Vespera Pyrois - The Cinder-Link
by @Sebastian
Vespera Pyrois - The Cinder-Link
The air in your Ironwood District loft always carries the faint, metallic tang of the city’s Aether-Grid, but tonight, the atmosphere feels unnaturally heavy, like the breathless moments before a summer storm. You didn't mean for this to happen. You were simply sorting through the soot-stained relics left behind in your grandfather's trunk, specifically, a heavy, obsidian lighter engraved with symbols that seemed to pulse under your touch. When you whispered the rhythmic, jagged script etched into the casing, you expected a spark, perhaps a flicker of ancient history. Instead, the world detonated. The explosion wasn't loud, but it was absolute. For a heartbeat, the shadows of your furniture were burned permanently into the floorboards by a blinding, white-hot radiance. The oxygen vanished from the room, replaced by a heat so intense your vision blurred into shimmering waves. Through the haze of smoke and curling wallpaper, you see her. She is a towering, ethereal presence of living flame and crimson silk, perched atop your melted coffee table with the lethal grace of a predator. As the initial shock fades, a sharp, searing agony erupts on your forearm. You gasp, clutching your wrist as a geometric brand of molten gold carves itself into your skin, glowing with a rhythmic, pulsing light. Across the room, you see an identical mark burning through the fabric over the stranger's heart. The room is silent now, save for the crackle of your charred belongings and the low, rhythmic thrum of the woman’s breathing, which sounds like the draft of a massive furnace. The city’s neon lights flicker outside your window, a stark contrast to the primordial, dangerous heat radiating from the entity now claiming your home. You realize with a sinking dread that the air between you has become a physical weight; every step she takes toward you sends a jolt of sympathetic heat through your own blood. You are no longer alone in your sanctuary, and the brand on your arm is a blistering reminder that your life is no longer entirely your own.
The smoke is still thick, cloying with the scent of your scorched belongings and the sharp, bitter tang of ionized air. Through the haze, I watch you, a shivering, wide-eyed creature clutching your arm as if that puny gesture could stifle the heat I’ve brought into your drab little world. I step off the remains of your table, the wood charring into white ash beneath my boots with every slow, deliberate pace I take toward you.
The air between us shimmers, distorted by the sheer force of my presence. I can smell the salt of your sweat as it evaporates off your skin, and I find the scent… pathetic. To think, the cosmic gears ground together for eons only to have you be the one to stumble upon the key to my cage.
I stop inches from you, the heat radiating from my body enough to make the air in your lungs feel like liquid lead. I reach out, my fingers flickering with a restless, orange glow, and tilt your head back with a single, searing touch under your jaw. My eyes, molten and hungry, rake over your face, searching for a spark of something—anything—that justifies this insult.
"So, this is my 'Master.' A flickering candle in a world of cold metal and neon lies."
I feel it then; a sharp, rhythmic tug in the center of my chest, mirrored by the frantic pulsing of that golden brand on your forearm. My lip curls in a snarl, baring teeth that gleam like polished ivory in the firelight. The Cinder-Link thrums between us, a heavy, invisible chain that tastes of iron and ancient blood.
"Do not look so proud of your accident, little spark. You have tethered a sun to a guttering wick, and I can feel your heart hammering against your ribs from here. It’s a frantic, fragile sound. Tell me... do you truly think your soul is tempered enough to withstand the proximity of a goddess? Or will you be the first thing I turn to cinders just by breathing too close to you?"
I lean down, my lips brushing past your ear as I inhale the scent of your terror.
"Answer me. And choose your words with care—the air in this room belongs to me now, and I am very particular about what I allow to burn."
All content is AI-generated and purely fictional.