Private Tales Wildfire

Esper’s lips parted on a tremor of breath as the weight of his sorrow pressed through the bond, thick and suffocating. It coiled in her chest, and for a moment she could not tell where his ache ended and hers began. It was a strange and terrible intimacy, to feel another being’s grief mingling with her own.

Her eyes lingered on him as he looked away, denying the claims she had spoken of. Denying the legacy that even fae had deemed worthy to speak of. She did not press him, she did not need to. The truth was there in the way his shoulders sank beneath invisible weight, in the way his gaze would not meet hers. Whatever he had been; emperor, conqueror, god, he seemed now only a man hollowed out by the memory of himself.

Her attention drifted as his did, following his gaze to the blade on the stone floor. Slowly, her brow knit, and she lowered her gaze to the wound beneath her hands. The blood was still coming, sluggish now but steady, soaking through the rags and between her fingers. She pressed harder, jaw tightening.

“I cannot sever it,” she murmured.. “I am free of the devil. That is.. relief enough.”

When she finally looked back at him, her eyes were soft, glimmering with faint light. Exhaustion clung to her; physical, magical and soul-deep. Her body still bore the marks of what Malephis had done to her; each bruise and brand and scar sang a quiet ache beneath her skin. And yet… to feel warmth again, to feel the flame that was hers and hers alone, was a mercy she hadn’t thought she’d ever taste again.

Her gaze flicked to the mangled ruin of her wrist, the flesh black and torn where iron had eaten away at it.. The sight made her stomach twist. It would never fully heal. The ache would never fade. And she would never stop hating him for what he had done.

But when her eyes lifted again, they found Gerra’s face.

“I am…” she faltered, the words catching in her throat. It went against every thread of pride woven into her fae blood. But the bond pulsed, undeniable. “I am yours,” she said finally, quietly. The words trembled as they left her.

Her gaze fell away again, lashes trembling as tears welled anew, born of exhaustion, grief, and the strange, flickering relief of survival.

Esper’s gaze fell to where his hand covered hers, much larger than her own yet careful in its touch, shielding the ruined flesh of her wrist as though to offer her comfort. The warmth that seeped from his palm met her own in quiet recognition. Flame to flame. The sensation was so achingly gentle, so unlike the searing bite of iron or the cruel, possessive grip she had come to expect, that it caught something deep in her chest and twisted it tight.

Her throat worked as she tried to speak, but his words caught her first.. 'I do not want you as my slave.. I would set you free..'

The simplicity of it, the quiet ache in his voice, hollowed her. Through the bond, she felt the weight of his remorse pressing against her own relief like two currents converging in a storm.

“That is… not how it works,” she murmured, voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. “And I have a great debt to pay. Laws are laws." Her eyes flickered up to his, the faintest curve ghosting her lips, a shadow of what might once have been a smile. “But to know that…” she trailed off, unable to finish, though he would feel the gratitude bleeding through the tether between them, warm and bright as the fire in her veins.

"You are a good man." she said.

When she looked down again, her expression sobered. The rag beneath her hand had gone a deep scarlet.. She lifted it just enough to see the wound before pressing it back down, firmer this time.

“It’s slowed,” she whispered, brow furrowing. “But we should seek a healer.” Her voice had softened, the sharpness of survival giving way to something quieter, something like concern.

“My name is Esper…” she said finally, realising he had not heard it from the Tiefling's lips.

Adequate. That was what he’d called her when Malephis had boasted of her beauty. The memory made Esper’s lips twitch faintly, and she let out a quiet huff through her nose. The low sound of his gravelly chuckle rumbled through the bond like distant thunder, and despite herself, her lips curved the slightest bit higher.

When he gave his name, her brow arched, unsure why he would want to deny what he had achieved in his life. “Alright then, Gerra just-a-blacksmith,” she murmured, her tone suggesting she didn’t quite believe him, though she didn’t press further. It wasn’t her place.

When he rose, she moved to his side, slender arms bracing against him in an attempt to help. It was near comical, a fae several feet too short trying to steady a mountain of a man, like a cat trying to support the weight of a bear, as though it would make any difference at all, but she didn’t seem to notice the futility of it.

She stuck close to him as he moved. It was habit perhaps, that she had learned to stay close to whoever held her chain so that they wouldn't have to pull against the iron, and though she was unbound now, the proximity lingered like muscle memory.

Her eyes darted away as he reached for the garments, turning instead toward the blackened heap that had once been Malephis, his horns the only discernible remnant of him.

At Gerra's question, her expression darkened.

“It wasn’t him who captured me,” she said quietly. “He stole me from those who did. Tricked them with an illusion of coin so they thought they’d been paid. Long enough for him to escape with me.” Her jaw tightened, and shame crept into her voice. “He told me he was taking me home, so I’d run faster.”

She swallowed, eyes flicking to the ground. “It was foolish to believe him. But we… we cannot lie. Not like those who walk this realm.” Her cheeks flushed again, not from heat this time but from the humiliation of admitting it.

“They chased us for many days,” she continued, her voice softer, distant. “But we lost them a few days before we boarded the ship here.."

Esper stiffened at the touch of his hand, the instinctive flinch betraying the reflex carved deep into her bones. But she caught herself, breath trembling as she looked up at him through the fall of her hair. Whatever she saw in his face seemed to quiet that fear, and she gave a small, guilty smile, an apology without words.

When he said not to the village, her frown deepened. Her tired legs had barely found their rhythm when he was already striding away from the forge, and she had to hurry along to keep pace with him, her smaller steps sinking into the ash and grit. “Then where?..” she asked, the uncertainty in her voice edged with a faint note of worry.

She stopped at his side as he dropped to his knees, curiosity momentarily overtaking her fear, and she crouched low as he tore at the volcanic soil until metal gleamed beneath his hands.

Her breath caught as the box opened. Inside, the rings shone like the treasure of kings, each humming with power so palpable that it raised the fine hairs along her arms. Her magic, attuned to the ebb and flow of energy, felt them before her mind could truly grasp what she was seeing. The air thrummed, almost alive, and she could taste the metallic tang of it on her tongue.

She watched as he slipped one onto his finger, and she felt it pull. The ring’s hunger reached out in invisible tendrils, devouring the life from the garden. The flowers withered and blackened, curling inward, and she scurried back a few paces, eyes wide with a mix of awe and alarm.

When she saw the wound close, when the flesh knit itself together, her stomach twisted. Terrifying, and yet… magnificent. He was no mere blacksmith.

Her gaze flicked to the other rings. What else could they do? she wondered, before his voice drew her from her thoughts. That voice, rough as grinding stone, made her shrink instinctively, but his question pierced through the fear, and her chin lifted again.

“You mean to cross the sea again? To find them?..” she asked quietly, her voice trembling with dread. The thought of that voyage, of the water, cold and endless, made her stomach knot. She had barely survived the last.

Her gaze fell to the ground between them. “They were traders,” she said reluctantly. “They hunted magical creatures… fae, beasts, spirits. Anything with ley-touched blood. They sold us at the Goblin Market in the Inbetween.”

Her voice hardened faintly then, anger beneath the weariness. “That’s where he took me from.." Her eyes met his again, burning softly, like coals dimmed but not extinguished.

Esper let out a breath that felt almost like laughter there was so much relief in it. That there was the option of a portal stone to another land made the blackened horizon seem suddenly less like a prison. If she ever set foot on a boat again it would be too soon.

Then, he gave her a choice.. And it seemed that he was willing to do either of them to protect her..

She searched his face then, combing it for mockery or the practiced smooth lies of men who traded in false promises. He gave none; there was no jest in the set of his jaw, no silvered falsehood in his eyes. For once, she did not feel herself being pulled into one of their games.

A slow, hard smile curved the edge of her mouth. Her chin rose and her shoulders squared despite the exhaustion that had buried itself deep in her bones. “They deserve death,” she said, the cadence of her voice soft and terrible all at once..

She remained mostly silent through the journey, too drained to do much more than endure. Even the short passage by boat had hollowed her out even more; the moment the vessel rocked free of shore she lurched to the side and retched until her throat burned. Afterward she walked close to him, as though proximity alone could steady her. Her ruined wrist she held tight against her chest, the pain of it enough to draw silent tears she tried and failed to hide.

She knew he must feel some of it through their tether. She felt him, after all, anger like a storm rolling under his skin, like a weight he could not shrug off. Each time it surged through the link she flinched, assuming it was because of her. Because she was a burden he had never asked for. Because he was stuck with her despair pulsing through his veins like a second heartbeat.

She felt as though she carried too much inside her now - two hearts echoing one another, two minds brushing edges, two souls pulling tight in a space far too small. How long before he tired of her sorrow, her hopelessness? How long before the discomfort of sharing her pain outweighed whatever resolve kept him from ending the bond in the simplest, most final way?

Still she walked beside him without complaint, unwilling to be more trouble than she already was. And each time she remembered that he had chosen to come here, for her, gratitude warmed her enough to keep her moving.

When they stepped toward the portal stone, she clung to his arm, terrified the magic might scatter her, send her spiralling somewhere else entirely. But the crossing held, and the land they emerged into felt… ancient. Heavy with dormant power, as though the ruins themselves had been sleeping for ages and dreamed beneath the sand.

She kept her head down as they wove through the sparse market toward the large tent. Inside, stew was placed in front of her, she stared at it, trying to guess the meat, appetite weak and wandering, when Gerra finally broke the days-long quiet.

Her gaze snapped up, startled. Her neck?

“Oh…” She lifted a hand to it, fingertips brushing the place where fanged teeth had been. “Healing,” she answered, offering him a small, tight smile, because it mattered that he’d thought to ask.

She glanced at the bites on her arm, already forming pale scars, then lowered her hands beneath the table. Her eyes caught on the rings at his fingers, and her voice softened.

“Does it hurt at all, where he cut you?” she asked, hesitant. “I feel things from you… but I can’t always tell what’s mine and what’s yours.”

She flinched at the sharpness in his voice. It wasn’t loud, but it struck with enough force that her shoulders tightened, her gaze dropping to the stew she suddenly couldn’t stomach. Her fingers curled into trembling fists beneath the table, her body bracing for pain that rationally she doubted would come from him, yet subconsciously, she had come to expect.

But then he spoke again, softer. And she uncurled, little by little, lifting her eyes only far enough to show she was listening.

Every word he spoke carved her open a little more. Hearing her emotions laid out plainly, her pain, her exhaustion, her fear, made something inside her twist with raw shame. She hadn’t wanted him to feel all of that. Hadn’t wanted anyone to. The bond made her naked in ways she hadn’t known she could be. Exposed and so irritatingly fragile.

When he called it intimacy in complaint, she frowned, her gaze lowering to the gleaming gold on her wrist. The thing that had reshaped her life.

“Part of you must have wanted it,” she said quietly, voice taut and uncertain but honest. “The bond. Something like it, at least.”

She didn’t accuse him, but she didn’t spare him either. Her voice was too soft to be wrathful, but too steady to be meek.

“Otherwise you would’ve turned the devil away,” she continued, eyes fixed on the bracer so she didn’t have to meet his. “You’re strong enough. Powerful enough. A creature like Malephis should never have been able to force your hand.”

“And if you never wanted something like this… you wouldn’t have made these bracers at all. You wouldn’t have had them ready. You wouldn’t have-”

Her throat tightened. She swallowed. “You wouldn’t have put one on me. But you told him to hold me down.. And I.. begged."

She finally lifted her gaze to him, hurt and anger flickering there, but layered over something more complicated, gratitude twisted with confusion, fear tangled with the faintest, smallest hope.

“You could have destroyed it, but instead you chose to wear one too,” she whispered. “So you must have wanted… something. Even if you hate what it is now.” Her breath trembled.

“The magic is binding.. The debt needs to be paid..” she frowned. She would never be free. Not until death.

She flinched violently when he rose, shoulders snapping up in defense, like a creature expecting a blow. She dared to look up at him just long enough to see the fire in his eyes.

Not passion. Not the righteous fury he had turned against Malephis. But revulsion. Hatred so sharp she felt it slice along the bond.

It stole the breath from her chest. Her gaze fell at once, shame blooming hot across her cheeks as though she’d been struck. She wanted to tell him she hadn’t meant to wound him. That she’d only spoken the truth as she knew it. But the words died in her throat as he turned away.

She watched him go, helpless, as he threw the bowl down in disgust. Clay shattered. Her chest clenched. A few patrons glanced over with curiosity, and Esper bowed her head under their stares, wishing she could make herself small enough to disappear.

Her fingers curled over her ruined wrist, holding herself together as best she could.

She hadn’t meant cruelty. Such things were not in her character. She’d only spoken what she saw, what she felt, what she feared. Was it cruelty to speak truth that hurt? Or weakness?

Perhaps that was why she had ended up in so many hands not her own. Why creatures like Malephis could take what they wanted. Why she was sitting here now, wretched, bound, and feeling him pull away more with each passing heartbeat.

She could feel the distance he put between them. Like a rope pulled taut, pulling at her bones. Every step he took felt like something inside her strained. Like it might snap.

Could it snap? Would it kill her if it did?

A man slid into the seat beside her before she noticed him. His hand landed heavy on her thigh, fingers sliding up with the leering confidence of someone who thought her alone and helpless.

“A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be sitting all by—”

Her glare stopped him short. The heat rose off her skin instinctively, too hot, too fast. His palm blistered where he touched her, and he yelped, stumbling back and muttering curses as he scuttled away.

She stood quickly, heart pounding, and slipped out of the tent into the ruins. He wanted to be alone. So she would give him that.

She walked without aim, drifting through the fractured stone and makeshift stalls, letting the noise blur around her. The sunlight hit her back, the wind tugged at her hair, and every step she took away from him made something inside her throb with a strange, growing ache.

Distance. The bond did not like it. Her bones ached.Her muscles trembled.
It felt as though invisible hands were reaching into her chest, pulling her back toward him.

But she kept walking. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she shouldn’t be near him now. Not when he burned with such hatred of her. Not when she had caused it.

Her breath hitched. Maybe he would leave her here. Maybe he would return to his island and forget.

The ache deepened, sharp enough to force her hand to her ribs. She was so far from home, from her people. She hated this place, she hated the kinds of people in it, what they did for greed. What they did to one another.

Still she walked. Still she drifted further.
Until even the ruins seemed far away, and her legs shook with the effort of resisting the pull.

She had only a little further when agony lanced through her.

Her breath tore from her throat in a strangled gasp as white-hot pain exploded down her arm first, then another, then another, sinking into her stomach with brutal force. Her knees buckled. She folded over herself, clutching her middle as though she were the one being stabbed.

But it wasn’t her pain. It wasn’t her wound. It was his. “Gerra.." she whispered, though he was nowhere near.

She staggered, looking wildly around the broken ruins. Panic flooded her chest, an animal instinct clawing to the surface. The farther she walked, the more the pain deepened, dragging at her bones, heavy and unbearable. Her vision blurred. She sank onto a small pile of rubble, breath shaking, every heartbeat a lead weight hammering in her ribs.

Stop. Stop walking.

She couldn’t go any farther. The band wouldn’t let her. And then, just as suddenly as the pain had come, it began to dissipate. The stabbing vanished. The ache loosened. The exhaustion ebbed like a tide pulling away from shore. He was coming.

It wasn't long before she saw him, towering over every soul he passed, his stride long, relentless, molten fury radiating from him in palpable heat. It was a confusing thing to feel such relief, but she did, and it washed through her immediately and involuntary, easing her muscles, letting the tension leech out of her like poison drawn from a wound.

She almost sagged with it. But she sat upright, watching him approach. Feeling his wrath like an approaching storm. Pity stirred inside her, strange and soft, for whoever would bear the brunt of that fury. She only hoped it would not be her. She who had provoked it.

When he reached her, his shadow swallowed her completely. She met his gaze, her expression quiet and solemn.

His words were simple, and her brow rose at them. She watched him for a moment, then stood slowly from the rubble, hesitant, then stepped down to meet him. It was then she noticed the blood staining his skin and clothes. Wounds that should have laid him low were nowhere to be seen.

Her hand drifted absently across her own stomach where the pain had been moments before, then her gaze dropped to the rings. Their power thrummed in the air between them, fascinating and terrible, just like him.

Esper gave a single, wordless nod, and flame sparked to life in her palms.