An Inheritance of Fire

“Suli.”

This time, a familiar voice called out to her, and when she opened her eyes, Rase was crouched over her, wearing his ever-present smile. “It’s time you were up.”

“It’s not like packing takes much time,” she muttered, sitting up and throwing her covers off. As Suli’s eyes focused, she saw Ember a few paces away. He stowed his bedding with easy, practiced movements, seemingly unimpeded by the mask he wore.

Not a soldier, then. Most rarely left the walls of their station.

She’d spent her watch pondering over their conversation. It made her feel odd, but then again, the man himself was even stranger.

“Rase,” she said slowly, still trying to piece the fragments together. “Are there any martial schools that teach groups of students how to use multiple weapons?”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Good morning to you, too. That’s a specific question. Something to do with our new friend?”

Suli hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said. “We were talking last night. He said something… weird.”

“How weird?”

“He said they were trained to control blades.”

“And that’s weird because…?”

“They. And blades. Someone trained him as part of a group, and in multiple different weapons. That doesn’t strike you as odd?”

“You’re sure you’re not reading too much into it?”

She felt her face redden. “Maybe,” Suli admitted. “But I don’t think so.”

Rase chuckled. “I’m teasing you. But,” he pointed out, “you would know more about that than I.”

Suli nodded, acknowledging his point. “There are a few private schools, but they’re selective. And expensive. And…” She tried to assign words to her jumbled thoughts. “It would explain the mask. His face would be well-known… in certain circles, at least. But… those aren’t the sort of places that you just leave. Especially not if you were part of a group.”

“He’s like me.”

She jumped as another voice, small but firm, sounded from behind her. Turning, she found Tasha standing a few steps away. Naru stood behind her. Her dirty-blonde hair, tied into a pony tail, draped over her left shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Suli asked as she stood.

“What I said.”

“He’s like you? How do you know?”

Her crimson eyes took on a faraway look. “A feeling.”

That made Suli pause. She knew better than to ignore Tasha’s intuition. The red-eyed girl hardly even half her age, but there was a maturity to her that she lacked; borne of experience beyond her years.

Two years Tasha had spent on the battlefield after her village burned, scavenging the remains to eke out a meager survival. It was just dumb luck she’d been wearing a Well when the elves destroyed its obelisk. Her other classmates hadn’t been so lucky. And even among those who were, she was the only one to survive long enough to be found.

“Someone from a faraway village?” Suli mused. “It would make sense. They often have their own customs. There’s bound to be a couple that teach their young how to fight.” She hesitated, unsure whether it was safe to push the conversation sooner. Tasha spoke little of the things she’d seen during that time, but it obviously weighed on her.

And how could it not?

Tasha’s eyes met hers for the briefest of moments—

“It’s okay.”

— and then shifted back to Ember. “I remember what trying to fit in felt like.” Her brow furrowed. “It’s hard to explain.” A hint of frustration crept into her voice.

“Tasha,” Rase said gently, pulling her into a hug from behind. “Don’t dredge up the past.”

She frowned. “I’m not.”

“I thought he was an elf,” Suli said quietly. All six other eyes fixed on her at that. “But he said he wasn’t. And I don’t think he’s lying.”

Tasha shook her head. “He’s not.” Her voice was calm.

“How do you know?” Suli asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

“They smell like leaves,” she answered flatly. “He doesn’t. His sword does.”

“… I see.” Suli stood and dusted herself off. “It doesn’t explain everything, but it’s more likely than anything I could think of. But,” she asserted, “we need to start moving. The carriages will be off soon.

This time, she jumped at the sound of her name. Turning, she found Ember walking just a few paces behind her. He hadn’t made so much as a sound.

“What is it?” Suli asked, taking a breath to calm her heartbeat. His next words immediately caused it to rise once more.

“We’ll run into Reavers in a few days.” His low, smooth voice was confident—

“… I think.”

— And then immediately betrayed by his next two words. She filed that contradiction away alongside all the rest of them. He was practically made of them: he hid his identity in the most conspicuous way possible, and despite the distance he kept, was clearly more than willing to interact with them.

“What makes you say that?”

Ember fell silent as he matched her pace. They were to the left of the middle carriage. Naru had been behind her, but she could see him trailing behind the last, checking behind every few paces.

“… A feeling.”

“Hmm.”

Maybe he is like Tasha.

“I believe you,” Suli said after a moment of consideration, “but it doesn’t matter much. The merchants will have a warning system. 30 minutes. That’s our prep time. More than enough for whatever we’ll find out here.”

“I see.”

Not a mercenary, then. And definitely not a soldier. Someone from far away. But then why the mask?

“You should eat with us tonight. Even if you don’t take off your mask...” She paused, struck by a sudden thought. “How do you eat with your mask on?”

“Like this.” Ember demonstrated, pulling the bottom of his mask forward just enough to fit something through the gap. “I just eat ration bars.” His voice was still muffled by the mask, but ever so slightly louder.

“You should try Rase’s cooking. Someday,” Suli added softly, “whenever you’re comfortable with it. Or if, I guess.”

The masked man fell silent again.

“Someday.” There were so many emotions packed into that one word. The same intense pain, grief, and anger before, but now joined by loss— and a lonely sense of desperation.

Suli decided then and there to stop prying into his background. She’d used the group’s safety to justify those thoughts, but Ember clearly meant no harm. And, really, that one word told her all she needed to know. She knew exactly what that loneliness felt like, after all.

“I’ll switch with Naru again.”

“Hey,” Suli said, instinctively reaching out to grab Ember’ arm. She felt him stiffen, and for just an instant, she feared he would strike her— but he relaxed in the next.

“I know we’ve only just met.” The words came slowly. “But no here cares about who you are. Or where you’re from. Tomorrow is just a fleeting promise. We live, we fight, and we die in the dark. That’s just the sort of world that we live in.”

Suli faltered for a moment before continuing.

“We watch each other’s backs out here. As long as we can trust you with ours, that’s all we can ask.”

Ember remained silent for a long while. Though his eyes were hidden, she could feel the bore into her. But she knew he understood her perfectly.

“I understand,” he finally said, voice raw with emotion. “I just need time.”

Suli smiled. “We all have our own circumstances.”

“I’ll take first watch.”

“Not so fast,” Rase chided, throwing more meat onto the pan. “Don’t be so impatient. We’re meant to watch each other’s backs. And Suli here says that you agreed to dine with us.”

Suli saw Ember bristle— and then relax.

“Someday. Not today.”

Rase nodded. “As you wish. But if you insist on taking first watch, I insist you also take a plate of food with you. Eat it as you keep watch. No one will try to find you— I give you my word.”

He fell silent. That was always unnerving, given the smooth face of his mask. But—

“Alright. Thank you.”

— Ember acquiesced, drawing his sword as he sat cross-legged on the ground.

“Where did you get that?” Tasha asked suddenly, leaning forward from her seat in Naru’s lap.

“It was a gift from someone.”

“Can I hold it? It looks different.”

“Tasha,” Rase scolded as he poured a mixture of spices into the pan. “That’s rude.”

“Oh.” She leaned back.

“I admit I’m curious, as well, though,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen one so thin. Pardon my asking, but why don’t you have a spare?”

“It’s tougher than it looks.”

“I see. I’ll trust in your words.”

“He’ll prove it in a few days, if he’s right.”

“Oh?” Rase raised an eyebrow at Suli’s interjection.

“He said we might run into Reavers in a few days.”

“I see. Let’s hope not. Danger is still danger, no matter how small.” With that, he pulled the pan from the fire, doling out the seared meat and vegetables onto the plates that Suli conjured.

“Here.” She offered him a plate. “Your share.”

Ember accepted it wordlessly, then stood. “I’m going to keep watch, then. There’s no reason for me to watch as you eat.”

“As you wish. Enjoy your meal— and be sure to bring the plate back.”

He nodded.

Selerim ate quickly. He’d been prepared to subsist off of the chalky ration bars for the duration of this excursion, but this was a welcome change.

The meal was simple, compared to many he’d seen and eaten in the human kingdom, but elevated by the savory concoction of spices. Still, he preferred it this way. It was heartier and more filling.

Within minutes, his plate was clean. Selerim leaned down to set it down, then straightened, drawing his sword as he did so.

He was hesitant to use it, but also unwilling to sacrifice his other dagger. And he’d seen it repair itself before. It was just a matter of trusting it.

… Still. That was difficult.

It was wooden, after all.

Gripping the weapon in one hand, Selerim cut across his palm. It was a different feeling than being cut by metal or magic.

Though the motion was still perfectly smooth, he felt its grain catch on his severed skin. He kept the wound shallow, pulling the blade away as soon as it drew blood. Selerim clenched his injured hand, letting only a wisp of bloody fire escape. It froze there for a moment, suspended midair as it became more fire than blood.

He opened his hand. There was no trace of injury.

Where do I go from here?

Just being able to repeat it was more success than he’d expected, but now, faced with the tiny flame, Selerim had no clue how to proceed. He closed his hand— and the fire winked out.

There was something wrong.

He felt he understood why; yet another answer provided by his subconscious. Senri had told him as much, albeit in a dream: they were creatures of darkness.

The shadows were cool, calm, and quiet.

Fire was hot, violent, and loud. They were two very different things.

Selerim himself was a walking contradiction. A creature of darkness with blood of fire. And he himself had yearned to return to Umbra; something at direct odds with his current goal.

Selerim cut his palm again.

But there were similarities. They both gnawed at their surroundings; while the shadows slowly swallowed, fire consumed in a frenetic frenzy.

Fire was vicious: it wanted to lash out, to grow. But that instinct, too, was at odds with his very being. Corvus had taught him to remain calm. To remain in control.

The small ember hovered before him, flickering softly.

Selerim closed his hand, and the ember died once more. He’d known it even before leaving, but there was too much risk. Fire was wild. Uncontrollable. It had always acted on its own. It was his blood, his fire, but that did nothing to change its nature.

He glanced back towards where the others slept. True to their word, not a single one had sought him. Despite Suli’s initial wariness, they all seemed like good people. A small part of him was surprised at that, but just that. Fighting together had a way of forging bonds, after all.

Is this why?

Even as Selerim asked himself the question, he knew the answer. His family were undoubtedly the most important people in the world to him— but they were his family. The camaraderie he’d shared with his friends was another thing entirely.

A small part of him felt guilty at the realization, but he knew his family would understand.

And that was another reason for his current actions.

Selerim closed his eyes and cut his palm again, recalling the image of the others around the fire. He didn’t want to threaten that. By the end of his watch, he managed-- barely-- to force it into the shape of a ball. It was the tiniest of victories, but far more than he'd been capable of before.