Private Tales Wildfire

The blackened gravel of Sheketh crunched under her small, hurried steps, each jolt sending a sharp ache through the cuff at her wrist. Iron. A cruel thing to a fae.

Esper’s gaze stayed fixed on the ground, dark volcanic dust and jagged rock reflecting none of the warmth she craved. Her fire, her life had been dimmed for weeks, first by the iron shackles, then by the long, wet voyage across the sea. Though she was finally on solid ground, she still felt its lingering chill coursing through her veins, her body weakened by it almost as much as the metal stealing her power and energy.

Beside her, Malephis moved with unnerving ease, hurrying her along. His long coat brushed over the uneven terrain, the curl of his horns casting twisted shadows across the jagged landscape. His purple skin seemed almost to drink in the muted sunlight, glinting like molten stone, and Esper forced herself not to flinch at his looming presence.

They stopped before a smiths, the one he'd been looking for, and the devil grinned, jagged teeth glinting in the forge light. He pulled her close to him, hand gripping her chin and dragging her lightless eyes to meet his.. "Here we are, my pet. We'll have some new jewellery for you soon enough.." he winked, and shoved her inside.

Malephis’ black eyes went wide as he craned his neck back, horns brushing against his shoulders to take in the sheer size of the figure before him. A slow, crooked grin split across his face, wide and wolfish, and altogether too pleased.

“Fuck me sideways,” he drawled, scratching idly at the stubble on his chin. “You’re gargantuan.” A low chuckle followed, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He cast a look around at the barren expanse of rock and ash, the thin, acrid air shivering with heat. “Your services, friend, what else would drag anyone out to this gods-forsaken slag heap?” he said, half smiling, half snarling. “Heard you can weave a bit of magic into metal. I name the job, you take [payment, simple enough arrangement, aye?”

With a tug of the chain, he drew Esper closer, his tone turning almost playful as the giant’s molten gaze fell upon her. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” he mused, thumb brushing the iron that burned into her wrist. “My pet.”

Esper barely heard him. Her eyes, wide and glistening, were fixed on the half giant. The air around him rippled with heat, alive and intoxicating. The scent of smoke, the faint shimmer of flame beneath his skin, it all called to her. Fire recognised fire. She swayed toward him instinctively, caught in the pull, until Malephis yanked hard on her chain.

She stumbled into his side, the motion clumsy and human, the small hiss that left her lips anything but.

Esper’s head lifted at the word adequate. The faintest flicker passed through her eyes, hurt first, then pride, then something sharp and dangerous. Her kind were not made to be measured, not by mortal tongue nor demon’s whim.

Fire trembled beneath her skin, just enough to shimmer in the air about her. The movement was subtle, but the heat of it was not; the faint scent of smoke drifted between them. She tilted her chin upward, golden eyes locking on the half-giant.

“‘Adequate', am I?” The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them, her voice soft and melodic, each syllable lilting like a song. Her accent carried the rhythm of the Fae courts, that haunting blend of silk and steel. “And what are you?” she asked scornfully, looking him over.

Malephis’s hand moved so quickly it barely made a sound. The chain snapped taut, yanking her back against him.

“That tongue of yours,” he hissed close to her ear, his grin tight, “is going to get you burned, little spark. Be silent.”

Esper’s lips pressed together, but her eyes remained fixed on the giant like kindled embers. For all her obedience, she did not bow.

Malephis turned his attention back to Gerra as though nothing had happened, all easy grin and charm once more. “You’ll have to forgive her,” he said smoothly. “Pride’s bred deep in these creatures.”

He reached into his coat, producing two small glass bottles. One held a dark, thick fluid, the other shimmered with golden light, alive and pulsing with the faint thrum of magic. He held them up between thumb and forefinger, admiring the contrast.

“I won her power fair and square,” he said, teeth flashing in a grin. “All that’s left is to bind it to me. I came prepared.”

Behind him, Esper’s hand curled into a fist, the skin of her palm still raw where the wound had only just begun to knit closed.

“Whatever price he names, it’ll never be enough for what you’re taking.." she whispered, her lilting accent threaded with restrained fury. She didn’t raise her head, yet every word trembled with contained fire, like a coal smouldering beneath ash.

Malephis’s fingers twitched against the chain, and a cruel smile tugged at his lips.

“You see what I mean?” he said, his tone light but edged like a blade. “No discipline..”

He gave the chain a sharp tug, jerking her closer and twisting her arm. He grinned wider, showing teeth that caught the forge light like polished obsidian.

“She’s spirited,” he went on, “I like that in a weapon. You’ll see why I want her bound properly, giant. Power like hers, wild and molten-” he snapped his fingers, and a faint flicker of flame ignited on his fingertips before he extinguished it in his fist “ - needs a firm hand.”

“As for price…” He looked up, grin still fixed but eyes sharp. “Name it. Coin, favour, blood... I'll even let you have a go with her before we leave." he offered with a wink.

Esper’s lips parted as though to speak again, but she stopped herself. Her eyes fixed on the fire giant with something fierce and pleading beneath the anger.

Malephis' laughter was sharp and arrogant. “Two thousand, eh?” he echoed with a grin.

He reached into the inner pocket of his long coat and withdrew a velvet pouch, rich black and flecked with salt from sea air. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he tossed it toward the giant.

“I don’t carry that kind of coin, being that I'm not a fucking bank,” he said, tone dripping with mockery. “But that,” he gestured toward the pouch, “is worth a good deal more. Emeralds, sapphires, diamonds. Took them off a collector in Elbion who was very attached to his throat.” A few dark flecks of dried blood still marred the gemstones’ gleam.

Malephis’s grin widened, revealing a flash of teeth. “If you it faster, the lot is yours. A craftsman like you must appreciate incentive.." he arched a dark brow. He hadn't slept in weeks, keeping his eye on her lest she try to run or smash his skull in, and so he was in a hurry.

He stepped back slightly, his grip still tight on Esper’s chain, and she grimaced at the movement, looking about ready to fall where she stood. "And we want to get this iron off of you, don't we, spark?" he asked, and looked back to Gerra..

“Think fast…” Malephis murmured far too late, a grin splitting across his face as the pouch hit the dirt.

He watched the half-giant stoop to gather the fallen gems, amusement glittering in his black eyes like oil on water. When Gerra finally rose and accepted the payment, Malephis’s smirk deepened, satisfied.

Esper’s jaw clenched as the decision was sealed. The chain between them rattled softly as she pulled back, the motion half a struggle, half despair.

“I am glad your pretty stones are payment enough,” she sneered under her breath. The words trembled with fury as her gaze cut toward the blacksmith. “My eternity, bought and sold by males for trinkets.” she spat.

Tears welled, but before they could fall, Malephis’ hand tangled cruelly in her hair and yanked her head back. The sound she made was sharp, animal, a hiss between pain and pride.

“Enough talking, sparky,” he growled close to her ear, breath hot. “Or I’ll ask him to make you a pretty collar to match your cuffs. Or a muzzle, how'd that be?.."

Esper went still, her breath shallow..

Satisfied, the tiefling released her and looked toward the volcano where the forge lay hidden in its glowing heart. His grin returned, wicked and thoughtful all at once.

“That where you do your work, then?” he asked, voice carrying an edge of admiration. “Hell of a view.” His gaze flicked to Esper. “You’d like it there, wouldn’t you, little flame? All that heat… all that fire.”

His hand dragged lazily across her cheek. She turned from the touch, jaw tight, and he laughed low in his throat.

“But we’ll get cosy right here,” he murmured, his tail idly curling around her waist. “Won’t we, pet?”

Esper didn’t answer, she only glared at the half-giant.

“We’ll be waiting,” Malephis added, “Don’t keep us long, smith. She’s got a temper.” he chuckled.

Malephis had indeed taken what he needed.

The faint trickle of blood still ran from the from the twin puncture marks on the inside of Esper’s wrist. Her complexion had lost some of its glow, her fire dimmed, her light stifled, and the gleam in her amber eyes had dulled to weary coals.

It was only a lifetime, she told herself. Only an eternity, chained to this creature.

Malephis sat cross legged in the ash, looking pleased with himself. His lip bore a thin cut and his cheek still gleamed wet where her nails had found him earlier. He wore the wound like a trophy, grinning through the blood as he caught her wrist once more.

He lifted her arm lazily, tongue flicking out to catch the thin trail of blood that ran down to her palm. “So sweet,” he murmured, his voice a low purr of mockery.

Esper recoiled, snatching her hand back to her chest and curling away from him, every line of her body taut with revulsion. She said nothing, only pressed her wrist to her breast and turned her face from him, her jaw trembling with the effort to keep quiet.

She heard the blacksmith's heavy steps before she saw him. She watched him through the veil of her lashes, the way his massive frame seemed to sag with each step. And then the door to his hut shut hard enough to rattle the stones.

Malephis stretched, unbothered. “Bright and early then,” he said with a yawn, crossing his arms behind his head and ankles before him.

Esper sat a while longer in silence, eyes fixed on the faint orange glow that still burned from the mouth of the volcano. Then, as the heat faded and the world fell quiet save for the hiss of the distant sea, exhaustion claimed her.

When she woke, dawn had just touched the island, and her skin was slick with a fine blanket of dew.
The tiefling snored beside her; a low, rasping sound that grated like stone on stone.

Esper lay still for a long while, watching the smoke drift from the volcano’s heart, the horizon blushing with dawn. Her gaze shifted to a shard of black volcanic rock jutting from the ash nearby.

Sharp. Heavy. Perfect.

She stared at it until her breathing matched his, shallow and steady, and then, inch by inch, she reached for it. Her free wrist trembled only once before her fingers closed around the jagged edge of the cool stone.

Malephis slept with his mouth slightly open, fanged teeth glinting faintly in the early light. Even in rest, he looked smug, that insufferable smirk carved into his features. Esper’s grip tightened. Her hand rose, slow as the tide, the rock poised above her head. For a heartbeat she hesitated,and then she brought it down with a crack.

The impact split the quiet like thunder, and Malephis jerked awake with a guttural snarl, his head snapping to the side as blood spattered across the ash. He roared, the sound deep and animal, clutching his face as the second blow struck - or nearly did. The chain went taut, jerking Esper backward with brutal force.

“You little bitch!” he spat, black eyes blazing. His hand shot out, catching her by the throat and slamming her down into the dirt. The smell of brimstone filled the air as his temper ignited, the skin along his neck and jaw flickering with heat.

Esper clawed at his wrist, her nails dragging sparks across his skin. His grip tightened until her breaths turned to rasps. He leaned close, blood running from his split brow, his grin red and cruel.

“Oh, little spark…” he hissed, his voice a whisper of smoke. “I like it when they fight.”

He released her with a shove, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, chuckling low, he leaned back again, expression twisting between amusement and fury.

“You’ll regret that,” he promised, “When he’s done, when you’re mine proper, I’ll make you remember this moment.”

“Oh, I assure you…” Malephis murmured, voice low and smooth, dabbing at the blood on his face with a handkerchief as if it were no more than spilled wine. The cut on his temple had already begun to crust, the deep bruise at his cheekbone blooming dark beneath his skin. He barely seemed to notice.

He smiled through the pain, a wolfish, self satisfied curve of his mouth that made Esper’s stomach twist.

He enjoyed it. The violence. The resistance. The proof that she still had fire enough to burn.

Her intention had not been to hurt him. It had been to kill him. She’d seen the edge of his surprise when the rock had struck, felt that sliver of possibility where his grip might have loosened, and now, seeing that same grin, she knew how futile it had been.

Soon, she would not even have the strength to try.

With every passing hour, the dread grew heavier, pressing down on her like a weight she could not shrug off. She felt it in the tremor of the earth beneath her bare feet, in the glow of the forge that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. It called to her, that fire, even as it promised her ruin.

When the blacksmith’s voice finally rose from the mouth of the volcano, her heart gave a violent, instinctive jolt.

No.

No, no, no.

Esper’s body moved before thought could catch up. She pushed to her feet, muscles trembling, and ran as fast and as hard as she could toward the cliffs, the chain snapping taut between them with a harsh, metallic cry.

Ash scattered under her bare feet as she bolted across the dark slope, hair streaming behind her like a banner of flame. She didn’t care where she went. She only knew she had to get away.

The tiefling’s laughter followed her, rich and cruel. She dragged him only a few strides before the chain yanked back with brutal force, her body jerking as though caught by a snare.

“Where do you think you’re going, pet?” Malephis drawled, amusement lacing every word. He reeled her in easily, arm over arm, like a fisherman hauling in a catch. When she came within reach, he caught her around the waist and hauled her bodily against him.

Esper writhed, nails clawing at his arms, fire sputtering uselessly beneath her skin, her magic still silenced by the burning iron clasp biting her wrist.

“Let me go!” she gasped, desperate and furious. “Let me go!”

Malephis only laughed again, his breath hot against her ear as he lifted her off her feet entirely. Her legs kicked wildly, her scream splitting the still volcanic air as he turned toward the forge.

“No!!” she shrieked, twisting, struggling, cursing him in the old tongue, every word a promise of wrath. He carried her as easily as one might carry a bundle of kindling, unbothered by her thrashing, her fury, her tears.

“Careful, little flame,” he murmured, tightening his hold as he started toward the cave’s fiery mouth. “You’re about to be reforged.”

Her scream echoed through the volcanic air, carried on the wind until it died against the rocks, a sound that was almost, but not quite, a plea as he carried her into the forge.

She was desperate now, and Malephis’ patience snapped like an overstrained wire as she continued to kick at him. His grin went hard and animal, the amusement in his eyes became hungry, ruthless. He leaned in, mouth opening, and bit into the crook of her neck with a vicious little sound, not enough to kill, but enough to make her world shrink to a single, white hot point of pain. Esper’s scream pitched high and fractured, her whole body jerking as if struck by lightning. She went rigid in his arms for one terrible, trembling heartbeat, then sagged as venomous pain rolled through her like a tide.

He held her there, fingers like iron around her ribs, delight glittering in the black of his eyes as he nodded toward Gerra and the bracers he'd forged. “Alright then,” he said, voice silk and steel, “get on with it.” The words were a command wrapped in a dare. He relished the spectacle of her terror, the way it made the tiny sparks of defiance in her flare and then stutter. His free hand tightened in her hair to keep her face turned toward the smith, to make sure Gerra saw the price of refusal.

Esper’s face was a map of anguish and stubborn fire. Tears slid unbidden down her cheeks, mixing with the smear of blood at her throat. When she found breath between ragged sobs, she forced the words out soft and trembling, each syllable braided with pleading and pride. “Please…” Her voice quavered but did not break. “A debt.. I will owe… to the one who spares me this.” Her accent rolled the plea like an old, sorrowful song, even broken, it sounded eloquent and terrible.

Malephis slammed a hand over her mouth before Gerra could answer. The pressure muffled her plea into silence. In that second of exquisite rage, Esper did the only thing left to her, she bit down hard on the palm clamping her lips. Pain erupted, the tiefling snapped, a snarl tearing from him, but she clamped harder, tasting his putrid blood. He hauled her head back by the hair and she spat a mouthful of it onto the floor, a dark red trail of it rolling down her chin and dripping onto her heaving chest.

He snarled, more animal than devil, fingers twisting in her hair until pain bloomed across her scalp. “And yet another debt owed to me, that you will pay for dearly,” he promised, but there was a flash of grudging respect in his look, for audacity if nothing else.

“Hurry up with it now, before I do something I fucking regret!” he snapped, his voice sharp as flint.

Esper sobbed hopelessly as the bracer was fitted to her arm. The metal burned against her skin, not from heat, or pain, but from the pulse of the enchantment within. She could feel it pulling at her, the ancient spellwork rooting itself in her very blood. Her magic shuddered, then began to flow toward it like a conduit, inexorably drawn to the second bracer - the one meant for him.

Malephis’s grin was a terrible, gleaming thing. His hand curled beneath her chin, forcing her to watch as her fate was sealed, his breath ghosting against her ear. “Look, my spark,” he whispered, voice thick with pleasure. “Watch how beautifully you break.”

But something shifted. A fleeting flicker in the blacksmith’s eyes.

Esper felt it before she understood it, a sharp tug somewhere deep in her chest, as though the magic itself had changed direction. Her gaze shot toward Gerra just as the matching bracer snapped around his wrist. The world exploded into light.

The forge blazed gold. Energy erupted between them, filling the chamber with a roaring, searing brilliance. The air shivered, and in that instant Esper felt her soul twist, her power rerouted, bound to another life, but not the one she feared. Her breath caught, heart hammering, disbelief cutting through her tears. She didn’t know if it was salvation or another kind of prison, but at least it was not him.

The tiefling's expression curdled into something monstrous. The delight drained from his face, replaced by a contortion of disbelief and incandescent fury. His form seemed to swell with it, his horns darkening, eyes igniting with infernal light. A roar tore from his throat, deep enough to rattle the molten walls.

“NO!!”

The chain shattered under Gerra’s hammer, bursting into fragments that scattered across the stone like sparks. The manacle fell from Esper’s wrist with a dull clang, its magic nullified.

“You fucking useless bastard!” he bellowed, drawing his curved blade with a hiss of steel “I’ll cut the fucking thing off if I have to!” He lunged forward, slashing with blind violence, the air alive with the stench of brimstone and blood.

Esper barely heard him. She stared at her freed wrist, at the raw, burned skin where iron had lived for months. Her body trembled, weak, but the absence of that hateful weight felt like the first breath after drowning. Her power surged back to life in a flood so fierce she gasped. The air around her shimmered, then ignited.

Flame erupted along her limbs, curling up her body in golden tongues that caressed rather than burned. She let out a choked, startled sound, a whimper that turned into a sigh, as her strength returned, as the fire kissed her skin like a long lost love.

For one fleeting, dizzy moment, she revelled in it.

Her burning gaze settled on Gerra before it turned on the devil, flame reflecting in her teary eyes as she rose to her feet, drawing heat from the volcanic air until her hair lifted like living fire. The ground trembled faintly beneath her.

The tiefling had wanted to chain her power. Now, it would meet him unbound.

Malephis turned on her, his grin long gone, eyes wide and wild with fury and disbelief. The heat of her flames had blistered his once smooth purple skin, the edges of his fine coat curled and blackened, smouldering as he tore at it in frantic handfuls. The air filled with the hiss of burning leather, the stench of scorched flesh.

The bloodied sword in his hand trembled from the raw, trembling rage that overtook him. He’d struck her, wounded her, broken her, branded her. He’d called her pet, slave, whore. But now, for the first time, he looked at her and saw something vast and terrible staring back, a storm of flame and fury that would not bow again.

“Stupid little bitch,” he spat, voice cracking through the roar of fire. He knew there would be no reasoning, no charming his way out of this. The fae before him wasn’t prey anymore. She was wrath given form.

With a snarl that split the air, he raised the blade high, its edge gleaming red in the light of her flames, and charged. The blacksmith’s instruction reached her first, the words striking through the haze like flint, sparking an answering light behind her ribs.

Destroy him..

Gladly.

Her hands rose, graceful as a dancer’s, and fire poured from her fingertips. It moved like a living thing, serpents of molten gold, writhing and coiling through the smoke. They struck him all at once, wrapping around his limbs and throat, slithering into his open mouth as he screamed.

The sound was an awful, ragged thing that scraped across the volcanic walls and bounced back upon itself in echoes of agony. The smell of burnt flesh and sulphur filled the forge as the devil staggered backward, eys wild and white with fear. His once taunting grin twisted into something pitiful,

Esper barely heard his wails over the roar in her ears. Her pulse thundered, her power singing through her veins in a feral harmony with the mountain’s heart.

He was alive, clawing at his throat as the fire turned his lungs to soup, sputtering from his mouth in a thick, gory mulch. Alive as his heart cooked behind his ribs. It ate him from the inside and burst from his chest in a bloom of molten light. The scream became a gurgle, then a hiss, then silence.

The blade fell first.
Then Malephis.

When he fell still, the mountain exhaled. Esper stood over what remained of the tiefling, her chest heaving. Her flames retreated, curling around her ankles and wrists like affectionate spirits before slipping beneath her skin once more. The cavern reeked of ash and death and blood.

She trembled from the sudden, dizzying rush of relief. Her shoulders sagged. A single sob tore free from her throat, unguarded. She almost forgot about the blacksmith.. Almost. She realised she felt pain that was not her own, her hand falling to her chest in confusion before her gaze snapped toward the half-giant..

He was still standing, barely, his massive frame hunched, blood dark and heavy down his chest. The glow from the forge painted his skin gold and red, but the wound was deep. The bracer on her arm pulsed faintly in answer to his heartbeat, and she realised what that meant.

If he died, the bond would die with him. She would be free..

Her hand twitched at her side. She could let him bleed. Just… watch. Wait. Freedom was right there, hovering like a breath away.

But...He had saved her from something terrible.. It may have been for his own gain, rather than any sympathy for her, but he had saved her from it all the same. She should help him.

Esper was no healer, but fire cauterised. She swallowed hard, her throat tight, and crossed the forge to him. Her bare feet left prints of blood and soot on the stone. She found a blade, her fingers curling around the hilt, and the metal flushed white-hot at her touch. No forge was needed, for her power flowed through it easily, naturally.

"It will hurt.." she said, reaching to move his arm out of the way to press the glowing steel against his wound.

Esper’s brows knit tightly, confusion flickering through the gold of her eyes. The wound should have consumed him, her flames had been hot enough to melt stone, and yet the flesh beneath her glowing blade remained unburned, unblistered. The scent of smoke lingered, but it came from his ruined clothes, not his skin. He had spoken the truth.

Fire giant.

The words echoed through her mind as she looked him over, gaze tracing the strange runes inked into his skin. They circled his throat like a collar of ancient power. For a moment she forgot the blood pooling at his chest, the steam hissing from the floor where his lifeblood met heat. He looked carved from the volcano itself, stone and flame made flesh.

Her attention snapped back when his voice rasped again, pointing toward the chest.

She followed his gesture, stepping over scorched pile of Malephis’ remains. The steel blade clattered from her grip, useless now, and she dropped to her knees before the chest. Her small hands wrenched it open, rummaging through until she found the cloth she sought.

In moments she was beside him again, the air still shimmering faintly from the heat that clung to her skin. She pressed the cloth hard against the gash in his chest, her hands trembling from exhaustion but steady in their intent. She caught his wrist in her smaller hand and guided it down to press over the wound himself.

“Hold,” she murmured, voice soft, its cadence still touched by the Autumn Court’s lilting grace, though it wavered with fatigue.

As she shifted, her gaze snagged on the gleam of gold at his wrist. The bracer, the twin to her own. Her throat tightened, breath catching as her eyes dropped to the one that encircled her arm, glowing faintly in answer.

Bound.

Her fingers stilled, pressing the rags into the bleeding wound as her mind reeled. The fire in her eyes dimmed to a deep, uncertain ember.

"Why did you do that?" she asked quietly.

Esper’s hands stilled, her ember-bright eyes lifted slowly to his face, searching the deep lines there, the exhaustion carved into him like the grooves in stone.

A better man.

The words lingered in her mind, and against all reason, a fragile, aching hope began to kindle there. He could have stood aside. He could have let Malephis bind her, use her, destroy what little remained of her will. But he hadn’t. He had stopped it. Saved her.

A fae should not be bound to any, but perhaps, she thought, if she must bear the weight of a bond, if she must belong to someone, better it be a man who still longed to be better.

She gave a single, silent nod of understanding. The flames beneath her skin had calmed to a gentle, steady glow, and her hands, so small against his, remained pressed to the wound as though to anchor him there, to life.

Her brow furrowed when he spoke of her court, of seeing something in her he should not have known. But she nodded anyway, a faint frown playing over her lips as she studied him more closely, tilting her head.
“I was,” she murmured at last, her voice soft, distant. The faintest trace of longing edged her words.

“They said a fire giant once passed through our realm,” she said quietly. “They said he was an emperor of this world… some said a god. And his name was Gerra of Molthal.”