Chapter 6 Selene
SIX
SELENE
Grandma’s journals are spread across every flat surface in the cabin.
I’ve been at this for hours, cross-referencing entries, building a timeline, trying to piece together the truth she never told me.
The woman I knew—the one who baked cookies and told bedtime stories and always smelled like lavender—was apparently leading a double life as some kind of supernatural guardian.
And she thought I was destined for the same.
Fire-Bringer awakens the dragon and begins the prophecy, reads one heavily underlined passage. When dragon meets flame, the old powers stir. What was dormant will rise. What was forgotten will be remembered.
“That’s not ominous at all.” I flip to another page, squinting at Grandma’s cramped handwriting. “‘Old powers stirring.’ ‘Things remembered.’ Very specific. Very helpful.”
The candles flicker.
I freeze, eyes fixed on the flames. They’re dancing—not from a draft, not from movement, but as if responding to something. My frustration, maybe. My fear.
The flames lean toward me.
Just like that first night, when the fire roared to life on its own. Just like every time I get emotional and things start acting strange.
I look down at the journal in my hands. The edge of the page is smoking. Tiny tendrils of brown creeping inward from where my fingers grip the paper.
“Shit!” I drop the journal, shake out my hands. The smoking stops. The candles settle.
I stare at my palms. They look normal. No burns, no marks, no visible sign that I just nearly incinerated a hundred-year-old document with my bare hands.
“Okay.” Deep breath. “Okay. Definitely not normal.”
I pick up the journal more carefully this time. Find the section on Fire-Bringer abilities.
The fire answers to emotion, Grandma wrote. Fear. Anger. Passion. Joy. All of these can trigger the flame. Control comes with practice—and with acceptance. You must embrace what you are before you can master it.
Embrace what I am. Right. Just accept that I’m apparently some kind of fire witch and move on with my life.
I set the journal down. Look at the candles arranged on the coffee table. Three of them, all lit, all burning steadily.
Practice, the journal said. Time to practice.
I focus on the nearest candle. Will the flame to grow.
Nothing happens.
I squint harder. Picture the flame rising. Stretching. Reaching toward the ceiling.
Still nothing.
“Come on.” Frustration creeps in. “Work with me here. You were plenty eager to set things on fire when I wasn’t trying.”
The flame flickers. Just a little. Just enough to make my heart skip.
“That’s it.” I lean forward. “Come on. A little more.”
The flame stretches. Grows. Doubles in height, then triples, reaching toward me with eager fingers of light.
I jerk back. The flame dies instantly, leaving the candle unlit and smoking.
My hands clasp over my pounding heart. But underneath the fear, something else stirs. Something that feels dangerously close to excitement.
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “Okay. That was... something. Let’s try again.”
This time, I don’t focus on the candle. I focus on my finger. On the heat I can feel building in my core, spreading through my veins.
A tiny flame appears at my fingertip.
No matches. No lighter. Just fire, conjured from nothing, dancing on my skin.
It doesn’t burn. Doesn’t even feel hot—not to me, anyway. Just warm. Familiar. Like it’s always been there, waiting for me to notice.
I touch the flame to the dead candle’s wick. It catches instantly.
“Well.” I stare at my hand, at the small fire still flickering on my fingertip. “That’s not terrifying at all.”
I close my fist. The flame extinguishes.
I’m magical now. Actually, genuinely magical. Like something out of a fantasy novel. Like the grandmother I thought I knew, leading a secret life I never suspected.
This is terrifying. And kind of awesome. And completely insane.
I spend the next hour practicing. Small flames. Big flames. Making candles flare and then calm. By the time I’m done, I can light and extinguish fire with a thought, though controlling the size is still a work in progress.
Progress. Small, terrifying, exhilarating progress.
A scratching sound at the window shatters my concentration.
I grab the sword from Grandma’s weapons collection before I even process what I’m doing.
The scratching comes again. Deliberate. Rhythmic. I should stay inside. Should lock the doors and windows and wait for Drayke to return. That would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing.
But I’m tired of being afraid. Tired of waiting for other people to protect me. Tired of being the helpless human in a world of monsters.
I have fire now. Let’s see what I can do with it.
The night air is cold against my skin as I step onto the porch. The moon is full, casting everything in silver and shadow. The forest is quiet—too quiet. No insects. No night birds. Just the silence of creatures holding their breath.
Fresh scorch marks scar the trees at the edge of the clearing. Claw gouges deeper than the ones I found that first night. Something has been here. Something big.
“I know you’re there.” My voice doesn’t shake. Small victory. “Show yourself.”
A hiss from above. “Fire-Bringerrr.”
I look up.
Eyes glow in the darkness between the branches. Multiple pairs—three, maybe four—watching from different angles. The outline of wings blocks out the stars. Massive. Leathery. Definitely not Drayke.
“Our master wants to meet you.” The voice is a rasp, damaged and wet. “He has such plans for your blood.”
My grip tightens on the sword. “Tell your master I’m booked solid with dragon-slaying lessons. Maybe next century.”
Laughter. Low. Grinding. The sound of stones scraping in an ancient throat.
“Brave little flame.” The shapes shift in the trees. “The Guardian King cannot protect you forever. Sooner or later, you will be ours.”
“Want to test that theory?” I raise my free hand. Let fire bloom in my palm—small but steady. “I’m just learning what I can do. Would love some practice targets.”
The glowing eyes blink. The shapes go still.
“She awakens.” A different voice now, deeper, more distant. “The master will be pleased. Soon, Fire-Bringer. Very soon.”
Wings beat the air. Branches crack as massive bodies launch skyward. Within seconds, the forest is empty again, the glowing eyes gone, the oppressive presence lifted.
I stand on the porch, sword in one hand, fire in the other, and try to convince my legs to stop shaking.
They were scared of me. The realization hits like cold water. Or at least cautious. My fire means something to them.
I extinguish the flame. Head back inside. Lock every door and window.
The prophecy journal is still open on the coffee table. I sink onto the couch and stare at Grandma’s words until they blur.
Fire-Bringer awakens the dragon and begins the prophecy.
Drayke wasn’t trying to control me. All those warnings, all those orders to leave—he wasn’t being a domineering ass. He was trying to protect me from... this. From rogues who want my blood. From a prophecy I don’t understand. From powers I’m only beginning to discover.
I look toward the dark windows. Toward the forest where I just taunted a group of dragons and told them exactly where to find me.
Smart, Selene. Really smart.
He returns just before dawn.
I’m still awake—haven’t slept at all, too wired from adrenaline and the residual heat of magic in my veins. When I hear the heavy footsteps on the porch, I’m already at the door, sword in hand.
But it’s Drayke who steps into the torchlight. Drayke, looking like he’s been through his own kind of hell—jaw tight, eyes shadowed, tension radiating from every line of his body.
He takes in the sword in my hand. The fresh scorch marks visible through the window. The way I’m standing guard in my own cabin like I’m expecting an invasion.
“What happened.” Not a question.
“Visitors.” I set the sword aside but don’t step back. Don’t create distance. “Multiple. Watching from the trees. They wanted to deliver a message from their master.”
His whole body goes rigid. “Did they hurt you?”
“No.” I hold up my hand. Let a small flame dance across my fingers. “Turns out I’m not as helpless as everyone assumed.”
He stares at the fire. At me. Something shifts in his expression—surprise, concern, and underneath it all, that same hungry intensity I’ve been trying not to think about.
“Your power is awakening.”
“Apparently.” I close my fist, extinguishing the flame. “Would have been nice to know that was a possibility before I nearly set Grandma’s journals on fire.”
“You should have told me immediately. Should have—” He breaks off. Runs a hand through his hair. “This changes things. The rogues seeing your power, knowing you’re awakening—”
“I know.” I cut him off. “I know it was stupid. I know I just painted a giant target on myself. But I’m tired of hiding, Drayke. Tired of waiting for someone else to save me.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“You weren’t trying to control me.” The words come out soft. Certain. “All those warnings. All those orders. You were trying to protect me.”
He goes still.
“I get it now.” I step closer. Close enough to feel his heat.
Close enough to see the way his pupils dilate, the way his breath catches.
“The prophecy. The rogues. Whatever they want my blood for. You’ve been fighting this alone, haven’t you?
Trying to keep me safe without dragging me into your war. ”
“It’s not my war.” His voice is rough. “It’s ours. Whether you want it or not.”
“Then stop trying to fight it alone.” I hold his gaze. “Stop pushing me away. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”
“You don’t understand.” The words sound torn from him. “What I am. What I could do to you if I lose control—”
“Then help me understand.” I’m close enough to touch him now. Don’t. Not yet. “Train me. Teach me. Stop keeping secrets and start treating me like a partner.”
The silence stretches between us. Heavy. Charged. Full of everything neither of us is saying.
Finally, he exhales. A controlled release of breath.
“Get some sleep.” His voice is still rough, but there’s something new underneath it. Something that might be surrender. “I’ll keep watch. When you wake, we start your training.”
“Weapons or fire?”
“Both.” He moves toward the door, but not through it. Posts himself against the frame, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the tree line. “If you’re going to fight beside dragons, you need to know how to survive.”
He’s not leaving. The realization settles over me, warm and unexpected.
Something has shifted between us. A crack in the wall he’s been building. A step toward something neither of us is ready to name.
I head toward the bedroom, pausing at the doorway to look back.
He’s still there. Watching the forest. Guarding.
Partners. The word settles into my chest. Not protector and protected. Partners.
Outside, the first light of dawn paints the sky in shades of gold and rose.
When I wake, I start learning how to fight.
For now, I sleep.
And for the first time since I arrived on this mountain, I don’t sleep alone.
Mine, he called me. Mine to protect.
Maybe it’s time to find out what that really means.