Chapter Five
ROXY
The flame calls to me like a siren song wrapped in heat and color, pulling at something deep in my chest that has no name, no explanation.
I should be looking for a phone, for help, for anything remotely resembling rational survival instinct.
Instead, my boots carry me forward without permission, drawn toward the crystal dome sitting in the center of this cavernous space like it’s the only thing in the world that matters.
The flame inside shifts through colors that don’t belong in nature, reds bleeding into golds that shimmer with touches of blue and violet, each flicker casting shadows that dance across stone walls and timber beams in patterns that feel almost alive.
It’s dying, though. Even with my limited understanding of fire, I can see that much.
The movements are sluggish, desperate, like watching something beautiful struggle for its last breath.
Blood runs into my eye again, and I swipe at it impatiently, leaving a crimson smear across my cheek that I don’t have the energy to care about.
My ribs scream with each breath, my head pounds like someone’s using my skull as a drum, and there’s a dead man in my wrecked car half a mile back who died screaming about monsters and dragons.
This flame, trapped in its crystal prison, shouldn’t be the thing that holds my attention.
But it is.
The dome sits on a pedestal of dark stone that looks older than the mountains outside, carved with symbols that twist and writhe in ways that make my eyes hurt if I stare too long.
The crystal itself is flawless, catching the weak firelight and throwing it back in fractured rainbows that shimmer against my skin as I move closer.
Heat radiates from it in gentle waves, nothing like the searing burn I’d expect from flame, more like standing too close to someone who runs warm, intimate, and inviting.
My hand lifts of its own accord, fingers extending toward the curved surface.
Some distant part of my brain screams that this is a terrible idea, that touching mysterious fire domes in abandoned mountain fortresses ranks somewhere below swimming with sharks and above poking sleeping bears on the list of ‘How Not To Die.’ But the pull is magnetic, irresistible, like the flame itself is reaching back through the crystal, begging for contact, for connection, for anything that might prove it’s not completely alone in its dying.
The crystal is warm beneath my fingertips, smooth as silk, and humming with something I can’t quite name, energy or pure concentrated life force bleeding through the barrier between us.
The flame surges the instant I make contact, colors brightening from dim ember to brilliant blaze in the space of a heartbeat.
Gold overtakes red, then blue threads through the gold, creating patterns that spiral and dance with sudden, desperate joy.
It’s beautiful.
It’s terrifying.
It’s the most alive thing I’ve ever touched, despite being trapped behind crystal like some exotic pet.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The voice hits me like a physical blow, arctic and furious, dripping with the kind of rage that promises violence if you don’t have an excellent explanation ready immediately.
I spin, my hand jerking away from the dome as my heart slams into my throat hard enough to choke me. The movement sends pain lancing through my ribs, and my vision swims for a dangerous second before steadying enough to process what I’m seeing.
A man fills the doorway I entered through, except calling him a man feels like calling a hurricane a light breeze or a forest fire a candle flame.
For one strange second, relief cuts through the panic.
He’s massive, well over six feet of solid muscle wrapped in denim and leather that’s seen better days, dark ink crawling up both arms in patterns I can’t make out in the shadows.
His face is all hard angles and sharper edges, cheekbones that could cut glass, and a jaw set so tight it looks carved from stone.
He has a beard, making him gruff, and somehow it’s so attractive that I swallow hard.
His hair is long and ash blond, almost arctic looking, but it hangs to one side while the other side of his scalp is shaved.
A long scar running from the bald patch to his eyebrow.
But it’s his eyes that freeze me in place, literally freeze me, because they’re glowing with pale blue light that has nothing human in it whatsoever.
Shock hits a beat later than it probably should, as ice spreads from his hands like living crystal, part of me expected fire, as frost races across his knuckles and up his forearms in delicate patterns that should be beautiful except they scream predator, danger, and run.
The temperature in the room plummets so fast my breath comes out in visible plumes, moisture in the air crystallizing into tiny snowflakes that drift down around us like we’ve stepped into some twisted winter wonderland.
He takes a step forward and ice explodes outward from his boot, spiderwebbing across the floor in sharp white veins that crack the stone beneath.
My gaze tracks the movement automatically, like I’ve been preparing for this moment without realizing it.
Another step and the frost climbs the nearest support beam, racing toward the ceiling with the kind of speed that shouldn’t be possible, coating wood and metal in layers thick enough to hear crackling and groaning under the sudden weight.
“I asked you a question.” His voice drops to a register that makes my bones ache, sub-zero and sharp enough to draw blood. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”
The words aren’t really a question despite the phrasing.
They’re a threat wrapped in glacial fury, demanding answers before deciding which creative method to use for my disposal.
My brain finally catches up with my survival instinct, screaming at me to say something, anything, and not to just stand here staring like a deer in headlights while this man, this thing, this whatever-the-hell-he-is decides whether I’m worth killing quickly or slowly.
“What the fuck is your problem?” The words tear out of me before conscious thought approves them, anger and terror mixing into something sharp enough to override common sense.
“There’s a dead man on the road back there.
His neck is broken. He died in my car after he grabbed my wheel and sent us crashing into the trees.
And you’re standing here threatening me because I touched your weird fire globe? ”
The rage in me tastes like copper and adrenaline. Months of my mother’s lectures about responsibility and safety. About how I’m throwing my life away chasing photographs through dangerous places, chasing stories I’ve been fed my entire life. Trying to fit into something that was never meant for me.
It all surges up and spills over in the face of this ice-breathing bastard—more worried about his magical nightlight than actual human death.
Even though I am pretty sure I have a concussion, I am seeing things that aren’t really happening. Either that, or I have died and gone to some really fucked-up purgatory. My hands shake as I gesture toward the dome, toward him, toward the whole impossible situation.
“He was terrified,” I continue, the words gaining momentum now that I’ve started, unable to stop even though the temperature keeps dropping, ice keeps spreading, and every rational instinct screams shut up, shut up, shut up!
“Raving about monsters and dragons and things that shouldn’t exist. I thought he was in shock, that the blood loss was making him hallucinate, but looking at you right now, maybe he wasn’t as crazy as I thought. ”
Something shifts in those glowing eyes, surprise maybe, or recognition, the fury banking slightly though not disappearing entirely.
The ice stops spreading but doesn’t recede, frost patterns holding their ground as he towers over me with enough presence to fill the entire massive space.
His head tilts as his eyes wander me up and down, as if he is assessing me.
“You need to leave.” The words carry absolute finality, brooking no argument. “Now. Before you see anything else that’ll get you killed.”
“I can’t leave.” My laugh comes out bitter and broken, exhaustion and pain finally catching up with the adrenaline crash.
“My car is totaled. My phone is shattered. I’m bleeding, probably concussed, and there’s a corpse that needs to be reported to someone with actual authority instead of glowing eyes and anger management issues. ”
His jaw tightens. I hear his teeth grinding, ice spreading farther up his arms until it coats his shoulders and neck in sparkling armor that catches the dome’s light and throws it back in cold, beautiful patterns.
He’s magnificent and terrifying in equal measure, something pulled straight from mythology and dumped into reality with all the grace of a meteor impact.
I’m definitely concussed!
“You shouldn’t be here.” The words sound almost pained now, frustration bleeding through the rage. “You’ve seen too much. There are rules, laws older than this mountain, and you’ve broken every single one by walking through that door.”
“I didn’t know there were rules, dude!” The exhaustion pulls at me harder now, making my legs shake and my vision blur at the edges. “I was looking for help. That’s it. Just help. And instead, I found whatever nightmare this godforsaken place is.”
The flame in the dome flares brighter suddenly, gold overtaking the other colors entirely, burning with intensity that makes the glass warm enough to feel from several feet away.
Both of us turn toward it instinctively, watching as the fire dances and spins like it’s celebrating something, rejoicing in whatever just happened.