Starheart

The hallway was still, silent. Only the soft creak of wood groaned beneath Orion as he pushed himself forward, crawling through the haze of dust and splinters. His fingers dragged across the wrecked floorboards, moving past one of the husks, his expression unreadable. No grief. No disgust. Only purpose.

He reached her.

“Maiden,” he said, breath catching in his throat.

Her back was against the wall, legs curled slightly to the side. Her chest rose and fell, steady now, but shallow. Her eyes found him, unfocused at first, but soon gave him a look of recognition, shown through a faint, weak smile.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, voice scratchy. “Just… dizzy. My head’s still spinning.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the living room. The distance was minor – ten, maybe twelve paces at most – but he didn’t take them. With a quiet breath, he extended his hand, palm open.

From the corner shelf, the first aid kit stirred.

Then it lifted, smooth and silent straight through the air, floating through the wreckage like a paper boat drifting across water. It hovered past the broken doorframe, past the bloodless corpses, and came to rest beside Orion’s outstretched hand.

He grabbed it without a word, snapping it open.

“I said I’m okay,” Emi muttered, a little firmer this time, pushing herself more upright.

“Just to be sure.”

She gave him a look. Noticing the trail of crimson down his cheek, the dripping smear along his jaw, slowly drying up from his cold skin.

Shaking her head, she said:

“You’re the one who needs patching up. Give it here.”

Reaching forward, her hand grazed his wrist. Light, hesitant, but certain.

For a brief moment, he didn’t move.

Then he relented.

Orion leaned back, sitting on the floor, letting her take the kit from his hands. She fumbled a little, still trembling from the adrenaline, but her hands were steady enough. She wet a pad with antiseptic and pressed it to the wound above his brow. Then soon, another one on the back of his head. He did not flinch, as it was in his nature to refuse doing so, even while only possessing a fraction of his powers.

“So…” she began, her eyes locked on the cut as she worked. Her voice was light. Almost playful.

Looking up at him, she continued:

“You can move things… with your mind.”

A pause.

“That’s… cool. That’s really cool,” she mumbled.

Emi didn’t meet his eyes, but her lips curled upward just slightly, as if waiting for him to say something to ease the static in the air.

But he did not. Remaining still like a statue.

Seeing this, she continued working. While under her smile, there was something else. Not quite fear. But something close to that, currently microscopic in size and weight. Something she herself could not yet identify.

Lowering his gaze, Orion’s stone expression took a turn – softening into something new.

Or perhaps it was something old that was only now rediscovered.

“I… apologize.”

His words lingered in the air like smoke, freezing the silence.

Emi blinked. Then let out a short, surprised laugh.

“I’m sorry,” she said, chuckling into the back of her hand. “It’s just… hearing you of all people apologize is kinda hilarious. Weren’t you supposed to be the terrifying Dark Lord?”

Orion didn’t answer immediately. His brow stayed furrowed, his face unreadable as ever. But the silence was not cold. Only thoughtful.

“Vizio is… my student,” he said at last. “He is strong. Brilliant. But he lacks restraint. Too greedy…”

“Huh… funny,” Emi said, raising an eyebrow as she began wrapping the bandage around his forehead. “I’m honestly surprised you’re… not. Not like him, not greedy. But then again… that’s just not you, is it?”

He looked at her, slowly. There was something ancient behind his eyes, like stones weathered by countless years. And then, quietly, he nodded.

“No. It isn’t.”

He sat straighter now, his voice low but no longer faltering.

“There is a fire,” Orion said. “A fire inside me.”

Tilting her head, Emi asked:

“Like… your courage or something?”

“No.”

He raised his hand – not to use it, but to show it. Pale and precise. The faintest outline of something shimmered along his veins, invisible one second, glowing the next. It was like looking at the pattern of a fractal, caught between flash and equation.

Then – his chest also began to glow. Shimmering a glint that began spreading across his entire body. And in the palm of his hand – was fire.

A ball of extradimensional energy, emanating from an evermoving plane. A current of watery flame moving in and out of its shape that the three-dimensional space could hardly define. Emi herself did not quite know what it was she was looking at. And every blink, she would forget the shape of this bright flower of flame. A rose guarded by steel thorns. This shape of fire was familiar – like that of man. Man in caves, man in fields, man in armor, man on thrones, man on horses, man crafting gears, man chiseling stones, man connecting wires, man driving cars, man forging swords.

And the images went on and on.

“It is called the Starheart,” Orion explained. “It is… fire – First Fire. Older than heat, older than worlds, older than time. It is a fire of logic. Of truth. A fire not bound by combustion, but by shape. Ratio. Infinite.”

Emi stopped bandaging. Her hands lowered into her lap as she listened.

“The fire is tied to me,” he continued. “In a way – this is me. And I am it.”

“Is this… the fire of the Chosen One?” Emi asked.

There was a pause. The light from the window caught in Emi’s eyes as she processed his words, and he processed hers.

She leaned back a little, her hands resting on her knees.

And then she asked another question:

“I don’t understand – why are you Evil?”

Not accusing. Not angry.

Simply a soft confusion.

Almost afraid of the question itself.

Orion didn’t look away.

But he didn’t answer the question. As it was not yet time.