Flames

Chapter Five

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of orange and purple. Freya leaned against the old oak tree in the clearing, her auburn hair catching the last of the light, glowing like fire in the fading day. She had been waiting for over an hour, twisting a fallen leaf between her fingers, trying to calm the nervous energy coursing through her. Greg was late.

It had been five years since their first meeting, and their bond had only deepened over time. Greg had become her anchor, the one person who didn’t fear her powers, the one person who never treated her like a monster. Yet tonight, something felt off. A knot had been forming in Freya’s chest, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that Greg had been growing distant lately. His visits had become less frequent, his laughter less bright. She tried to push the thoughts away, but the weight of uncertainty pressed heavily on her.

The sound of footsteps broke her from her thoughts. She looked up, her heart leaping, only to see Greg stepping into the clearing, his dark brown hair tousled by the wind. But there was something different in his green eyes—an unreadable shadow that made Freya’s stomach tighten.

“You’re late,” she said, trying to keep her tone playful, though her voice wavered with unease.

“Sorry,” Greg replied, his voice unusually soft. He didn’t meet her gaze as he approached, stopping a few feet away from her.

Freya studied him closely, her heart sinking with each passing second. “What’s wrong?”

Greg hesitated, his hands nervously fidgeting at his sides. “Freya... I need to tell you something.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse quickening. “What is it?”

“I won’t be able to come here as often anymore,” Greg said, his voice heavy with regret. “There’s... something I have to take care of. It’s important.”

Freya’s breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean? You’re leaving?”

Greg shook his head slowly. “Not leaving, exactly. But I’ll be busy. I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit again.”

The world around her seemed to tilt, the earth beneath her feet suddenly unstable. “Is it because of me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Freya.” Greg stepped closer, his tone firm yet gentle. “It’s not you. It’s something I have to do for myself... for my family. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Freya’s throat constricted, the words she wanted to say caught in a web of confusion. “Then why? Why now?”

Greg hesitated, his green eyes locking onto hers with a vulnerability she had never seen before. “Because I can’t let myself get distracted. And you... you mean too much to me.”

Her breath hitched, her heart thundering in her chest. “Greg, I—”

Before she could finish, Greg closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his rough hands. His lips brushed against hers, soft and tentative at first, but it quickly deepened into a kiss that was both tender and laced with sadness. Freya froze for a moment, stunned by the unexpected intimacy, but then she melted into it, her hands gripping his shirt, as if trying to anchor him to her forever.

When they finally parted, Greg rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll come back when I can. I promise.”

Tears threatened to spill from Freya’s eyes, but she willed them back. “You’d better.”

Greg gave her a small, sad smile before stepping away, lingering for a moment as though memorizing her face. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the forest, leaving Freya standing alone in the clearing.

She stood there long after he was gone, her fingers brushing her lips, feeling the warmth of his kiss still lingering, as if he had never left.

---

The next morning, Freya sat at her window, gazing out at the distant village. She had barely slept, her mind consumed by the events of the night before—the words Greg had spoken, the kiss they had shared. A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Freya,” her father’s deep voice called from the other side. “Come downstairs. We need to talk.”

Freya’s stomach twisted. Her father rarely spoke to her unless it was necessary, and the urgency in his tone set her nerves on edge. She quickly smoothed her dress, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

Damocles stood in the hallway, his imposing figure as stern as ever. His icy blue eyes regarded her with a mixture of authority and expectation. “Follow me,” he said shortly, turning and heading toward his study.

Freya followed in silence, her heart hammering in her chest. When they reached the study, Damocles motioned for her to sit. She did so, clasping her hands tightly in her lap, her mind racing.

“Tomorrow night,” he began, his voice steady and commanding, “we are hosting a banquet for your sister Marian’s engagement. It’s an important event, and I expect you to attend.”

Freya’s eyes widened. “You want me to attend?”

Damocles met her gaze without hesitation. “Yes. It’s time you were seen. You’ve been isolated long enough, and people need to know you are still part of this family.”

Freya’s mind spun. She had longed for the chance to be out among people again, but the idea of facing the nobles—who no doubt whispered about her behind closed doors—filled her with dread.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said quietly, her voice faltering.

“It’s not a request, Freya,” Damocles replied, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You will attend. Marian wants you there, and so do I.”

Freya blinked, caught off guard. She couldn’t remember the last time her father had said he wanted her anywhere. The weight of his words settled over her like a heavy blanket.

“Very well,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Good.” Damocles rose from his chair, his tone final. “Your mother will have a dress prepared for you. Be ready.”

As Freya left the study, her mind was in turmoil. Tomorrow night, she would be thrust back into the world she had been shut out of for so long. And somewhere deep inside, she wondered if Greg would be thinking of her too, if their bond could somehow survive the distance that was now between them.