I came to choking.
Not from water. From smoke.
It clawed at my throat. Thick, bitter. Like someone had burned the world around me and I'd been left to breathe it in.
I rolled over, coughing, spitting dirt. My hands pressed into warm ash.
Where the hell was I?
The sky above wasn't right. Red, cracked, flickering like an old film reel. Ash floated through the air like snow. A forest—or what used to be one—burned in the distance.
Everything felt… off.
My skin prickled. Heat lingered under my fingertips, like something still burned beneath the surface.
And my arm?
Glowing.
Not all of it. Just the forearm. Red lines. Almost geometric. Like something etched in with fire. It pulsed.
Once.Twice.
Then faded a little. Still there, though. Faint glow under the skin.
I didn't remember how I got here. Last thing I remembered?
Nothing.
Just—light. Screaming. And then, silence.
I stood up. Wobbled. My legs hated me. My head swam.
There was a crater behind me. Big. Blackened. Like something exploded.
Did I do that?
I didn't wait around to find out.
I walked.
That's all I could do.
No name. No direction. Just footsteps and smoke and that constant pulsing in my arm like it was trying to say something.
After maybe hours, maybe more, I saw a road.
A sign. Half-burnt.
"North: Kessmere"
I picked that way.
Not because it meant anything.
Because it was the only option.
The town looked small. Faded. Like time had passed here and forgotten to bring anything new.
Kessmere.
A few homes. One stable. A tavern.
People looked tired. Worn faces. But they had light in their windows and smoke in their chimneys. That meant food.
I went to the tavern. Opened the door.
Warm air hit me. And voices. Laughter. Mugs clinking.
I stood there for too long. A few heads turned. Then looked away.
The girl behind the counter raised an eyebrow. Freckles. Tied-up red hair. Arms that looked like she'd punched more than one man in her life.
"You look like hell," she said. "Sit or leave. You're letting the heat out."
I sat.
She brought over stew. Didn't ask if I had coin.
Three coppers, she said.
I didn't have one.
I said nothing.
She stared.
Then tossed three on the table. "Fine. My treat. Pay when you can."
I wanted to say thank you. I really did.
But the words stuck.
I listened while I ate.
Not to her. To them.
"…burned alive, they said."
"…whole patrol gone. North ridge."
"…some say it was magic. That can't be true, right?"
That word again. Magic.
They spoke like it was a rumor. Like something dead and buried.
But I knew what I saw. That crater. My arm. The fire.
Magic wasn't dead.
It had just… been sleeping.
And now?
Now it was awake. Inside me.
Later, when I left the tavern, I walked past the blacksmith's place and toward the trees again. Didn't want a bed. Didn't want walls. Not yet.
Found a quiet spot by a stream. Sat.
The glow in my arm returned.
Brighter now. Not red. More orange. Like embers.
I pressed it against the cold water. Nothing changed.
Then…
A whisper.
Not from outside.
From inside my head.
"You are the last."
I froze.
Looked around. Nothing.
Just the wind and the water.
But the voice was there. Clear as anything.
"Wake up. They will come."
My heart thudded in my chest.
Who? Who would come?
I stood up too fast. Nearly fell.
A figure across the stream. Barely there. Cloaked. Watching.
And then—gone.
Just like that.
Sleep didn't come.
I leaned against a tree and waited for morning.
But deep down, I knew…
This was just the start.