Emberlight

It’s been nearly a year since I first felt her—watching me from the whispering trees.

I’ve grown a little since then.

I can stand now—kind of. My legs still wobble like they’re made of pudding, but at least I’m no longer being cradled every hour of the day. Words are starting to form too. They feel awkward on my tongue, but my mother cheers me on every time I say something even halfway coherent.

Magic, though…

Magic is a different beast entirely.

I can feel it moving through me—always humming just beneath the surface. It reacts to my emotions, flaring up when I’m scared or when my heart’s pounding with excitement. But controlling it? That’s the part I’m struggling with.

Today, I’m sitting on the grass outside our cottage.

The late morning sun warms my skin, and the faint breeze carries the scent of pine. My mother kneels nearby, gently tending to the herb patch. My father… he’s further off, training with a wooden sword in the dirt field beyond the fence.

I glance at my hand.

Faint sparks dance between my fingers—tiny flares of orange light that vanish just as quickly as they appear.

“Fire…” I whisper under my breath.

It’s not a spell. Not yet. Just a thought. A feeling.

The warmth surges again.

This time, a real flicker ignites.

A brief flame curls from the tip of my finger, about the size of a candle’s glow.

It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t even feel hot. It just… is.

Then it fades.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“I did it…”

A giggle escapes me. A childish one. It’s been a long time since I felt this giddy.

Then I hear footsteps behind me.

My mother kneels down, brushing my messy platinum hair aside.

“Lucen… you’ve been playing with magic again, haven’t you?” she says with a soft smile.

I nod.

She pauses—just long enough for me to catch the subtle shift in her eyes. Worry… and pride.

“You must be careful,” she says. “Magic listens to your heart more than your words.”

That line sticks with me.

Later that day, when she’s gone inside and my father is finishing his forms, I return to the same spot. I sit cross-legged and close my eyes.

I imagine warmth. Light. Safety.

And then I try again.

Fire.

A flame ignites—steadier this time. A little brighter. It flickers in my palm, swaying with the breeze.

But then I push too hard.

The warmth becomes heat.

The flame swells too quickly—and I panic.

It sputters and bursts with a pop, sending smoke into the air. I cough, my hand stinging slightly.

That’s when I hear it.

Laughter.

Not mocking. Not cruel.

Just… amused.

I turn my head sharply toward the trees again.

There’s no one there.

But I can feel her.

The presence from before—the one watching me. Waiting.

I don’t know who she is.

I don’t know why she’s watching me.

But something deep inside tells me…

She’s not the only one.