Fireborn

11 ¦ Lonely Road

Speed walking towards the main campus, I wished I had the gift of teleportation. Drunken Rogues meandered in the dark streets, leering and shouting insults at one another as they staggered back to their homes and dorm rooms. 

The full moonlight reflected off men's eyes as though they were wild animals.

"Hey, sweetheart," a Rogue Dwarf slurred at me as he walked past, stumbling drunk across the dirt road.

He blew a kiss at me, and I wrapped my coat tighter around myself as though it were a magical shield. With any luck, I hoped to get home in one piece.

A part of me wanted to turn back, but what could I do? Ask a crazed demon to escort me home? Instead, I simply picked up my pace with hasty steps.

Please let this be over soon.

I thanked the gods once I'd spotted the red brick patrol station behind the wrought-iron gates of the university and hurried towards it. A uniformed Guard stood watch, black and red ribbons proudly displayed on his chest. Security personnel often flaunted that odd combination--loyalty and honor mixed with a decent dose of ruthlessness.

The Guard held up his palm to stop me. "ID, miss?"

"Oh, yes," I said in a shaky voice as I rummaged through my bag. "It's here somewhere."

"Are you all right? You look uncommonly pale for a Risa."

I nodded.

"A white ribbon like you shouldn't be walking the streets at this time of night," he said in a curt tone. "We've had some trouble with brigands and other undesirables."

"You're right," I replied with an apologetic look. "I've learned my lesson."

He shook his head. "Initiates," he muttered under his breath as he took my ID and checked to make sure it matched. "Right, go straight back to your dorm. No detours."

"Where can I go if I've caused a Dwarf Fighter to rage?"

The Guard puffed out a bit of air like a harmless dragon, his breath escaping in white plumes. "How long ago did it happen?"

"About two hours? Maybe more?"

"You should be good then," he replied. "Dwarves rage like Hades, but they don't hold grudges."

"I know, but I don't want to set her off again. This fight was different. I kind of..." I cupped my hand behind my neck. "I kind of accidentally attacked her with magic."

"Shit, lady, do you know how often that happens to first-years?" The Guard chuckled. "You have to do a lot more to earn one of these." He tugged at his black ribbon. "Go sort things out with her."

After nodding my thanks, I set out with a heavy heart towards the dorm. The moon cast a mournful, melancholy light onto the manicured patches of lawn. My steps crunched as I traipsed along the gravel road, the silence perforated only by the hooting of a distant owl.

When I reached the room, I found a note that Bragda had attached to the door.

Gone hunting with friends for the weekend. Sorry about the mess.

Your sis,
Bragda

"Oh, brother."

At least the door was still intact and resting on the hinges. When I entered, our room looked like a tornado had ripped through it. She'd smashed the desks, the bed frames, and the wooden dressers just like our oak table. Only a giant pile of broken timbers and splintered kindling remained.

This'll take a while.

Even the walls had been smashed, and not just by my magical incident earlier. Clear points of entry marked where she had bashed in the plaster. Giant holes at least a foot wide allowed the wooden frame of the building to peek through.

"Aww, sis, did you have to use a hammer?" I muttered under my breath as I traced my fingers around the gaping holes.

We were lucky campus police didn't chuck us out onto the street. Or that students didn't complain about the racket.

I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. Concentrating all my focus on the state of the room before the incident, I extended my hands over the pile of wreckage.

"Repair and erase," I whispered.

A web of bright yellow energy burst forth from my manual receptors, swirling and dancing as it spread across the room. The essence infused the rubble, mending all the broken wooden furniture, the skewed beams, the busted walls, the torn pillows and mattresses, and the spilled ink.

After an hour of intense focus, the room looked spotless as though nothing had ever happened.

If only hearts healed as easily.

The complex spell left me drained of all mana, but it was much too late to get an emergency infusion from the Tree of Life. After all, the Guard had warned me not to make any detours.

Instead, I decided to tolerate the pain. Without my magical energy, a gaping, dismal chasm pulsed in my soul, aching and festering like an unhealed wound. The lack of mana spiraled my soul into dark thoughts about what had happened earlier that evening.

I couldn't believe Father had abandoned our family to play mad Wizard with the Defenders of the Flame. It didn't matter if his choice pained him in the slightest bit or not. He had left my mother to die of a broken heart. No project could outweigh the importance of family.

Did Father really think he was saving the world? Did he really think that he was rescuing us all from a terrible fate? Did that justify his single-minded focus?

No reason of his could erase my memory of how hurt Bragda had been and still was. She'd put on a tough act for the world, but I was her sister. She hadn't fooled me with that false mask of hers. Not allowing herself to cry at Father's funeral hadn't veiled her agony. Her heart had been shattered into a million sharp pieces.

It pained me to realize I'd treated Bragda no better earlier that evening. I'd acted out against my sister, and for a split second, I didn't care how she'd felt. I just reveled in my anger.

I'm just as bad as him.

Curling into a little ball on the bed, I wrapped the warm jacket around myself. Drawing a deep breath, I could still smell traces of mint and burning embers, and it made me morose.

As crazy as it sounded, I wished Peter had been with me just then, not as a teaching assistant or a crazed radical who could morph into monsters, but as a friend. I wanted to chat and talk to a fellow student like a normal initiate, not be dragged into some insane attempt to ward off a dangerous, faraway enemy.

I couldn't tell Bragda I'd seen Father alive. It would break her heart and my oath of silence. But I still needed someone who could listen and advise me. Or just give me a hug.

"Sleep," I muttered under my breath.

Soon my eyelids felt too heavy to keep open, but that didn't mean my soul could rest.