Page 13 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
“M-Mother!” I croaked, dragging my broken body across the wreckage. My hands shook violently as I reached for her, and when my fingers touched her skin—it was cold. So cold.
I could barely hear myself over the sound of everything I knew being torn apart.
She didn’t move.
“Mother, say something, please!” I cradled her lifeless arm in my trembling hands, pressing it to my chest, as if I could will warmth back into her.
Flames flickered at my fingertips again—taunting me. Mocking me. I quickly dropped Mother’s arm so I didn’t hurt her again. They danced like cruel spirits across my skin, and I screamed at them to stop. Stop!
And… they did.
The fire bent to my will. Extinguished into nothing.
But hope didn’t come.
I pressed my forehead to her still hand, calling out to the only one I had left.
“Lunara,” I whispered. “Goddess of the Moon, please—please calm the storm in me. Please don’t let me kill her. Not her.”
A hum spread through my skin. Not heat. Electricity. A thousand tiny needles sparking across my flesh. I looked down, horrified, as faint bolts of lightning danced across my fingertips like some cruel joke.
I recoiled from her, yanking my hands away as if they’d betrayed me again.
What in the divine was happening to me?
The flames screamed louder than I did. They devoured everything in their path—wild, insatiable, a beast unchained—and they knew what they were taking from me. Our home, once so full of warmth and laughter, was now reduced to a cage of fire and smoke. Glass vials exploded around me with violent snaps, their shards skittering across the floor like dying stars. Mead bottles burst, their sweet, enchanted contents hissing into the blaze. I flinched at each burst, the sound sharp and cruel against the backdrop of chaos. The shelves buckled next, collapsing like the spine of a broken beast, their once-proud burden of books consumed in seconds. The pages curled inward like they were weeping—my past, my childhood, every whispered bedtime story and sacred ritual, reduced to ash. Memories turned to smoke. History erased by flame.
“No—no, please!” I screamed, the desperation in my voice raw enough to rip the very air. Something inside me cracked open. Power surged from my lungs like a tidal wave, and with it, the front door blasted off its hinges.
A feral wind tore through the inferno, whipping around me, scattering fire and embers. For a moment, the flames hesitated, drawn back as if by some unseen force. My force.
But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not if I couldn’t save her.
I turned back to the beam crushing Mother’s body, my hands bleeding but not burnt. I had to move it. I had to.
My entire being strained with the effort, muscles screaming in protest, heart thundering in my ears.
A sound rose up from my chest—no longer a scream, but something deeper. A cry that scraped the soul. It clawed its way out of me, guttural and primal, shaking my bones with its fury.
And still… the beam didn’t budge.
Then—
“Kryndor, what in the gods is this?”
The voice cut through the inferno like a blade.
Zayn.
I whipped my head around, tears streaking down my soot-stained face. He stood in the doorway, eyes wide, aghast at the scene before him.
“Elara!” he shouted, his voice sharp with urgency, but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.
All I could do was stare at him with bloodied hands, the firelight dancing in my eyes, and whisper the only word that mattered anymore.
“Help.”
“Elara!” he shouted, his eyes wide with urgency as he rushed over to me.
