THE ELEMENTIELS

Ch. 3: THE CHILD FORGED FROM FIRE

Jason's grandfather's words echoed in his mind: "People move on, Jason. Not everyone you love will be around forever. The older you get, the sooner you'll realize that."

Those words, heavy with wisdom and loss, now seemed more real than ever as he surveyed the chaos around him. His left arm miraculously began to heal itself, the torn skin knitting together before his eyes. His gaze flickered, a spark of lightning illuminating his irises, before they returned to their usual red hue. Confusion swirled through him, but there was no time to dwell on it.

With a heart filled with dread, Jason dashed toward Stacey. He called her name, his voice hoarse, thick with tears. Blood poured from her wounds, staining his clothes as he cradled her fragile body in his arms. "Help!" he screamed, though the word felt small and insignificant against the enormity of his fear.

A crowd soon gathered, and hands reached out to help. The doctors arrived swiftly, whisking Stacey and Jonathan away into separate tents, their faces grim as they moved with practiced urgency. One doctor paused to examine Jason's arm, his brow furrowed.

"You said you were attacked by the dragon?" the doctor asked, incredulity lacing his tone. "But there's not a scratch on you."

Jason stared at him, baffled. "I was," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand it either."

The doctor shook his head, equal parts perplexed and intrigued. But there was no time to ponder this mystery. Jason's mind was elsewhere. "What about Jonathan? And Stacey-will they be alright?"

The doctor hesitated. "Jonathan will recover," he said, his voice cautious. "But your sister... her injuries are severe. We're doing everything we can."

Jason's heart sank. The words felt like a punch to the chest. "Oh," was all he could manage, his voice hollow. He slumped onto a bench outside the tent, staring blankly at the flaps as they fluttered in the wind, waiting for news that never seemed to come.

Moments passed like hours. Jason waited in agonizing silence, his hands trembling as the cold breeze brushed against his skin. Soon, Grandpa Mark appeared, his presence solid and comforting. The old man immediately wrapped Jason in a tight embrace, his hands rough but reassuring.

"Jason... are you alright? I came as soon as I heard," Mark said, his voice heavy with worry.

Jason pulled back slightly, his face pale and strained. "I'm alright, Grandpa. But... Stacey... she's not doing well," he choked out.

As if on cue, a doctor emerged from the tent, her face drawn with sorrow. She approached them slowly, the weight of her news dragging her steps. "Mr. Marquoid, I'm afraid I have some difficult news," she began, her voice faltering. "We've done everything we can... but she might not make it."

Jason's world seemed to collapse in on itself. He stared at the doctor, unblinking, as her words washed over him like icy water. Grandpa Mark gripped the doctor's hands tightly, his knuckles white. "How much time does she have?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Not much, I'm afraid. But you can see her now," she replied, her eyes soft with sympathy.

Jason's legs felt like lead as he followed his grandfather into the tent. Inside, Stacey lay still, her breaths shallow and labored. Jonathan sat beside her, his hand clasped around hers, his face etched with fear and grief. Jason and Grandpa Mark sat down, the weight of the moment pressing down on them like a dark cloud.

Stacey stirred, her eyes fluttering open weakly. "Are... are you all here?" she rasped, her voice barely audible.

"Yes, my love, we're here," Jonathan whispered, his voice trembling as he tightened his grip on her hand.