The flames of white weaved through the streets without any resistance, instantly covering the square with its hateful warmth. The buildings, plants, and even the people were now doused with it, unable to escape. And before they could turn tail, the flames started to head towards Alan and Lyra.
The flames, which moved like fluids, covered the distance in an instant, and were on the foot of the hill before they could react. But halfway up the slope, the flames stopped as if they hesitated. They recoiled as if the hill were a bucket of cold water.
Lyra didn't notice the miracle. A terrible scream erupted from her throat as she fell to her knees. Alan, however, couldn't care about her current state. Panic chewed at his lungs, but he knew that panic wouldn't save them. He had questions above all else.
'Why doesn't the fire climb to the top of the hill?' He thought, looking around. He scanned the summit and the tree itself. The voice of an Elder slammed into memory as he remembered a story about the Tree of Life.
"The dead bark of this tree protects the living, even from afar."
Alan ripped a strip of bark free and hurled it toward the encroaching blaze.
The flames stuttered backwards and stayed away from the small piece of wood. They peeled back in a widening ring, refusing to touch even a pebble that had brushed the bark. 'It fears the bark!' Alan thought, clenching his fists.
Alan seized Lyra by the shoulders. "Get up, Lyra. Now."
Her eyes remained on the burning village. The beautiful blue had been dyed white with the reflection, but it was unmistakably hazy, almost unclear. "But… The people?!"
"I know," he said, his voice quivering, "It's my home too. I love those people, too. But standing still will get both of us killed. Tear the bark. Now."
For a heartbeat, she didn't move. Then, trembling, she obeyed. They stripped chunks of bark until they could barely hold more, then stepped into the sea of fire. A bubble of untouched air expanded around them. The flames hissed, pulling away with a sound disturbingly close to a whine.
Tucking some bark into their clothes, they walked through the parting flames and into the village. It was silent. Not a scream. Not a strain. Not even the sounds of creaking wood, or burning wood for that matter. But as they went deeper, they saw the people.
Bodies stood engulfed in white fire, their skin blackening, yet their faces were joyful. People chatted soundlessly, smiling at unintelligible jokes, oblivious to the heat chewing their skin.
"What… What the hell," Lyra muttered quietly as she hung close to Alan. They walked through the fire, trying to find anyone they knew. That was when they found Tyler.
He stood in the center of the square, staring up at the night sky as flames curled up his neck. Alan roughly grabbed him by his shoulders. "Tyler! Look at me!"
Tyler blinked slowly, as if waking from a pleasant dream. His face was too calm. "Alan?" he said slowly. "Back so soon?"
Alan's guts were replaced by an intricate series of knots. "You're on fire," he strained. "Doesn't it hurt?"
Tyler blinked again. "Hurt? No. Feels like…" He searched for a word, smiling. "Like I'm on top of the world." A piece of flesh fell from his chin, and yet, he remained standing.
"Tyler," Alan whispered, "what do you feel right now?"
Tyler looked blissful. "Like I've been reborn."
Alan stepped back, his fists now drawing red marks in his palms. 'The flames… They're erasing him,' he thought, walking to Lyra, who was gazing into the distance. He couldn't save Tyler. And that meant that he likely couldn't save anyone. And so, he led Lyra away.
But both of them stopped. There, just a few paces away, were Lyra's parents, Bill and Penny. Much like everyone else, they were on fire, and yet their excited faces were clear because of the bright flames.
Alan touched her arm gently. "Go," he said softly. "This… Is your last chance. Please do not waste it."
Lyra nodded slowly and dragged her feet over to her parents.
Bill spotted her and grinned. "Back already? You look older. Must be the festive air."
"That's right!" Penny laughed, voice flickering as the flames crawled up her face. "Come on, sweetheart, wanna play with us?"
Lyra couldn't imagine what her parents would have really thought when her voice resounded. "Mom… Dad…" It was shaking, something her mother taught her to suppress.
They beamed at her, completely unaware their skin was peeling off in strips. Bill chuckled. "Why the long face? Big day, isn't it?"
Lyra couldn't hold it back anymore. She let herself go, as she threw her arms around them, clinging so tightly her shoulders shook. The fire moved away from her, moving on to terrorize other unaware people, and yet, she felt the heat. Or maybe that was herself.
Neither parent reacted. They didn't hug her back. They didn't even seem to know she was crying. When she finally let go, her face was wet, and her knees shook. "Goodbye," she whispered.
They smiled at her like it was nothing more than a passing greeting. Taking one last look at them, Lyra walked back to Alan, her expression hollow.
The village, much like every village around, had a protective wall to keep spells from coming inside the village, and yet, this time, it kept the spell from coming out. As Alan and Lyra escaped through the village gate, the flames tried to follow, only to be repelled by bark placed all around. The fire was contained.
And so, they walked. For several minutes, only their footsteps filled the silence.
Then a suppressed sob. And another. Alan slowed his pace. "Lyra…?"
She didn't look back. Her voice cracked. "I can't… not yet."
He nodded once and didn't push. They walked until they couldn't smell the smoke any longer.
"Where are we going next?" Alan finally asked. Lyra stopped walking. Her fists tightened.
"We're going to Auren," she said, her gaze downward.
Seeing as to how she wouldn't elaborate, he prodded, "…Why?"
She turned to him. Her eyes were red, and yet, they were determined. Her voice turned steady as she said, "We're becoming Conduits."