars—orphans, street kids, runaways, and those barely scraping by in the filth of the city's underbelly. She'd always been silent, but there was a softness in her eyes when she interacted with them. She didn't speak to them; she didn't need to. She simply understood them. When one child stumbled into the shop with a scraped knee, Veya had ushered him toward the small wash basin, gently cleaning the wound with the care of someone who knew how to treat pain without words. Her hands moved with the surety of experience, the tenderness of someone who had healed more than just physical wounds.
Axel watched her from the counter, leaning against the wooden surface, eyes half-closed as he sharpened his knives. There was something about the way she cared for the children—something more than just kindness. It was instinctive. She moved as though the world's troubles were nothing compared to the simple task of offering comfort, as though she had been doing it for lifetimes. There was no hesitation in her touch, no uncertainty in the way she knelt beside the child.
It was almost as if she were born for this.
Her sketches had become more frequent as well. The charcoal drawings she had begun to make on the walls had grown in complexity. What had started as crude figures—scrawls of fire, of beasts, of Axel—had evolved into something far more intricate. Some nights, when the firelight flickered low, Axel would see her sitting at the edge of the room, her focus intent on the sketches she made in the dark. Symbols that Axel couldn't understand—twisting curves, patterns that seemed to shimmer just beneath the surface of reality. Beast symbols, as he called them. The glowing eyes of the creatures from her earlier drawing had started to appear again, and each night, the drawings grew more detailed, more menacing. More powerful.
But the one thing that truly unsettled Axel was how quickly Veya adapted to new things. There was an innate quality to her—something beyond learned behavior—that Axel couldn't explain. And every time he thought he had a handle on who she was, she would surprise him again.
That morning, as the shop opened for the day, a burly man walked in, a thug from one of the local gangs. His leather jacket was torn, his face bruised from a recent altercation, and his eyes narrowed with the arrogance that came from holding power over others. He was one of those low-tier enforcers, the kind that liked to make their mark by picking on the weak and vulnerable.
A young boy, no older than ten, had just stepped into the shop, clutching a crumpled note in his hand. The boy's thin face was pale, and his hands trembled slightly as he took a step toward the counter.
"Excuse me," the boy began, voice barely audible, "I need to buy—"
Before the boy could finish, the thug stepped forward, blocking his path with a sneer on his face. The man leaned down, his breath foul, the stink of alcohol and cheap cigars wafting in the air. He didn't even look at Axel, instead turning his full attention to the boy.
"What's this, then?" the thug growled, looming over the boy like a mountain. "You want something from the shop, little rat? Better cough up some coin, or maybe I'll just take it off your hands, yeah?"
The boy flinched, his eyes wide with fear. He shrank back, his hands clutching the crumpled note tighter. Axel's fingers tightened on the knife in his hand, but before he could make a move, something unexpected happened.
Veya moved.
In one fluid motion, she stepped between the boy and the thug, her body like a shield. She didn't speak, didn't say a word, but there was something in the way she held herself—something that radiated danger, a primal kind of power that Axel hadn't seen in her before. Her eyes flashed, a deep, molten amber color, and for the first time, Axel saw something in them that made him uneasy.
The thug was taken aback for a moment. He blinked, his confidence faltering. He hadn't expected the girl to stand up to him, let alone block his path. But he quickly recovered, sneering as he looked down at her, sizing her up.
"You think you can stop me, girl?" he spat, his voice low with menace. "Move aside, or you'll regret it."
Veya didn't move. She simply stood there, her gaze unwavering, the fire in her eyes growing more intense.
The thug laughed, shaking his head. "Don't think you know what you're doing, sweetie. You want to play the tough girl, huh?"
In an instant, the thug reached out, attempting to shove her aside. But before his hand could make contact, Veya's movements were a blur. She reacted instinctively, her body flowing into a series of motions so fluid, so fast, it was as though the thug's attack had been anticipated before he even moved. With a sharp twist of her arm, she slammed her palm into his chest, sending him stumbling back, gasping for air. The force of the blow was staggering. Axel had seen plenty of fights, but this—this was something else entirely.
The thug gasped, his face turning pale as he staggered back. He'd clearly underestimated her—underestimated Veya. She didn't wait for him to regain his footing. With a swift kick, she knocked him off balance, sending him crashing to the floor with a sickening thud.
The boy, who had been frozen in fear, blinked as if waking from a trance. He backed away, his eyes wide, but Veya's attention was already back on the thug. She stepped toward him slowly, deliberately, her every movement calculated, poised. The thug, now on the floor, scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with shock and confusion.
"Stay away from him," Veya said, her voice low, like a growl, the words barely a whisper. Axel had never heard her speak like that before—no softness, no hesitation. Just pure, raw authority.
The thug's eyes darted to Axel, seeking permission, but Axel stood in the background, his eyes narrowed. This wasn't something he had ever seen from her. He didn't know what she was capable of, but right now, the power in her presence was undeniable.
The thug grunted, pulling himself up, glaring at Veya with venom. "You're lucky I don't have time to teach you a lesson," he muttered, his voice trembling with the residual fear and anger.
With one final, resentful glance, he turned and stumbled out of the shop, leaving the door swinging behind him. The silence in the room lingered for a few moments, thick and heavy. The boy, still wide-eyed, looked up at Veya as if seeing her for the first time.
Veya didn't look back at him. Instead, she turned to Axel, who was still standing near the counter, stunned by what he had just witnessed. Her amber eyes met his, and in that moment, Axel saw something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
She wasn't just a girl.
Axel had always known there was something different about her, but seeing her move with that kind of strength—effortless, primal—made him question everything he thought he knew about her. Her instincts had been flawless, her reaction swift and precise. This wasn't just a girl who had survived; this was someone who had been forged in the flames of something far darker.
Elyria's words echoed in his mind: Not all of them are mortal.
Axel's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't speak. He simply watched Veya as she turned back to the boy, who was still standing at the threshold, his hand gripping the edge of the counter.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice almost tender, as though the violent scene had never happened.
The boy nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face.
Veya smiled faintly and turned away, heading back to the corner where she had started sketching earlier. Axel wasn't sure what to make of it. The fire in her eyes, the raw power, the instincts that had kicked in—everything about her was... unsettling.
As he watched her sit back down and begin sketching again, Axel's unease deepened.
System Alert: *Potential Candidate Detected.