There was something inherently suspicious about an abandoned noble estate at the edge of town.
Too many clean windows.
Too many roses still blooming on the vines.
And far, far too many birds not singing.
Elias crouched behind the rusted iron gate, his breath visible in the early evening chill. The manor loomed before them—three stories of ghost stories and questionable architecture.
"Why do villains always pick places that look like they eat orphans?" he whispered.
Revantra, kneeling beside him, adjusted the laces on her left boot with silent precision. "It's dramatic," she said. "You wouldn't understand."
"I'm dramatic," Elias whispered back. "I'm also allergic to haunted staircases and soul-draining wall sconces."
She gave him a look, somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
Behind them, a bush sneezed.
Elias turned. "Theo?"
The bush rustled. "I brought snacks."
"You were kidnapped!"
"I escaped," Theo whispered indignantly, emerging from the shrubbery with a crushed paper bag and a bleeding elbow. "They were too busy chanting. I just walked out the back door."
Revantra stared. "You didn't think to mention that sooner?"
"I got distracted! There was a glowing thing. And also, someone said I was 'tainted with mundane essence,' which is so rude, by the way. Also, the glowing thing might explode."
Revantra palmed her face. Elias sighed into the night.
"So," Theo said, chewing loudly on something suspiciously nut-like. "We storming the place anyway?"
"Yes," Revantra said, voice clipped. "We have to stop their summoning. They might try again."
"Fine, fine." Theo dusted off his hands. "But I'm calling dibs on any cursed artifacts with resale value."
Elias gave him a look. "You can't sell cursed artifacts, Theo."
"You can't," Theo said smugly. "I, however, have a morally ambiguous cousin."
Revantra stood. "We go in quiet. Swift. No spells unless necessary."
Theo raised a hand. "Define necessary."
Elias cut in, "If they start chanting in an ancient language, that's 'necessary.'"
"What about Latin?"
"Still 'necessary.'"
Theo pouted. "You guys are no fun."
Revantra didn't reply. She was already moving.
The manor's doors groaned like a creature in pain.
Inside, dust blanketed the grand hall. Moonlight filtered through stained glass, casting warped saints and weeping angels on the marble floor. An ancient chandelier hung above, each crystal tangled in cobwebs.
"This place gives me hives," Elias whispered, clutching his staff.
Theo peeked around a doorframe. "Ooh. That painting moved."
Revantra made a sharp gesture.
Silence.
Then—a creak. Footsteps. Whispered voices upstairs.
Revantra motioned them forward. Theo stepped neatly over a fallen banister post. Elias, less neatly, tripped and smacked into a wall sconce. It didn't light up, but it did fall off the wall and hit him in the foot.
"Quiet," Revantra hissed.
"Blame the decor!" he hissed back.
They moved like ghosts—up the grand staircase, through shadowed corridors. The cult had clearly taken up residence. Empty food crates, scattered robes, and ritual chalk littered the floor. Someone had even tried to brew tea, judging by the foul-smelling pot left on a brazier.
But there was no magic in the air. Not the pulsing kind, at least. Just the low, humming tension of something about to go wrong.
Elias could feel it in his stomach.
And then they heard it.
A child crying.
Not loudly. Not in terror. Just a soft, persistent whimper, coming from a cracked door down the hall.
Revantra froze.
"I'll check it," she whispered.
Elias grabbed her wrist.
"Wait—what if it's a trap?"
She looked at him, something fierce flickering behind her eyes.
"Then I'll spring it first."
He let her go.
The room was small—maybe a nursery once, long ago. The furniture had been pushed aside. A child sat in the corner, no older than six, hugging a stuffed fox to his chest. His eyes were red and puffy, but when he saw Revantra enter, they widened in fear.
"Don't—!" he choked. "Don't burn me!"
Revantra stopped cold.
She hadn't even lit a flame. But her presence—her aura—was enough to make the shadows dance and the air spark with phantom heat.
The boy sobbed harder. "You're the fire ghost! The witch!"
"I'm not—" she started, then stopped.
Elias arrived just behind her, took one look at the scene, and quickly stepped past her. He knelt beside the boy.
"Hey," he said gently. "It's okay. She's not going to hurt you."
"She glows," the boy sniffled.
"Yeah," Elias said. "Like a really mad candle. But she doesn't burn people. Not unless they really, really deserve it."
Behind him, Revantra flinched.
Elias noticed.
"You know what else?" he added softly. "She saved me. Twice. And Theo, too. She's scary sometimes, yeah. But only when she's trying really hard to protect someone."
The boy looked past Elias at Revantra, who stood frozen in the doorway.
"I saw her in my dream," the boy whispered. "She was on fire."
Elias didn't answer that one. Just took the boy's hand and stood up.
"We'll get you out, okay?"
The rest of the cultists had already fled by the time they made it back down.
Theo had discovered their records—poorly organized and water-stained—and was gleefully stuffing them into his satchel.
"Evidence," he said. "Also blackmail. Also possibly coupons."
Elias herded the child toward the door. Revantra lingered at the threshold.
She hadn't spoken since the nursery.
Even after the child had fallen asleep against Elias's side during the walk back to town, she hadn't said a word. She just walked, quiet, her steps never missing—but slower now. Measured. Like her own thoughts weighed more than her limbs.
Theo, for once, noticed.
"She okay?" he whispered.
Elias glanced over his shoulder.
She wasn't. He could see it in her shoulders.
"No," he said softly. "Not really."
That night, after the boy had been handed off to a very confused but grateful temple nurse, and Theo had vanished into the archives muttering about "traitorous historical timelines," Elias found Revantra on the roof again.
She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her cloak draped around her like a shell.
He joined her without a word.
For a long time, they just sat there. The stars blinked overhead, scattered like glass over a black lake. Somewhere down the street, someone was still setting off leftover festival fireworks.
And then, Revantra whispered:
"He was afraid of me."
Elias didn't respond.
"I didn't even do anything. I didn't say a word. I just—stood there."
Her voice cracked.
"I wasn't going to burn him."
"I know," Elias said quietly.
"But he saw it. He looked at me like I was a monster. And for a second, I almost believed him."
A pause.
"I don't want to be feared anymore," she whispered. "I'm tired of it. I've been feared for most of my lives. Even now… I'm still trying so hard, and it's still there."
She pressed her face into her knees.
Elias shifted closer. Gently, awkwardly, he reached out and rested a hand on her back.
"You're not a monster."
"You were afraid of me once."
"I was also sixteen, emotionally stunted, and dumb as hell."
That got a faint snort.
He smiled a little. "And I'm not afraid of you now. Neither is Theo."
"He says fire safety slogans in his sleep."
"Okay, mildly afraid. But affectionately."
Revantra let out a breath. Not quite a laugh. But not silence, either.
Elias leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the stars.
"You know," he said, "I don't think you're meant to be feared. I think you're meant to be seen. Really seen. And that scares people more."
She blinked at him. "That's… strangely poetic for you."
"I've been reading Theo's weird poetry stash."
"Ah."
Another silence. But this one was softer.
"Thank you," she said.
Elias shrugged. "I mean, I'm the only one brave enough to talk to a fire queen on a rooftop. Should probably get some credit."
Revantra smiled. Just a little.
"You're an idiot."
"Yep. But I'm your idiot."
Her smile faltered—but didn't vanish. Instead, she reached out and gently rested her head against his shoulder. Just for a moment. Just enough to say I'm still here. I'm trying.
And Elias leaned into it.
The fire queen was tired of being feared.
And maybe, one awkward rooftop at a time, she'd finally learn what it meant to be loved instead.
To be continued…