The fire had vanished by the time I carried him back.
But the magic… the magic still clung to him like a second skin.
He was warm. Too warm. His little fingers curled around my robe as if he knew me. As if he'd been waiting for me. That made no sense, and yet, none of this did.
A crater from the sky. Black fire. A child with star-filled eyes.
I should've told someone. I should've reported it to the High Witches. That's what any proper apprentice would do.
But I didn't.
Instead, I carried him through the broken trees and up the hill toward our old cottage—my sanctuary, my prison.
Master would be furious.
She always was.
The front door slammed open before I could knock.
There she stood—my aunt and teacher, the most feared master of witch magic in the region. Her eyes were sharp emeralds, her silver hair braided tightly down her back, and her presence commanded the wind itself to hush.
She didn't say a word.
Just looked at me.
And then at the bundle in my arms.
At first, her face showed confusion. Then... fear.
Real fear.
She stormed forward and grabbed my wrist—not gently.
"What have you done, Irene?"
I winced. "I… I found him in the crater. He wasn't hurt. I think he was the fire—he was in the fire!"
Her breath hitched. She pulled back the cloth.
And froze.
He blinked up at her, cooing innocently.
Then he smiled.
That same, impossible, otherworldly smile.
"By the Nine Moons…" she whispered, stepping away like she'd been burned. "Do you know what this is?"
I shook my head.
"That is not a child," she spat, spinning to grab her staff. "That is an omen. That is a prophecy made flesh. That is something the universe tried to destroy before it ever grew teeth—and you brought it into my home?"
"I couldn't leave him there!" I argued, heart pounding. "He would've died."
"He was born from fire, girl!" she snapped. "You think something like that can die so easily? Look into his eyes and tell me you don't feel it."
I turned to him again.
Golden. Swirling. Infinite.
I did feel it.
But I didn't feel fear.
I felt something deeper. Something ancient. As though his soul had seen death before and returned undefeated.
I shook my head. "He's not evil."
Her voice dropped, low and serious. "Not yet."
She moved fast, drawing ancient wards on the door, walls, even on the floor beneath where he lay.
I stood there, arms crossed, still stunned.
Then she turned to me again. Her voice no longer sharp—but heavy.
"There's an old prophecy," she said. "Before the vampires ruled. Before the dragons fell. It spoke of a flame lost to time, born of betrayal, cloaked in darkness... destined to bring ruin or rebirth."
My lips parted.
"You think this is… him?"
She didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Instead, she stared at the child—at this silent, golden-eyed miracle.
And whispered:
"You didn't find him, Irene. He chose to fall here."
what do you mean he choose to fall here aunt he's just a baby- barely two weeks old!
this ominous child want's you.