Flames

Chapter Seven

Freya’s footsteps were heavy as she paced the edge of the forest, the sounds of the gala still echoing in her mind. Laughter and music from the banquet hall felt like a distant mocking memory, while the stars above hung cold and unreachable, like the dreams she had once cherished. Everything she had believed in, every tender moment she had shared with Greg, had now been shattered by the cruel truth.

The whirlwind inside her chest raged—betrayal, anger, heartbreak, all pressing against her ribs like a vice. She wanted to scream, to hurl her pain at the night sky, but more than anything, she wanted to run away from the suffocating weight of it all.

“Why?” she whispered, the words barely a breath in the cool night air. “Why him? Why my sister?”

The image of Gregory and Marian, standing hand in hand, lingered in her mind. His gaze on Marian, the warmth in his eyes as he looked at her—affection that stung deeper than any wound. He had kissed her, held her close, whispered promises of a future he’d never intended to fulfill. And now, he was marrying her sister—the very person Freya had always been taught to trust, the one person who had never known the depth of her secret love.

Freya’s breath was uneven now, her pulse quickening as the anger rose in her. She tried to steady herself, to hold back the storm inside, but it was no use. The flicker of flame that had always simmered beneath her skin began to stir. The fury, the betrayal, it all fed the power that had always been so unpredictable.

She clenched her fists, the fire in her veins flaring hotter. The air around her seemed to thrum with energy, and she could feel the power crackling, slipping out of her control. Small embers began to curl from her fingertips, floating into the air like angry sparks.

"Control yourself, Freya," she whispered, her voice breaking as the tears she had held back spilled down her cheeks. "Please, control yourself."

But it was too late. The flame had already taken hold.

The fire leapt from her hands like a wild thing, crawling across the ground at her feet. The heat surged, the trees around her swaying as gusts of wind spiraled in unnatural currents. Without warning, the flames climbed the trunks, their heat scorching the bark, sending black smoke into the sky. The forest ignited, and the fire spread, glowing bright and fierce, reaching out toward the distant palace.

Freya’s heart pounded. She had lost control, and now she had set the entire banquet hall ablaze.

The shouts of the royal guards reached her ears, their voices sharp in the distance. Panic swirled around her, and Freya stood frozen, trapped in the chaos she had unleashed. The world seemed to slow, the footsteps of the guards growing nearer, their pursuit inevitable. There was no one to save her now.

She had always known this would happen. She had always known she was a danger to others.

The flames roared around her, casting long, twisting shadows. The panic from the banquet hall seeped into the air, mingling with the crackle of the fire. The voices of the nobles were drowned out by the terrifying roar of the flames, but then, above it all, the voice of the king rang through the night—a voice filled with icy fear and fury.

“Seize her!” the king bellowed from the palace gates. His command was filled with dread, his words shaking with authority. “She’s a threat! Destroy her before it’s too late!”

Freya’s blood ran cold. The king’s words—cold, filled with fear and judgment—struck her like a physical blow. He had always feared her power, but now it was clear: to him, she was nothing but a monster, something to be eliminated.

Before the guards could reach her, Freya turned and fled, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath ragged and erratic. The world around her spun, disorienting and wild. She could hear the crackling fire behind her, the footfalls of the guards drawing closer. The king’s voice, filled with judgment, weighed heavily on her, sealing her fate.

The cliff ahead loomed, dark and foreboding, the sound of the crashing waves below a constant, mocking reminder of the abyss. The edge was so close now.

Freya reached the precipice, the wind whipping through her hair, biting at her skin. Her heart thundered, a mixture of fear and finality rushing through her veins. The guards were closing in. She could hear their pursuit, the frantic shouts of the soldiers growing louder. They would catch her, drag her back, and execute her for her uncontrollable power. There would be no forgiveness, no understanding. She would never be accepted—not by her family, not by the kingdom.

For the first time in her life, Freya felt truly powerless.

Her chest tightened as the weight of everything she had lost—her family, her future, the love she had never truly had—crushed down upon her. In their eyes, she was nothing but a threat, a danger that had to be eradicated.

With one last, desperate breath, Freya stepped forward.

For a fleeting moment, everything was still. Her breath, her heart, her thoughts—all suspended in the quiet before the storm. Then, the world spun, and the roar of the ocean filled her ears as the waves rose to meet her.

The cold water engulfed her, dragging her down into the depths. She struggled to swim, but the ocean was an insurmountable weight, its pull too strong. The darkness of the sea closed in around her, and with it, the fading of her dreams, her hopes, her future.

The world above her, the fire, the pain, and the betrayal—disappeared. In the quiet abyss, Freya sank, the last remnants of her soul slipping into the cold embrace of the sea.