Ignite

Once tainted, the fallen King can submit to his will any Daoine Sidhe. It is what makes him the most dangerous emissary of the Taint in Kingdoms of Sin.

“Stand up…”

    If I’d been more convincing when the King addressed me during Sowilo, would things have had a better ending? Though…

    There’s only one person I’ve been able to fool in my entire lives.

“Please… Stand up!”

    Myself.

    I believed, I wanted to believe that I could bear to let Tyffeon die again. But… Not only is it a lie, I am not even able to watch him lose himself.

    As my feet keep moving forward, I can’t take my eyes off him. What can I even do? Did he hear me?

    Before any other scream has the chance to cross my lips, I can feel the fabric of my dress stiffen. An unfortunate step.

    My balance compromised, I fall forward, hitting abruptly the ground. Wincing, I raise my head.

    His eyes are mid-open, I could notice it a moment ago, but is he truly conscious?

***

    His mind still fuzzy, all he can feel is the rusty taste in his mouth, the throbbing pain in his back. As if a thousand needles were continuously pushed into and out of his flesh.

    Well, at least he is still able to feel pain. It is a good thing, pain means he’s alive.

    For how much longer, though? He is no match for his King. Not that it surprises him. No matter how much he trained since he lived in Rathard, it has never been enough.

    Was it any use all these days spent waving his sword from dawn till dusk, assimilating new techniques, suppressing superfluous moves? He used to pause only the moment his numb hands couldn’t take more, the sword escaping his fingers covered with blisters.

    Not enough.

    When he joined the village’s guard, the mocking remarks of his peers were sufficient to keep him at bay.

    In a world where magic can even influence the moment of your birth, what does it mean being skilled at waving a lifeless scrap of metal?

    No matter how much he practised, no matter how much his fencing enhanced, his Lignum magic was weak. All he could do was playing with leaves after all, like they used to say.

    Not enough.

    But, at least, no one ever thought he was controlling these futile leaves by the discreet pull of the wind his benediction allowed him to control.

    Another trick he spent hours training so that no one would suspect he wasn’t born in Spring. As long as it stayed so, it was enough.

“Tyffeon, use it! Use your true magic!” A distant voice irrupts into his thoughts.

    It should have been enough. It should have, but the King did not fall for it. All his efforts were reduced to ashes the day Erlkœnig called him.

    His well-kept secret has been discovered. He hated to feel so exposed, he hated himself for whatever mistake he made which leaked his secret.

    He hated his magic.

    However, it turned out to be an opportunity. Instead of punishing him or even disclosing his secret, the King proposed him a deal. If he accepted to become his henchman, ready to fulfil his every will, then the King would keep silence. He would even make him his closest guard.

    He didn’t mind that idea. It was better than he could hope for. An opportunity to show them all his value.

    Following his King’s desires, he kept doing his best.

    Though, to their eyes, it was never enough. Or… was it not to his own?

    Ahh… Cursed be his birth, cursed be his magic!! He hates it, he hates the way it makes him different.

“Tyffeon, stand up!!” The voice calls once more, firmer. “Your magic! Use it!”

    He clenches his teeth. And there she is, daring to ask him to use it. Of course, he can feel the roots already brushing his clothes. Of course, he doesn’t want to lose his life. Though…

“Ignite!!”

***

    Around him, the end of the roots suddenly begin to emit smoke, writhing as if in pain. The leaves creeping along his clothes begin to darken, glowing along the edges of the holes which just appeared.

    Wincing at the move, Tyffeon rises to his feet. Brushing the ground beneath so he can keep his balance, he has barely the time to kneel before the roots pounce on him. More numerous, more ominous.

    A glare.

    That’s the only attention he grants them, as the following moment flames surge from any of them, mingling in a blazing mess.

    As I widen my eyes at that sight, Tyffeon stands up. The crackling flames dancing around him cast a glow upon his features, utter annoyance etched there.

    Stepping forward, he wipes a trickle of blood from his lips with the back of his hand. Tyffeon doesn’t seem concerned by the burning roots around him, twisting in any direction until the parts already charred give way, eroding into ashes.

    I lean against my hands, raising to my knees when he reaches my side.

“How many things have already happened in a different way than in the game? Erlkœnig has killed the Hero, and so he has been tainted sooner than expected. Tyffeon has used Ignis magic, what the Player is not even supposed to learn about. And me… I’m not the one I am supposed to be.”

    When our eyes meet, he extends his hand towards me.

“That’s true. The story has changed because of us. I’m no longer an onlooker, I don’t have to stick to the scenario.”

    We can change the story, we don’t have to die.

“Let’s rewrite it!”

    Reaching out my hand to take his, I halt my gesture mid-way.

“But… I won’t make the same mistakes.”

    Instead of taking his hand, I stand up on my own. Tyffeon widens his eyes slightly when I reach past his hand, straight to his waist. Grabbing the dagger still hanging at his belt.

“I’ll borrow this!”

    The blade is illuminated by the flames when I bring it close to my dress. In a swift motion, I rip the fabric all along, just above my knees. Letting the useless length fall to the ground.

“That will be more convenient to run like this.” I grin.

“Then let’s not lose any more time,” Tyffeon adds, glancing around, “if we stay here, we’ll get caught in a breath.”

    Indeed, all around, the villagers begin to rush at us, following the orders of their King. As he vividly gestures in our direction, Erlkœnig displays an irritated expression. Sounds like he appreciates his guard’s resilience a bit less now, doesn’t he?

“Catch them, don’t let them escape!!”

    Needless to say, we break into a run and head to the entrance of the village. As soon as we’re close enough, Tyffeon reaches out a hand towards the entanglement of roots, setting them on fire. The flames devour them as if from inside, soon letting us a way to escape into the night.

“Don’t stop running!!” Tyffeon screams.

    As I glance behind us, I catch sight of the flames engulfing the entrance they have offered us, forcing the Daoine Sidhes to halt and step back.

    Of course… that won’t restrain them for long. While we rush to put as much distance between Rathard and us as we can, we hear the roar of the horde and of their King, eager to give chase.