Awake Within The Fire

• Fantasy

								
Awake Within the Fire
By: Danielle Outten

Elara awoke, her body drenched in sweat. The dream had been vivid again, too real, too alive. Flames roared all around her, curling around her feet, licking at the edges of her vision, but they never touched her. She stood in the center of a world aflame, untouched, as though she were made of something other than flesh. The fire didn’t scare her; it was familiar. She could feel its pulse, its rhythm—like a heartbeat in the earth itself.

But this time, something was different. A voice had called to her, low and urgent, echoing through the crackling inferno.

“Elara…”

She had heard that voice before, but where? The name resonated deep in her chest, stirring memories she couldn’t place. As always, she woke just before the voice revealed more. But tonight, something lingered. When she touched her arm, her fingers brushed a hot spot, a faint burn, the skin there tender. She pulled her hand back, eyes wide. The burn mark hadn’t been there when she fell asleep.

Her heart pounded, but the logic of the waking world clung to her thoughts like a veil, pushing away the confusion. “It’s just a dream,” she whispered to herself, yet her words felt hollow in the stillness of the night.

Days passed, but the strange occurrences only intensified. At times, she would see a faint spark in the corner of her eye, or feel the warmth of something unseen at her back. And then there were the scorch marks—small, unnoticed at first, but undeniable. A kitchen towel singed. A book’s corner blackened as though touched by flame. One morning, after waking, she found her hands covered in ash, the residue lingering in the air as though she had touched something far too hot.

The dreams persisted. Every night, she stood again in the heart of the fire, unscathed. The world crackled with heat, but she wasn’t burning. It was the voice that pulled her deeper. “Elara,” it called, “you must remember.”

Her waking hours became a blur. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was slipping through her grasp. Her thoughts often returned to a vague memory—a warm hand, an ancient symbol burned into the palm. A whisper she couldn’t quite hear.

One night, she found herself in the local library, combing through old books, seeking anything that might explain her strange connection to the flames. It was there, buried beneath layers of forgotten lore, that she discovered it: the history of the keepers—her ancestors, who had the ability to control fire, to wield it as a force both destructive and protective. The more she read, the more her blood seemed to stir, the heat in her chest rising with each word.

Her family had hidden their powers from her, believing the gift was too dangerous. But the signs were clear now. Elara was a keeper, born to carry the flame. Her power had been dormant, but it had always been there, waiting for her to awaken.

The voice, the fire, the burns—it all made sense. She had been chosen, and she had been hiding from her true self.

The next night, she slept without intention, but the fire pulled her in. This time, the dream was more vivid, more purposeful. The flames surrounded her, their heat embracing her like an old friend. And there, standing before her, was the figure.

A woman, clothed in fire, her face soft yet full of unyielding command. She looked at Elara with knowing eyes. “You are ready now,” the woman said. Her voice was a mix of kindness and ancient authority. “But to embrace your power, you must pass through the flames.”

Elara stood still, the heat of the flames rising to an unbearable level, but it didn’t burn her. It enveloped her, like an extension of her own skin. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

The woman smiled. “You’ve always known, Elara. The fire is part of you. You cannot outrun it, and you need not.”

Elara stepped forward, her feet sinking into the molten ground. As she walked, the fire twisted around her, not as a threat, but as a companion. She felt it coil up her legs, wrapping her like a cloak of flame. It wasn’t the fire of destruction—it was her birthright.

Then, the voice returned, deeper now, resonating with the pulse of the earth itself. “You have the power to protect, Elara. But with it, you must face the price of your ancestors’ mistakes.”

In that moment, she saw it—flashes of memories long buried, of a time when her family had misused the gift, bringing devastation upon those they loved. Her blood ran cold with the realization. The fire she had inherited had been both their salvation and their ruin.

When she awoke, it was with a sense of finality. Her mind was clear. The burn on her arm was gone, replaced by the quiet hum of power beneath her skin. She was different now. Stronger, yes—but the weight of her inheritance pressed against her chest. She had unlocked a part of herself that she couldn’t undo. The fire would always be with her.

Stepping into the waking world, she knew that this was only the beginning. Her dreams would guide her, but now, she would wield the fire—controlled, purposeful, and aware of the delicate balance it required.

The flames were hers to command, but they were not to be taken lightly. She would protect what was worth protecting, but she would never forget the danger in their dance.

For Elara knew, deep in her bones, that to be awake within the fire was both a blessing and a curse.
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