I nearly ran all the way out of the café.
The cold air burned inside my lungs,
as if hot smoke had settled deep within them.
The image of the man's scorched wrist
kept flashing before my eyes.
"I didn't do it… I didn't…"
The more I repeated it,
the calmer the voice inside me became.
"It is never the fault of a person.
It is the fault of fire.
Whatever fire touches… burns."
I shook my head violently.
"Shut up. Just—shut up!"
The snow-covered trees lining the street
seemed to tremble with the force of my shout.
A few people looked at me from a distance.
I turned away quickly and hurried on.
There was no going back to work today.
My head wasn't steady enough to pretend I was normal.
When I returned home,
the Cortez felt strangely silent.
Not the usual, empty kind of quiet—
but a quiet that was waiting.
As if the walls themselves
were standing still to hear my footsteps.
I closed the door.
The moment the key turned,
the air inside the house grew heavier.
The burn on my chest warmed again.
I went straight to my room and shut the door.
"Today… nothing happens today… not again…"
I whispered.
I took off my boots.
Removed my coat.
Tried to center myself.
But the moment I stood before the mirror,
the burn on my chest
glimmered with a faint red glow.
I stared, breath caught in my throat.
Around the mark,
a soft crimson aura spread outward—
as if something inside me
was slowly waking from sleep.
Even my reflection looked unfamiliar today—
the eyes… almost someone else's.
I said quietly—
"What are you doing inside me?"
And then—
for a fraction of a second—
my face in the mirror changed.
A burned patch on one cheek.
Soot around the eyes.
A scorched line cutting across the lips.
I stumbled backward in horror.
The next heartbeat—
my face was normal again.
I was panting.
The voice inside me said—
"This is only the beginning."
That evening, I tried to cook—
something simple, anything to distract myself.
But the moment I lit the stove,
the burn on my chest flared violently.
The flame rose unnaturally high—
stretching toward my hand
as if reaching for me.
For one suspended second,
the fire hovered—
recognizing me.
Then it softened on its own.
With trembling fingers, I turned the stove off.
"I can't touch fire…"
I thought.
But the voice answered—
"Fire can touch you."
Night settled deep and heavy.
Sleep wouldn't come.
I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling,
the silence pressing on my ribs.
Then I heard it—
From somewhere deep inside the Cortez…
Slow.
Measured.
Footsteps.
Tap… tap… tap…
Coming from the direction of the underground chamber.
"No… please no…"
My throat dried up.
Moments later,
the iron trapdoor creaked—
a long, dragging sound.
Khrrrrrrr…
As if a heavy hand
was pulling it open.
I threw the covers aside and stood up.
"What do you want from me?!"
The voice inside me was no longer gentle—
it was firm, clear, and terrifyingly close.
"Body."
I stumbled and hit the wall.
"You want to take me completely?"
Silence for a heartbeat.
Then—
"When fire was caged,
people were safe.
Now fire is free…
it needs flesh."
The burn on my chest ignited sharply—
a searing spike of heat.
I screamed.
My eyes darted to the mirror—
And there, behind me,
stood a shadow.
The shape of a girl.
Hair falling to one side.
Arms bent as if still bound by chains.
And then the shadow whispered—
"You and I…
are not two anymore."
The lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
And in that darkness,
I felt someone behind me—
slowly, gently—
placing a hand on my shoulder.
A hand
that was not cold.
Not warm.
A hand
that was the second shape of fire.