Page 3 of Bound in Flames

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. My chest tightened, each breath coming fast and sharp as fear twisted in my stomach. My hands trembled, the hum of power still buzzing under my skin, a stark and unshakable reminder of what I had unleashed. I didn’t regret defending myself—but the magic, wild and uncontrollable, had shaken something deep inside me. “I?—”

“Guards!” he roared.

The crowd split as two guards cautiously approached, their deliberate strides and grim expressions cutting through the square. My chest tightened, panic flooding my veins in a suffocating rush. My breath hitched, shallow and ragged, as the world narrowed to their advancing forms. Before thought could catch up, my body took over. My legs burst into motion, driving me forward, blind and desperate. Cobblestones jarred beneath my feet, each step a frantic slam, as the market dissolved into a blur of noise and color. Stalls flashed past in jagged streaks,faces turned toward me in shock, but I saw nothing—only the path ahead and my instincts to escape.

Behind me, the sharp clatter of armor and the barked orders of the guards grew louder. My father’s curses sliced through the air, but I refused to look back. My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest heaving with the effort of escape. Fear clawed at me, but something deeper, something unfamiliar, pushed me forward.

For the first time, I was running from and to something, That unknown may hold freedom, and I wanted to grasp it firmly with both hands and never let go.

Chapter 2

Cleo

The guards were on me before I could get far. Their attack was swift and precise, like predators targeting defenseless prey. Their boots slammed against the cobblestones, each step a thunderclap that seemed to shake the ground and fill the air with tension. The crowd had broken apart like scattering birds, but not all of them had fled. Some lingered, their faces twisted in disgust or grim fascination, as if they couldn’t resist watching me be cuffed and dragged through the streets like some kind of dangerous monster.

The enchanted cuffs wrapped around my wrists seemed alive, buzzing faintly with energy, as if mocking me. The emptiness they created was terrifying, a hollow silence where an undiscovered magic had once pulsed steadily through me. I barely understood the power I held, let alone how to control it, but the thought of being cut off from it felt like losing a part of myself I hadn’t realized I couldn’t live without.

Rough hands latched onto my arms, yanking them behind me with a brutal strength. Pain shot through my shoulders as my arms were wrenched into an awkward position that forced me off balance. The pressure of their grip made my skin feel raw. I thrashed instinctively, trying to twist free, but their hold wasironclad. My panic seemed to amuse them, drawing laughter and cruel remarks that cut deeper than any physical restraints ever could.

These cuffs weren’t just tools of imprisonment—they were legendary. The Crown’s enforcers used them to suppress conjurers, and the rarer wild shamans, making it impossible for them to access their magic in custody. I had overheard whispered rumors of the cuffs in tavern corners, tales of how brutal and effective they were, said to not just sever access to magic, but hope itself. Now I was wearing them, and every faint hum against my skin was a reminder of my powerlessness and the Crown’s dominance. They had been right. I felt completely void of hope. Of a life free of oppression, of pain and cruelty. As they clicked shut around my wrists, I felt the weight of finality press down on my chest.

“Think she can wiggle free?” One guard sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re wasting your energy, bitch!”

Their boots scuffed the cobblestones as they pushed me forward, the harsh scrape echoing alongside the pounding of my heart. With every jerk of their hands, I could feel the fight draining from my body. My breath came in sharp gasps, and my pulse raced, driven by a mixture of fear and fury. Each step was a struggle, my feet dragging against uneven stones, yet I couldn’t stop trying to resist, even knowing it was hopeless.

The crowd’s murmur never ceased, growing louder and more pointed with each passing moment.

“She’s dangerous.”

“A wild shaman in Sleek Valley? Is nowhere safe?”

A woman was clutching her child tightly, knuckles white as she glared at me. “Keep your distance. Nothing good comes of your kind!”

I stumbled forward under the guards’ grip, the cuffs digging into my wrists with every step. Sharp pain shot down to myfingertips, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation. They paraded me through the streets like a caged animal, every whispered word and scornful glare cutting deeper than the metal around my skin. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t block out the judgment etched in their eyes or the venom in their hushed voices. Their hatred clung to me like a suffocating cloak, tightening with every word, every sneer. Friends and neighbors turned on me so easily, their betrayal settling in my stomach like acid.

“Hold still.” One of my captors cursed, his rancid breath feathered across my face as he sharply twist my arm.

“Let go of me!”

“Look what she did to her father! And to think one of them was hiding amongst us all this time?—”

I could feel my panic rising, and the world seemed to tilt. My breath hitched as I frantically searched inside myself for the familiar and comforting warmth I had always felt beneath my skin, a low and steady rhythm I had assumed everyone felt. It was as though someone had ripped away a part of me. My body sagged in the guards’ grip as I felt the aching absence of that peaceful presence. My skin felt wrong, too tight and too empty all at once.

“Get her moving. The Crown doesn’t pay for you to coddle shamans!” barked a brutish man with a twisted sneer that screamed of his prejudices.

He jerked his head toward the old guardhouse, and they dragged me forward, my heart pounding, a drumbeat of defiance buried deep beneath the mounting dread. The crowds’ whispers followed me like a ghost.

“A menace?—”

“—should have been drowned at birth. Nothing natural about her eyes!”

“She’s dangerous! Get her out of here!”

“Nothing but trouble!”

The words cut through the crowd, each one a fresh wound that made my stomach twist. The hatred branding their words into my heart. I bit back a sob as my gaze landed on my father, disheveled and trembling in rage. His shirt was torn, remnants of vines that had wrapped around him still clung to his pants. His face was flushed, and when his eyes met mine, they were filled with nothing but contempt.

I hated him for what he had become, for the drunken rages and the bruises that had shaped much of my life. But beneath that hate, a part of me still clung to the father he used to be—the one who had held me as a child, his voice soft and steady as he told me stories of the world before darkness crept across Ostelan. That part of me ached, even as his words and fists had struck me like whips for years.

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