What Fire Costs
**********
The witch did not waste time.
By morning, Kael was outside, standing barefoot on cold stone. The sun was barely up. Mist clung to the hills, and the air smelled damp and sharp.
"Again," she said.
Kael clenched his fists. Nothing happened.
He breathed out slowly. He tried to remember the feeling from the forest—the pressure in his chest, the heat rising up like breath before a shout.
Still nothing.
The witch watched him, arms folded. "You're trying to force it."
"If I don't," Kael said, "it forces me."
"That's the lie dragon blood tells," she replied. "Power always wants to feel necessary."
Kael said nothing. His jaw was tight.
"Close your eyes," she said. "Think smaller."
He did.
At first there was only silence. Then warmth. Not fire. Just heat. Like standing too close to a hearth.
"There," she said. "Hold it."
Kael focused. The warmth stayed. His skin tingled.
"Now open your hand."
He did.
A thin flame flickered above his palm. Small. Unsteady. Real.
Kael stared at it. "I'm doing it."
"Yes," she said. "And it's already taking something."
The flame sputtered out. Kael staggered, suddenly dizzy. His knees buckled and he caught himself on the ground.
"What did it take?" he asked.
"Time," she said. "Maybe years. Maybe more."
Kael laughed weakly. "That's it?"
She looked at him hard. "Every time you draw on it, you burn part of your future. Healing faster. Moving faster. Surviving what should kill you. It all comes from the same place."
Kael pushed himself up slowly. "So I die early."
"If you're lucky," she said.
They trained until his hands shook and his vision blurred. Small flames. Heat control. Breathing through the pain instead of fighting it.
By midday, Kael could barely stand.
It echoed from the valley below—high, sharp, human.
The witch went still.
Another scream followed. Then shouting.
Kael grabbed his sword. "That's the village."
"Yes," she said.
"They're there for me."
"They're there to make an example," she replied.
Kael turned toward the path. "Then I won't let them."
She caught his arm. "You're not ready."
He pulled free. "Neither were the people screaming."
The village was already burning when he arrived.
Two houses were on fire. Soldiers in Severed Flame armor moved through the streets, dragging people out. One man lay dead near the well, his chest crushed.
Kael felt the heat rise on its own.
A soldier spotted him. "There! That's him!"
The witch's words echoed in his head.
Fire takes.
Kael stepped forward anyway.
The first soldier charged. Kael swung his sword. Steel met steel. The impact rang up his arms.
The second soldier came from the side.
Kael reacted without thinking.
Fire burst from his back, not outward but inward, surging through his muscles. He moved faster than he should have, turning and striking in one motion.
The soldier fell.
Kael gasped as pain tore through his chest. Not injury—something deeper. Like something being pulled away.
He burned again. And again.
When it was over, the soldiers lay dead or fled into the hills.
The village stood silent, smoke curling into the sky.
Kael dropped to one knee, shaking. His vision dimmed. His heart hammered too fast.
The witch appeared beside him. "You felt it," she said.
He nodded. "It hurts more now."
"Yes."
He looked up at the villagers staring at him—not grateful, not afraid. Something worse.
Awe.
"Is this how it starts?" Kael asked. "People seeing me like this?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "This is how men become monsters. Or myths."
Kael looked at the burning houses.
"I don't want either."
The witch placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then you'll have to choose carefully what you burn."
Kael wasn't sure he could
******************
Kael stayed in the village until night fell.
He helped where he could. He lifted burned beams, carried the injured, listened when people spoke to him as if he were something important. Each word made him more uncomfortable than the last.
When he washed his hands at the well, the water steamed faintly.
He stared at the ripples, at the reflection that didn't quite look like him anymore. His eyes seemed sharper. Older. And when he flexed his fingers, the skin pulled tight over faint, dark lines that hadn't been there before.
The witch watched him from a distance.
"You felt stronger," she said quietly. "But you also felt smaller."
Kael nodded. "Like something inside me is being hollowed out."
"That space doesn't stay empty," she replied. "Power fills it. Or hunger."
Kael looked back at the dark hills beyond the village, where the soldiers had fled.
"They'll come back," he said.
"Yes," the witch answered. "And next time, they won't be careless."
Kael closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and felt the heat stir again—waiting.