Flames of Ashes

Chapter Seventeen. Heart.

"Choosing is the simplest task ever given to man by the gods, it is what to choose that is the real task."~Cadvere

***
Snow had melted away, replaced by a warm, gentle breeze. The sun shone brightly, revealing every flaw in every being; winter had transformed into summer. By now, my mother would have begun singing the summer song:

"The sun, the people have scorned,
The plants and the sun have welcomed,
Harvest the gods have blessed us,
The children run and play without a fuss,
Oh, how the sweet gods have blessed us."

However, two days had passed since I became disabled since Zarir carried me from the Aid Bay to his room, and since my tongue refused to function. Time had passed, but not enough time.

When I was a tiny baby, my elder brother Ambrose read me a tragic and horrid story called The Mother Lion and the Wolf. It was a tale I sang countless times to anyone who would listen. Now, the words moved like waves at the back of my mind, gnawing and thawing, rendering my vow to never hurt anyone again useless.
"You took from me, my children, and that measure of pain can never be delivered." The mother Lion told the wolf. The same way the gods took my leg and that can never be recovered.

My life had always been riddled with problems, and there was no place I could go without something going wrong. If I were a Wyn, specifically a Sect Wyn, I would leave Elpeca and hurt no one. They lived beyond the territories of Elpeca, researching, and recording information about the world's mysteries independently.

Arthur, Drake, and Maze had seen firsthand what I could do with my fire, and they had suffered. I killed a man when I was twelve out of anger, and I still remember the look in his eyes as my fire burned him beyond recognition.

I needed to leave, I was going to leave after Flame Day and no one knew, not even my Wyn, not even my friends and family. I would have left and never come back instead of being a burden. If they knew the kind of monster they locked in here, they would never have welcomed me into their hood.

"You have to attend class tomorrow, Xarian," Zarir informed me as he applied ointment to my knee. I couldn't even look at it—swollen, mutilated, useless, and gut-wrenching. It would never heal. I would never heal.

I sat on his bed, leaning against the wall with one leg arched and the other straight.

The fire he lit illuminated the room, revealing every inch more clearly. I could see him more clearly. The walls were covered in scattered paintings—beautiful, mesmerizing works, some in vibrant colors, others in dull hues, but all magnificent. Small pieces and large pieces covered half the wall.

"I cannot walk, so are you going to carry me to class, instead? I do not want to go." Nothing. No emotion seeped into my heart, my voice, my eyes, and my soul.

"Which is why I had something made for you." He stood up after making sure the bandage was in place. He brought something out from behind his drawers and my eyes widened in shock, in disbelief.
"No, you cannot be serious," He held two wooden crutches in his hands.
"You want me to show up to class, with that."

"This will help you walk and give you support because you can't strain your right leg."
"Well then, it is a shame I would not be needing it because I am not going to class or anywhere else for that matter." I turned my head to the side.
"You're going to be a knight, and you can't give up." I scoffed. He dropped the crutches, walked over to the bed, and cupped my face. "I won't let you give up. You've come this far, and the last thing I ever took you for was a coward." The warmth of his hands spread throughout my body and butterflies scattered in my belly.