"I am fire, and you are the angel who carries it."
Over time, the demon had uttered countless words, among them temptations like this one.
Temptations woven with lies, so flawless that even the acute sensitivity of fairies couldn't find any flaws, making the words sound almost truthful.
‘Words have power.’
Repeated words linger in the mind, influencing actions. Thus, words indeed hold power.
"Was it I who set the fire? Or was it you?"
Was it the demon's doing, or had she summoned the demon herself?
If so, was the fire caused by the demon ultimately her fault?
Black ash flowed through Sinar's veins. That ash gnawed at her heart and planted fear within her.
And yet, Sinar endured.
She had long lost her pride; what remained was closer to a desperate struggle.
She faced the fire, trembling with fear, while pretending otherwise. That was Sinar's act of rebellion.
There's no need to describe how shocked she was when she saw what Encrid did in such a situation.
‘Is he really setting the tent on fire?’
It was sheer madness, yet at that moment, it somehow seemed acceptable.
The fear, the terror, and the fire, which had become symbols of the demon, no longer appeared the same.
The reason? She didn’t care to find out.
In a time when she was busy hiding her thoughts and emotions, she had no energy to dwell on reasons.
A fairy cursed to be unable to face flames could do nothing but remain silent back then.
And then, there was fire.
Though she turned away, unable to look at the roaring flames, it wasn’t unbearably painful.
Perhaps it was thanks to Bran.
Her mentor and long-time friend, Bran, had taught her not to fear fire.
He conveyed his lesson in the way fairies taught—through actions, demeanor, and life itself.
The Woodguard lit a cigarette. As awkward as a ghoul eating chocolate pudding, but Bran did it.
Fairies didn’t avoid fire altogether, but Woodguards, fairies derived from trees, instinctively kept their distance from it. It was an ingrained behavior.
‘Wood and fire.’
A rather mismatched combination, wasn’t it?
And yet, Bran ended up lighting a cigarette while holding it in his mouth.
Sinar felt time speeding up and realized she was in a lucid dream.
The shackles that had bound her for so long were breaking. Words, forged and twisted with time, had created this curse.
The demon had gripped her for a long time, eating away at her piece by piece. And now, the demon was dead.
As reality and dreams blended, memories of the past invaded her dream.
"Fire. It’s fire."
A snake made of flames coiled around her ankle, burning her skin.
Crackle, crackle.
The sound of grass and flowers burning filled the air, accompanied by an acrid smell.
Sweat poured down her body. It felt as though her real body, too, was drenched in sweat.
A curse left by a demon cannot be escaped so easily. Such a curse, bound by words rather than spells or magic, lingers.
"Do you still feel like just dropping dead sometimes?"
A voice pierced through her ears. As dreams often do, the surroundings abruptly shifted without her noticing.
She was now sitting in the middle of a forest.
Sinar looked at her hands, now as small as they had been during her childhood.
Her pale hands appeared before her. If she rolled up her sleeves to reveal her arms, they’d likely show scars not long healed.
"If I must die, then so be it."
She had said as a child, right before becoming cursed.
Her father had told her it wasn’t her fault. Now, she could see him leaning against a tree—the source of the voice she’d just heard.
"Or have you changed your mind?"
He asked again.
Sinar stared blankly at him.
When her father appeared in her dreams, he usually spoke only a few words in the dark. But today, he stood confidently in the sunlight.
The faint rays of sunlight filtering through the forest illuminated her father from head to toe, capturing him fully in her view.
"She has changed."
It wasn’t Sinar who replied, but her mother. She stood beside her father, though Sinar hadn’t noticed her arrival.
Her mother’s features—her eyebrows, eyes, nose, and lips—bore a striking resemblance to Sinar’s.
Her siblings had once said that she resembled her father, while Sinar resembled their mother.
"And how would you know that?"
Her father asked her mother.
Her mother stood there, her golden hair reflecting the sunlight.
"We have a connection."
"I have one too."
"Yes, but I feel an even deeper bond with her than you do."
"I feel it too."
Though his tone was calm and measured, Sinar’s father and mother often argued when she was a child.
It could be called a fairy-style argument.
Her father would stubbornly insist, while her mother would appear to nonchalantly dismiss him.
"You’re being stubborn."
Her mother said, her gaze fixed firmly on Sinar. Though she spoke to her father, her eyes held a kind and gentle light for Sinar—just like always.
"No, I’m a fairy. I speak only the truth."
Her father replied, unyielding.
"It’s distortion, then."
"No, it’s how I feel."
"You’re distorting your own feelings."
"My heart tells me it’s true."
Their argument dragged on. Despite knowing it was a dream, Sinar found herself enjoying the sight. It was a comforting scene, wasn’t it?
"Both of you, please stop. Our heritage influences us, but it doesn’t define us completely."
Her sister had appeared—Naira Kirhais. She spoke in a sarcastic tone.
"Naira, you’re so cold."
Her father said to her.
"I’m just an ordinary fairy."
She replied.
"Bran said you were particularly skilled at controlling your emotions."
"I handle my own matters."
"That’s sad."
A lack of visible emotion doesn’t mean a lack of feelings.
Fairies, with their innate sensitivity, feel emotions deeply. When their emotional range widens, they experience joy and sorrow intensely, even over small things.
Frog, recognizing its limitations, lived driven by desire. Fairies, on the other hand, learned to control their emotions to protect their fragile psychological structures.
A fairy’s mind was like a blank canvas, ready to absorb any color.
If Frog sought to transcend limits through indulgence, fairies strengthened their fragile psychology by mastering emotional restraint.
Once their emotional foundation was solid, fairies could start expressing feelings again—like Sinar’s parents.
Even with such emotional displays, they wouldn’t harm each other. But for other fairies, especially younger ones, such expressions could be destabilizing.
Thus, emotional restraint was also a way to raise sensitive children.
But now?
Their children were grown, so they could express themselves freely.
And there was her sister, Naira.
She had been talented since childhood, quickly learning and mastering anything she attempted.
Thoughts tangled and intertwined, forming strange conclusions.
If anyone were meant to remain, it wasn’t her but…
"That’s a pointless thought, Sinar. If it’s about someone staying because of superior abilities, it shouldn’t have been me—it should’ve been mother. If she had gone into the labyrinth knowing she couldn’t use magic, she would’ve slain the demon without question."
It was as though Naira had read her thoughts. She offered words of comfort in her usual tone.
Her words made sense. Fairies excel at countering logic with logic.
Their mother had been a genius among geniuses born to the fairy race. That was what Naira meant.
Naira looked at her with a stoic gaze, tinged with concern and worry.
She spoke through her eyes, telling Sinar not to worry about recovering all at once, but to cling to even the smallest hope and endure.
It was no different from the words she had said before leaving.
"This isn’t your fault. Understand?"
She said the same thing aloud.
Her father, hearing this, added a comment of his own, and her mother once again spoke of their bond.
It wasn’t noisy—fairies never made a fuss, even when gathered.
But quiet didn’t mean it wasn’t warm.
Sinar enjoyed the peace, even knowing it wouldn’t last. This was a lucid dream. They were dead.
She would never see them again. They might have been killed by the demon and used as its nourishment.
As her thoughts deepened, a gloom began to rise.
Rustle.
She thought she heard a faint sound, and then someone cupped her cheek. It was Aden.
"I didn’t think you’d go to someone else."
He said.
Aden loved fairy humor. Even now, he was making a pointless joke.
Despite treating Sinar like a sister or family all his life, he had the audacity to say such a thing.
"Fire is both destruction and creation. That’s the meaning of Rafrathio. So fire isn’t something to fear—only something to be careful with."
Aden spoke.
She knew this. She had repeated it to herself countless times: fire must be handled with care.
It was a commitment to manage it, not avoid it.
To teach her this one truth, Bran had overcome the primal fear ingrained in the Woodguards and lit a cigarette.
Then there was Rafrathio, the Aden family’s name—a fairy family of blacksmiths.
Translated into the language of the continent, it meant ‘undying fire’. Reinterpreted, it could be called ‘rebirth’.
Rebirth: to survive, even after being broken.
"Igniculus, spark the flame. Breathe life into the extinguished fire."
Aden said. That was his craft: forging life into metal and breathing spirit into fire.
It was an unusually sentimental dream.
Then suddenly, everything darkened as though snuffed out.
Within the forest that had served as the backdrop for her family and Aden, black soot gathered, flowed, and coalesced, filling the woods. The sunlight vanished as if fading away.
“Accursed child.”
“Because of you, everyone is dead.”
The emotional restraint of fairies may seem absolute to humans, but among fairies, even subtle nuances of tone conveyed all their intent.
The voices came from within the soot, full of blame and resentment, shifting all responsibility onto her.
Sinar had yet to escape her curse. She was merely enduring it, recognizing that this was a time for patience.
Before her, her father stepped in to block the way.
"If you’re going to die, at least turn into fine pollen."
He said.
Her mother joined in.
"Like a sprouting potato."
She cursed.
She even uttered harsh words.
"Shall I burn them all? Fire isn’t the sole domain of demons."
Aden stepped in as well.
Her sister crouched down in front of Sinar, meeting her gaze.
"What about that man?"
Even Naira, who was particularly skilled at hiding emotions, never did so around Sinar.
Before her death, she often engaged in trivial conversations like this. It felt like the kind of ordinary chatter siblings would have.
"Stubborn and insane."
Sinar replied.
"Good, that’s the kind of person he should be."
The sisters laughed as they spoke. Then they rose and stood before her, blocking the path of resentment and curses.
The soot gathered with intent, speaking in a unified voice.
"Curse you! Speak my name! You know my true name, so call it out!"
In her dreams, Sinar had always been chased and torn apart. But now, there was no need for that.
Sinar steadied her heart. She couldn’t overcome it all at once, but she could begin.
‘If you think it’s too late and stop, nothing will ever change. Enki, you were right. Your words are true, and I respect your will.’
With great effort, Sinar opened her mouth. She needed courage, so she summoned it. Courage became her resolve, and she spoke to the demon.
"Who are you, again?"
It was a declaration of her intent to forget, now that the time had come to let go.
"Curse you!"
The demon roared, its anger erupting. It burned the forest. Massive flames filled her vision.
Burn scars covered Sinar’s back and arms, and the pain from those scars returned.
Her family, who stood to shield her, were consumed by the flames.
Neither Aden nor her sisters could stop the fire. The flames consumed the dream and began to consume her as well.
Amid the inferno, a faint blue light began to emerge, cutting through the fire and standing firm before her.
Perhaps thanks to it, she felt the heat but could endure it. And so she decided—she would endure.
"One day, Sinar, you will laugh again. Don’t forget how to smile for that day."
As he burned, her father spoke.
“Yes, father, that day has come.”
With a smile as radiant as a blooming flower, Sinar laughed brightly.
When she woke from the dream, she felt the dampness around her eyes. It was because she had been crying in her sleep.
"Ah, it wasn’t such a bad dream."
She said to herself.
With those words, she rose from her bed.
As various thoughts passed through her mind, she recalled hearing something about Encrid entering the spring before bed.
Sinar stepped out of her wooden house.
Outside, the air was cold, but the sunlight was bright and gentle. It was the kind of day that made her want to immerse herself in the water.
No comments yet. Be the first to leave a review!