Finlay is, more or less, correct about our arrival time. The sun hovers only at a slight tilt, just beginning to slide into the western sky, when he turns to me with his announcement.

"We're here."

I jolt up to look at him, almost losing my footing on the snow-covered rocks. The ledge has grown increasingly narrow as we climbed, but as I dig my fingers into a crevice and peer around the corner to where Finlay waits, I see it is about to widen significantly. Balancing on a spur of rock, edge digging into the grooves in my boots, I brace myself and let go. One careful leap, and hardened earth meets the soles of my feet.

My heart stumbles over a beat. There have been flatter sections we have passed on the way up, but this ledge cuts sharply down the mountain, as if some giant dagger has taken a thick slice from its side. It stands out starkly from the white the snow paints all around, with not a single crack or notch for flakes to cling to. I press my palm against a smooth stone wedged into the earthen sheet, taking a moment to catch my breath while my eyes roam over the ledge.

This can't be natural. Especially not when I spot the pale plank of wood only a few paces away, the door, as if this sliver of mountainside has been cut away to form the wall of a village house.

Finlay beckons, his thumb pointing towards the door. "Welcome to Ligari's abode."

I tilt my head upwards. Above the wall, the mountain suddenly juts out again, casting a faint shadow just underneath. The angle of the sun prevents it from reaching us. "Did she do this?"

"No. This is the work of a talented Nería." He snorts a laugh. "Ligari used to get on rather well with one, I think. He carved this place for her."

I trace a finger over the sliced dirt, then retract, turning back to him. A sudden uncertainty overtakes me as my gaze is pulled towards the door. "Are you sure she'll help?"

I'm conscious of the thin black wisps at my fingertips, dragging out the anxieties that have haunted me all the way up. It was Ligari who told Finlay of the Enkavmé, so it must have been her who placed the fear in his tone when he spoke of Adeía, the meaningful words he chose. The sorts of things that aren't meant to be tampered with. I tug the flames back under my skin.

Finlay only shrugs, not entirely looking my way. His gaze races over the clouds, and the scraps of pale blue between them, while his fingers tap at his side in thought. "She'll help. She's expecting us."

"Even if I wasn't, I'd have heard you coming a mile off."

The air turns to ice as I gasp, flinching back against the mountainside. Something about this new voice tremors through my veins like a streak of flame, an odd sense of the power sharpening its syllables, the command it has the potential to hold. Yet her tone is light, and so is her step as she slips from the opening that now cuts into the earth. The door hangs ajar behind her.

The first thing I notice is her skin. It glows even in the weak sunlight, her bare arms rippling a pale bronze. Golden brown curls tumble freely down her shoulders, taking on the light with a similar ease. Her pale green tunic must be loose around her slim form for the way it ripples in the wind.

Green, Finlay's hidden favourite colour. I shoot him what I hope is a subtle glance. His wavering words of last night linger with me, twined with a burning strand of my own curiosity I fight to keep from slipping out. He'll share more of the vulnerable topic when he's ready, the same way I still await the moment when I'll be able to speak about the girl.

Our secrets can wait. For now, I turn back to the Jeía before us, the hope of control she brings. The light she seems to shed like snow from a branch as she strolls towards us only tightens the anticipation knotted in my stomach.

Finlay inclines his head, the gesture surprisingly tight. "Ligari. Hi."

Her eyes flash bright as she peers down at him. She's even taller than he is, and most likely older for the crease of her cheeks despite her lack of smile. "Finlay," she says, rolling the name slowly over her tongue as if it is spoken in a foreign language. Then her gaze settles over me. "And this is Noli."

I flinch at the use of my name, my real name, the one that scratches at my bones even with a bare thought. Biting my lip, I force a nod.

Off to the side, Finlay looks down at his hands, toying with the tie of his cloak.

Ligari's gaze flicks up and down. An examination, but gentle, not probing for anything below the surface. I'm grateful, for if she had looked deeper she might have found the flames biting at my clasped palms behind my back. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she says. "Come on inside; it's cold out here."

I could protest that I don't mind the chill, but she's already retreating with a wave of her hand, reaching for the knob of the door, and I have no wish to keep her waiting. Haste spurs my feet into action faster than I intend, and I have to purposefully slow myself. I've grown too used to Finlay's fearless company. I need to stay back.

The door swings soundlessly, widening the gap to reveal a warmly lit hollow digging into the mountain. As she steps in, then moves aside and gestures for me to follow, it oddly feels like stepping into another world. The floor is adorned with cream-coloured fabric, and the walls are painted a complementary yellow, hung with shelves and what appears to be a painting right before the doorway. A room that wouldn't have looked out of place in the castle I only recently left behind. I twist around, not quite believing the snow just outside the door and steep descent into a rocky valley below.

Finlay still stands several paces back, fiddling with the edges of his cloak. I catch his eye. "Are you not coming?" I ask, my chest tightening.

He raises a hand to scratch at his hair. "Oh, no, not right away. I've got something I need to do."

The room's startling warmth beats at my back, not helping the discomfort worming its way up my spine. I can sense Ligari hovering only a step further back. She seems trustworthy enough, and I need her help, but the idea of being trapped in a cramped space with only a stranger for company winds coarse ribbons around my throat. Especially one who exudes such power.

I curl my hand around a fistful of my tunic. Ligari isn't going to attack me. If I can trust Finlay, I should be able to trust his friend.

As if to echo that thought, he flashes his crooked smile. "I'll be in shortly, alright? Ligari will be nice."

"Speak for yourself," Ligari calls from behind. I grit my teeth, cursing the way I flinch against the doorframe. Why does her voice hold so much casual strength?

"See you later," I say to Finlay, aware of how quiet the words emerge.

He flicks a hurried wave before turning back to stare at the open sky, his gaze almost expectant. I shove my questions from my mind and turn, just as the door clicks closed behind me, sealing him outside.

The moment I lay eyes on Ligari, lowering herself into a cushioned chair in the opposite corner from the door, confusion strikes through me. "How did you--"

"Sit down, Noli," she says, a twinkle in her eye. "I have much to explain."

She flicks her wrist, and another chair I've barely had chance to notice jerks forward, leaving a flattened trail in the fabric beneath as it moves into the centre of the room. Hesitantly, I edge around it and perch on its dark wooden seat.

We face each other. The room curves around us, a seemingly perfect circle. A desk sits beside the door to my right, shaped to slot against the crescent of the wall and dotted with various scraps of material, a few coils of silver thread glittering in the light of the lantern hung above my head. Shelves line the space about the desk, colourful stacks of books filling every available space. To my left, there are more shelves containing utensils, most of which I can't put a name to, another sealed door, and the picture. I realise now that it is a detailed drawing depicting a crowded village, pointed roofs and winding streets picked out with delicate pencil lines, and the emerald smudges of trees clustered in the gaps building don't fill. The sky is half-blocked out by the familiar shape of a mountain towering over the village's right side.

"You like that?" Ligari asks, pulling my gaze back to her. The chair frames her in a green only a touch darker than her tunic. She almost blends into it.

"It is beautiful." I pick out the shapes of two people leaning against a wall in the foreground, one with an arm around the other. Spots of colour highlight them in pastel, gold and violet and pink, but otherwise they are too small to fully make out. "Did you draw it?"

She nods, and I flick between her and it, unable to entirely extract my attention from the buildings. "A long time ago," she says, a faint smile there and gone.

"Where is it?" I ask softly. It must exist, or the details wouldn't be so precise, her tone so sentimental.

"Aorila. The place where Enkavmé began, and a haven for them ever since. I'm surprised you don't remember it."

I snap towards her, fingers curling around the armrest of my chair. "I... I've been there before?"

Her eyes glaze over me with a strange softness, one that trickles ice down the back of my neck. I rub at the spot, flames tickling the skin. "Several times," she says, "along with your parents."

The cold deepens, freezing my breath. My parents. My mind tangles with questions, but I can't make any sense of them, let alone extract one to ask.

"They were regular visitors, although they could never really stay." Wavy strands slip over her shoulders as her head bows.

"Why?" I manage, though it emerges in a gasp.

Ligari sighs. Her eyes are dulled, clouded with memories I can't interpret. "I presume Finlay has explained to you the nature of our kind, the boundaries involved."

I nod. A bitter taste rises to the back of my throat, the knowledge of what is coming even before it is confirmed.

"Your mother was a Jeía, like me. She had great potential, but..." She laughs, the barest sound, reminiscent of humour that no longer belongs. "She was always something of a rebel. She liked to cross lines others didn't dare draw near, prove she was that one step braver than anyone else. And so, despite all those that tried to warn her, she fell to the lure of Adeía."

"She made the choice," I whisper, Finlay's words echoing at the back of my mind.

Ligari's eyes remain fixed on her lap. The lantern doesn't capture her light as well inside, but I'm sure it darkens still, dragged at by unseen shadows. "Once one starts down the path, there is no turning back."

My nails form crescents in my neck, pressing at the bone beneath. No turning back. No reversing the darkness of my flame. I knew it already, but it stings to hear it aloud, shaped so purposefully by her pointed tone.

"She met a young Tía," Ligari continues, "and guided him along with her. Any darkened magic is dangerous, but a flame... well, I suppose you know it well enough."

I grasp to meet her eyes. "My father? He was... like me?"

"Eventually. The process was gradual." Slowly, she looks up, and I notice the faint prick of shame in her eyes. "They had you by then. He came to me, looking for a cure, and though such a thing seemed impossible I did search hard."

She rises suddenly, crossing to the desk in a single long stride, and kneels down beside the shelves at its side. Shrinking back into the edge of my chair, the left armrest digging into my side, I watch as she shifts a few scraps of material. After a pause, she reaches for a black square, its smoothed scale-like pattern identifying it as leather. Her finger traces a practiced pattern in the air, and a silver thread leaps up, twirling in her phantom grip. I can't tear my eyes from its dance, even as she speaks again.

"I started work on a spell no others have attempted before me. Barrier spells are commonly simple for Jeía -- the act of shielding yourself from harm, be that rain, or a weapon, or even light if you wish to conceal yourself. Or, in this case, a potent magic with the intent to kill."

"Did you..." I lick my lips. "Did you manage it?"

"Too late." She sets the thread down atop the leather. "He was impatient. Desperate. While I worked, he sought out another method, and I'm afraid that's where you come in."

Sitting back on her knees, she beckons, gesturing to the hand clasped around the back of my neck. "May I see the flame?"

It is already gathered, its pricks breaking through my skin. I don't need to think about it. My hand instinctively moves, palm open to allow the fire to spread, into the space between us. She lets out a soft gasp, shifting against the desk.

Slowly, she nods once, watching it flicker. "Just like his." The words drift quietly from her lips like a sigh, heavy mist that adds weight to the room's air. "Darker, even."

I wait for her to continue, but she seems drawn inward. The implications of what she hints at sink in. I swallow hard. "He transferred it to me." I meant it as a question, but the answer is already in her gaze, confirmed by her reluctant nod.

"I don't quite know how. The ways of the Tía are strange to me. But I know he succeeded."

My fist closes as I withdraw it, smothering the flame, though I keep it simmering beneath my fingers. It slices too fiercely into my heart to force it entirely below. "Did I have a flame before that?" I ask suddenly, the curiosity snatching at my tongue.

"Yes." The ghost of a smile passes over her lips.

"What was it like?"

"Purple." The smile returns, more solid. "A beautiful, rich purple."

I try to picture it, placing all my energy into the image. Instead of shadowed streaks twisting over my wrist, purple fire, brighter than the velvet of the night sky, with light and colour of its own. I imagine showing the girl, and the delight on her face. The way her eyes might widen in wonder at the sight of it, instead of screwing shut, leaving her to cower away.

A knife twists in my stomach, and I drop my hand fully, resting it against the side of the chair. But that flame is of the past. There is no getting it back.

"The cure," I say quietly. "The cure you were going to give to my father. Is that what you plan to give to me?"

Her fingers tap at the leather square as she nods. "I was too late for him, but I won't be for you. It will need a few minor adjustments, but by nightfall, I hope to have fashioned you a pair of gloves that should act as a barrier to your flame."

I squirm in the chair, anxiety and eagerness writhing as one inside me. "And I'll be able to touch people with them?"

"You will." Her smile is slight, but it brings comfort. Still, sadness tints her gaze, and my heart twists.

"Ligari," I say, tasting her name while I debate what is to follow, "what... happened to my parents?"

She talks of them both in the past tense. There can only be one reason for that, and it is nothing but what is expected.

I've lived in a cell for most of my life. Even if my parents were still alive, I'm not sure I'd want to meet them if they felt justified in leaving me to that fate. Especially now I know it was their choices that tainted the fire in me, buried its constant starvation of touch deep near my heart, created the fear that drives every other away.

They are the true villains in my story. They made me what I am, and I didn't even get a say.

My nails rake over the wood of the chair. The nervous edge to Ligari's gaze as she lingers over her reply only further stirs my flame. She flexes her fingers, spinning the thread over the desk in a tight spiral, before glancing up. "I think it's best I show you."

Her hand raises suddenly, green wisps condensing in her palm. I gasp sharply, clutching tighter to the armrest as they spread out, shimmering in the air as if the space has become a vertical pool dotted with coloured ripples. A veil, one that blurs the chair behind to a green smudge, then swallows it entirely. Orange lights in its place.

Sweat chills the back of my neck. It is fire, harsh and bright, just like the flames I lit under Finlay's instruction. But this cannot have come from a single spark. It rages far and wide, blocking out all beyond with smoke.

It must be an illusion, controlled by Ligari's magic, but every detail is etched out so cleanly. No wonder she was able to draw perfectly with this kind of ability. The fire weaves and bends, parting only slightly to reveal streets nestling between charred houses. I examine its patterns more carefully, frowning at the familiarity I find, then flinching back as it clicks into place.

"That's the place you drew," I breathe. "Aorila." A haven for Enkavmé, she called it, yet now it falls to pieces before my eyes.

In the edge of my vision, Ligari twists her wrist sharply, and the image shifts, drifting through the wreckage to a house right in the centre of the blaze. Flames eat at what is left of its wooden walls, the site blackened. I clench my jaw, aware of the fire spilling out eagerly over my fingers. It finds this beautiful, somehow. I can't stop the thought.

A woman bursts suddenly into the scene, the illusion flickering as she slows. Another gasp escapes me. Ligari, her skin shining brighter than ever in reflection of the fire all around her. She is younger, but the same power rolls off her in waves, especially as she throws her hands out to part the flames and enter the middle of the image. The air around her glints. She must be using her magic, but it is taking its toll, her eyes lined dark as if mirroring the smoke.

Her lips part, but her voice is lost in the illusion. Her shout breaks out soundlessly.

Carefully, she edges her way forward, the image panning to keep up with her. Orange and amber twirl behind her, accenting the gold in her hair. Another shout. A shuddering breath.

Then, despite the heat she bends under the weight of, she freezes. I join her; ice stings in my veins.

Before her, clad in black flames I know all too well, is a boy. A boy with black eyes.

"Me." The word slips out like a sob.

For a moment, they face each other. The boy and Ligari, still despite the carnage around them, gazes meeting as if along the edge of a blade. I can't breathe. I can only stare at those eyes, the smile twisting beneath those flames.

A man, clothes scorched and torn, races into view, wheezing in breaths. He stretches out a trembling hand to Ligari. She hesitates, her gaze flicking between him and the boy. She doesn't want to leave him. She doesn't want to leave me.

But it is me who set these flames. I recall the spark falling from my grasp just two nights ago, the amber blaze caught in my control. Claws rake deep into my heart.

Ligari's decision is made. As she clasps the man's wrist, the image fades, a more solid hand slicing diagonally across it. I have to blink several times, adjusting to the real world once more. My heart thrashes in my ribcage.

Over the place the illusion once covered, Ligari -- older, dressed in a cleaner green, not quite so exhausted -- stands, hand lowering to her side. My fingers curl around the backs of the armrests as I flatten myself against the back of the chair, eyeing her warily. I swallow hard. My mouth is too dry to form words, though they scratch at the back of my throat, the sharpened pieces slotting together. All they form is another knife of guilt to knot my insides.

"That's what happened," she says softly.

I turn my head away, her gaze too sharp to meet. She doesn't need to say any more. I know what she means. Those flames claimed not only the home of so many Enkavmé, but my parents too.

They cannot be the villains if I was the one to kill them.

The wood of the chair must be close to breaking in my grip, but I cannot release it, or the flames creeping along my wrist will burst higher and darker. They might even cause a spark, set the room ablaze, just as they did to Aorila. Focusing on shifting them around my forearm, I grasp for a single question. Something insignificant, one I don't already know the painful answer to. "How old was I?

The green chair creaks as Ligari lowers herself into it. "You were six," she whispers.

"Six," I echo, the word barely leaving my lips as I bite down on my tongue.

"That was nine years ago, almost."

I stare at the ornate frame of her drawing, carved bronze shot with green ribbon. "So I'm fifteen now." Not only do I know my name, but now my age too. I search for the appropriate joy at the thought, but find only coiled darkness, gifting me the repeated image of my own eyes drilling into Ligari. The flames surrounding me, the destruction battering the landscape. All of my making.

"Why don't I remember?" I ask suddenly, the hook of the question tossing a glance over at her before I lose confidence and look down at my hand. My knuckles have whitened from gripping the chair so tightly.

"My guess would be that someone tampered with your memories. Your mother, perhaps, if she had the chance."

I almost ask why, but shake my head soundlessly instead, providing my own answer. Who would want to remember such an ordeal? Whoever took the memory away thought they were doing a kindness.

A streak of flame races up my forefinger. Would it have been better to pace my cell knowing where I came from, and how I got there? Or would I have only dwelled on it further?

My left hand finds the invisible mark on my chest, traces the place where I should feel the ridge of a scar beneath my tunic if I were more ordinary. The knowledge would only have worsened things, darkened my thoughts. Remaining blissfully unaware was the best option.

Yet now I have no choice but to know. I drag my gaze up, prising my fingers from the armrest. I can't react how I did with Finlay. Rejecting the truth isn't an option, and so I must accept it. At least the wondering is over.

"Thank you, Ligari," I say, pouring as much meaning into it as possible. "For telling me this, and for helping. And for trusting me." My nails run over my fingertips. "That must have been hard."

She leans forward, her gaze stern yet kind. "What happened wasn't your fault," she says, even more strong and purposeful than before. "It wasn't anyone's. I wanted so badly to help your parents, and I failed to. I've waited a long time to have the opportunity to repair that with you."

A smile flickers over my lips. "Thank you." I've already said it, but the repeat is deserved.

A comfortable silence falls between us. Gradually, I feel myself relax, leaning back against the chair instead of sitting so straight in it. The warmth of the room isn't quite as stifling as it was at first; it feels more like a tingling blanket, settling over me. After a minute, Ligari rises, returning to her knelt spot by the desk. Her brows crease in focus as she traces a finger over the square of leather, and I watch her with interest, observing as the shape begins to form something of a hand. Magic may not have treated me well, but I am still content to marvel at the multitudes of spells she seems able to cast. Finlay was right to call her powerful, to have faith in her work.

Rubbing a thumb over the wood, I sigh. Spending time with her has only deepened my hope that this will truly be my cure. I don't have to be like my parents. I have the chance to push aside Adeía, to be someone trustworthy again. The past can be put behind me. There won't be any more fires to set.

Flames hiss suddenly in my palm. I quell them hastily, glad Ligari is too busy to notice.

The handle of the door squeaks as it bends downwards, jumping me to attention. Whipping around, I lean over the arm of my chair. The door cracks open to reveal Finlay, light streaming from behind capturing the deep blue of his cloak as it flaps around his waist. From the shelves, pages rustle with the wind he lets in.

"Hey," he says, leaning against the doorframe as he nudges at the door with his toe. "Everything alright?"

I wait for Ligari to answer, but she doesn't move, and so I shift up onto my knees to properly peer over at him. "More or less." Hesitating, I trace a circle in the chair's back. "I found out why my flame is dark." My voice quivers slightly, but I manage a smile to finish it.

A large part of me longs for him to smile back, to reassure me as he did the previous day, but he only frowns at me. "I already told you, didn't I?"

"No." My ankles press into the front of the seat. "My parents. Ligari told me--"

I bite the words off suddenly, the chair rocking as I jolt back from Finlay's forward step. The door thumps closed. His eyes flash harsh, dark, his cloak flying to one side as he turns on Ligari. "You told him?" The venom in his voice slides my feet fully to the floor. My heart pounds.

She barely glances up, offering only a half-hearted shrug. "He deserves to know."

"But we agreed..." He shakes his head, fist curling around the hem of his cloak. "They're dead. It does no good."

"Wait." My voice seems too small. Though I stand, I clutch tighter to the back of my chair, staring across at Finlay. "Wait. You knew?"

"If Adeía is a choice, why must it curse me? I never chose this."

"That I don't know, I'm afraid."

His head snaps back to me, mouth falling open as if he has just remembered I am still here. "Nathan--"

"You lied to me." My tone escapes as a soft hiss.

Eyes fixed on mine, he raises a hand, palm facing me. "Calm, Nathan. Stay calm."

I clench my jaw. He is referring to the streams of flame surrounding my hands, rippling in the tendrils of breeze. They lick over the chair, flicker dangerously close to the desk behind where Ligari crouches. I don't care. He knew of my parents, of what I did, and he kept it from me. Purposefully, too. What else does he hide? What other secrets lurk that he conceals?

Another hand joins his first as he backs into the wall. "Perhaps you should step outside for a moment. We'll talk about this. Just--"

"Okay," I snap. "Okay, maybe I will."

I don't give him a chance to continue. Nothing else he says will help. As quickly as I can, I stride past the chair, fire beating at the door handle as I wrench it open, and I break out into open air.

The door slams behind me. I don't know if I close it, or if Finlay does, so eager to shut me out.

For several moments, I stand there, panting, staring unfocused at the flattened mountainside. My heart cracks thunder. Around my arms, fire twists and climbs, embracing the chill in the outside air.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? To let the flames travel further? They would eat up the door within seconds, turn this feeble barrier to ash. That would show Finlay what happens when he lies.

A single spark. So, so easy.

My fists clench as I tear myself away. Maybe I am just like my father. Impatient, desperate, content to destroy the undeserving if it crafts my own peace.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun fact: I genuinely cannot remember where I got Ligari's name, but she is one of the oldest characters, along with Finlay. This was back when the whole Enkavmé system didn't exist and she was just some sorceress who could make magic gloves. She started the whole Jeía trend and we love her for it. Also the mountain trend, since this range only became significant after I decided she lived in it xD

So, uh, tada! More answers for you. I gave away more than I planned to in this chapter but it all came together alright xD Also we finally linked back to the prologue, though it wasn't difficult to guess that was our boy committing arson.

Poor Nathan, having this fire forced upon him by his own parents :/ Then again, do you blame his father for doing what he did? He was so very desperate--

I'm very much looking forward to the next couple chapters. They are the most fun :DD

- Pup