Page 2 of Fire's Storm
I should be planning retreat positions, calculating risk factors, preparing for worst-case scenarios. Instead, that pull in my gut has intensified to an insistent throb that matches my racing pulse. I could feel the storm clouds above us responding to my emotions, pressure systems shifting with each beat of my heart.
My skin feels electrified, tiny currents racing beneath the surface. A strange energy builds between my shoulder blades, like phantom limbs trying to emerge. Between my thighs, anelectrical pulse seems to synchronize with the storm above, each lightning flash sending a corresponding surge through my core.
"Cap?" Burns's voice breaks through my haze. "Orders?"
I shake my head, forcing my attention back to the job. People depend on me. Lives depend on me. As a captain, I make life-or-death decisions daily. But for the first time, I'm not in command of the situation - or of myself. Whatever bizarre reaction my body is having to this situation, I can't afford to indulge it.
"Standard approach, modified perimeter." My voice emerges steadier than I feel. "Teams maintain visual contact at all times. Priority is containment, not extinguishing. This thing's too big to put out directly—we need to control its spread until the air support arrives."
"What about the civilians?" Rodriguez gestures toward a cluster of vehicles at the forest access road—hikers evacuated from the trails, looking shell-shocked as they watch the unnatural fire from what they believe is a safe distance.
"Local police are handling evacuations. Our job is the fire." I fix my helmet in place, checking my oxygen supply. "Let's move."
We approach the fire line, the heat growing more intense with each step. I take point, as always, unwilling to send my people anywhere I wouldn't go first. The smoke should be choking, even through our masks, but strangely, I find I can breathe easily. As if the smoke parts around me specifically, clearing my path while billowing thickly around my team.
Twenty yards from the active burn, the temperature spikes dramatically. The men hang back, adjusting their protective gear against the onslaught of heat. I push forward, compelled by that insistent tug in my core. The fire seems to notice me—a ridiculous thought, yet undeniable as I watch blue-white flames shift in my direction, reaching toward me like curious fingers.
"Cap, your sleeve!" Rodriguez shouts, voice cracking with alarm.
I look down to see flames licking up my arm—bright blue-white fire crawling across my gear like living things seeking connection. My protective jacket melts away beneath their touch, exposing bare skin to what should be excruciating burns.
But there's no pain. No burning. No heat beyond the strange internal warmth that's been building all day.
My flesh remains untouched, unmarked—almost glowing with an inner light as the fire caresses rather than consumes. Where the flames touch, an electrical current seems to flow through my skin, raising goose bumps despite the infernal heat. Static electricity makes my hair float slightly from beneath my helmet, and when I inhale, the air tastes metallic, like the atmosphere before a lightning strike.
What the fuck?
"Fuck, Cap!" Burns stares at my arm with undisguised shock. "How are you not?—"
"I don't know," I cut him off, unwilling to process this impossibility in front of my team. "Stay back. I'm going to?—"
My words die as a wall of blue-white flame erupts from the forest floor in a perfect semicircle, separating me from my team. Their shouts fade behind the roaring inferno, the radio at my hip dissolving into static.
Surrounded by fire that should kill me in minutes, I should panic. Every training protocol, every survival instinct should be screaming for me to find an exit, to drop and cover, to use my emergency shelter. Instead, that insistent pull in my gut intensifies to a demand, dragging me forward with inexorable force.
The flames part before me, creating a clear path deeper into the inferno. Fire licks at my boots, my legs, melting away the protective gear but leaving my skin untouched. Where it contacts bare flesh, it feels almost affectionate—a warm caress that sends unexpected shivers through my body.
Instinct overrides training. I remove my helmet and mask, breathing deeply. The air is surprisingly clear, as if the smoke refuses to touch me. With each inhalation, power floods my system—unfamiliar yet somehow right, like finding a muscle I never knew I possessed.
I walk deeper into the inferno, drawn forward by that invisible tether. The flames around me dance and sway, responding to my passing like courtiers bowing to royalty. The heat should be unbearable this deep in the burn, yet I feel comfortable, energized even, as if the fire feeds something inside me rather than threatening my existence.
My radio sputters one final message before going out—Burns ordering air support to hold off their approach. Smart. Something tells me dumping fire retardant on this blaze would be catastrophically wrong.
Alone now, I follow the pull in my gut, moving steadily toward the heart of the fire. With each step, my senses sharpen. Colors intensify, sounds clarify even through the roar of the flames, scents separate and identify themselves—burning pine, heated earth, and something else, something electric and wild that makes my mouth water.
The fire parts before me, revealing a perfect circle of unburned ground at its center. The clearing is eerily silent compared to the roaring inferno surrounding it, like the eye of a firestorm.
And in its center stands a man who can't possibly be human.
TWO
VULCAN
Iam royally fucked.
The wildfire raging around me crackles and roars, scorching everything in its path. My creation. My failure. Another emotional outburst I couldn't contain despite centuries of trying.
My claws emerge, piercing through my fingertips as I stare at the charred remains of the letter in my palm. Formal parchment with the Fire Clan’s seal, now reduced to ash that scatters in the superheated air. But the words remain seared into my memory:
