Freya’s body tensed as she heard the rustling from the bushes. A boy, no older than fourteen, emerged from the shadows. His deep green eyes gleamed with curiosity, and his dark brown hair, tousled from the forest’s winds, framed a face that seemed both youthful and worn. His clothes were simple and faded, evidence that he had been out in the woods for some time. A satchel hung over one shoulder, and in his hand, he held a small, crudely carved wooden knife.
Freya instinctively stepped back, her palms warming as her powers stirred. The flames before her flickered and grew, casting an intimidating light that painted her figure in harsh, glowing shadows.
The boy stopped in his tracks, raising his free hand in a gesture of peace. “Whoa, don’t burn me, alright?” His voice was calm but edged with caution.
“Who are you?” Freya demanded, her voice slightly unsteady. “What do you want?”
The boy tilted his head, studying her with an equal mix of awe and wariness. “I could ask you the same thing. Not every day you see someone playing with fire in the middle of the woods. Are you... some kind of witch?”
Freya’s muscles stiffened at the word, a flash of anger crossing her face. She clenched her fists, her body still trembling from the tension. “I’m not a witch,” she spat. “I—I just have powers. That’s all.”
The boy blinked and then grinned, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Alright, no offense meant,” he said, taking a careful step closer. “Name’s Greg. I live in the village nearby. And you?”
Freya hesitated, her mind racing. She had never spoken to anyone her age who wasn’t a servant or tutor, and her father’s warnings echoed in the back of her mind. But there was something about Greg’s easy demeanor that put her at ease, at least for a moment. “I’m Freya.”
Greg raised an eyebrow, clearly recognizing the name. “Freya? You’re the girl who lives up in that big house on the hill, right? People say... strange things about you.”
“Let me guess,” Freya said, bitterness creeping into her voice. “They call me a monster, don’t they?”
Greg shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve heard worse. But you don’t seem like one to me.”
Freya blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. “You don’t... think I’m dangerous?”
Greg chuckled, tucking the knife into his belt. “You don’t look dangerous to me. Reckless, maybe,” he added with a playful grin, “but not dangerous.”
The words hit Freya harder than she expected. She couldn’t help but smile faintly, though her guard remained firmly in place. “Why are you out here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be with your family in the village?”
Greg’s expression darkened, and he kicked a small rock with the tip of his boot, watching it skitter across the ground. “Don’t have much of a family. My folks are gone, and I do odd jobs to get by. Sometimes I come out here to hunt or gather herbs. It’s quieter than the village.”
Freya’s heart softened, an unexpected pang of sympathy rising inside her. She saw the same loneliness in his eyes that had lived in her own for years. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Greg shrugged, brushing off the sympathy. “Don’t be. I get by.” His gaze flicked back to the fire. “So, what’s your story? What are you doing out here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be up in that fancy house of yours?”
Freya looked away, guilt pricking at her chest. “I... I just wanted to get out. For a little while. To practice controlling my powers.”
Greg nodded thoughtfully, as if he understood the need to escape. “Well, this is a good spot for that. Plenty of space, no one to bother you... except me, I guess.” He flashed her a crooked grin, then gestured to the fire. “Mind if I sit? It’s getting cold.”
Freya hesitated, but after a moment, she nodded. Greg settled on a fallen log opposite her, stretching his legs out and holding his hands toward the warmth of the fire.
“So, what else can you do?” he asked, his tone casual, as if they were just two friends sharing a quiet evening.
Freya hesitated again, a small knot of uncertainty forming in her stomach. But there was something about Greg’s genuine curiosity that made her feel safe. “I can... make the fire bigger or smaller. And I can throw it, like a ball. But it’s hard to control sometimes,” she admitted, a hint of frustration slipping into her voice. “That’s why I need to practice.”
Greg raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Makes sense. I’d probably burn half the forest down if I had powers like yours.”
Freya laughed softly, the sound surprising her. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to laugh, and the moment felt... good.
They spent the next hour talking—about Freya’s powers, Greg’s life in the village, and the mysterious forest that surrounded them. The tension in Freya’s shoulders gradually eased, her guard lowering as she realized how easy it was to talk to him. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the feeling of normal conversation, the kind that didn’t have a thousand unspoken rules attached to it.
As the moon rose high in the sky, Greg stretched, rising to his feet with a yawn. “I should head back before someone notices I’m gone. You’ll be alright out here?”
Freya nodded, reluctant to let the conversation end. “I’ll be fine. Thank you... for not running away.”
Greg smiled, the warmth in his eyes surprising her. “Why would I run? You’re not as scary as they say.”
With that, he turned and disappeared into the trees, his figure vanishing into the darkness of the forest.
Freya sat for a long while, watching the flames dance and flicker in the night. Her mind buzzed with the strange, new feeling of connection—of being seen not as a dangerous outcast, but as just someone... human.
For the first time in years, she felt a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as dangerous as everyone thought.
YOU ARE READING
Flames
Fantasy## A fiery heart, a desperate escape, a destiny to fulfill. Freya, a young woman with the power to control fire, has been imprisoned in her own home for years, feared for the very gift that makes her unique. Haunted by loneliness and a desperate ye...
