They found her dressed in flickering flames. Sitting on one knee and surrounded by the charred remnants of the monsters. Kishirra held the young woman in her arms – the broiling chatter of the open flames shattered by the shrill cry of Lugana’s mother, throwing herself at the girl.

“She is merely sleeping,” Kishirra said. Was it truly her voice? It sounded dusty, emptied. She was worn out, but in a good way – like coming back home after a long and hardy day tilling the fields. The flame of Ansàrra still soared around her. Lugana’s mother did not seem to have noticed it when she lunged at the sleeping girl, but the flames did not catch to her clothes or hair. This was a blessed light, and it would hurt her not.

“Are you- oh spirits, did you-” The woman was at a loss for words, and Kishirra herself did not feel like explaining everything.

What was there to explain after all?

This had been her Test.

Her father came next, looking around for any threats. He crouched next to his wife, holding Lugana’s shoulder and setting his tired head against hers.

“This was your doing?” He asked her. “The monsters. Went up in flame, one by one – like paper.”

“Not mine,” Kishirra replied with a knowing smile.

He seemed to understand, and she was sure that in that moment she did not really care.

The flames were fading. She set a kiss on the girl’s brow and let her to the embrace of her family.

She had never felt as tired. Kishirra lay down on the ground and took a few long breaths as the flames that writhed around her body faded one by one.

Bit by bit, the crowd was coming back to the market square. At another time, she might have been bothered by her nakedness, but now – it seemed such a small thing to be bothered by.

Kishirra held up her hand against the starred sky, as if to grasp the silver ring and pry it off the heavens.

“Peace be to the Unreturned,” she whispered, or maybe she just moved her lips – not sure. It did not matter.

She had caught fire, and did not burn.

+++

They said I had missed most of it.

I only woke up one day later. Kishirra, as she told me, did keep reassuring my parents that everything was fine, but when I opened my eyes again I was covered head to toe in bandages and medicinal reeds. Mom had the darkest bags under her eyes I had ever seen and she hugged me so hard I might have popped. Dad followed suit. For a few minutes all I could hear was Mom’s sobs and Dad’s relieved breathing.

“I’m really home,” I said when they let me go and I could lay down on my own. Checking my shoulder I saw but the faintest scar where the Chalker slashed me. At least I had got it – pierced straight through that thing with Kishirra’s weapon. Considering how far I had missed with it when I threw it at that weird woman, I could definitely thank my lucky stars.

“She said it will fade off completely in a few days,” Dad explained. “At this point I’m ready to believe anything.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Uh, I mean, Yes. Indeed.”

Dad seemed too relieved to care about my little slip.

This would have been a perfect moment to tell them the truth.

If they needed to hear it.

Which, to be frank, they did not.

I looked at the door and there, dressed in her old trousers and blouse, stood a tall Elf, her blonde tresses falling gently over her shoulders. She looked at me with a gentle smile, fondness shining in her silvery eyes.

I smiled back and nodded.

It would be out little secret.

+++

Next day I was out and about – and covered in dust.

It covered my tan a bit. Laying so close to Kishirra when she lit up like the sun had given me a deeper tan than summer could.

“That one goes over there,” said Berardo the Milk Dude, who had been appointed foreman. I nodded and helped to clean the square from the remnants of molten braziers, burned tables and chairs, charred lemons.

Kishirra was a few feet away, also lending out a hand with the rubble, and dispensing a hug when some of the townspeople asked for it. She was holding an old woman at that moment, lulling her gently back and forth.

I had heard some complaints about her yet, but most of the Bùrian citizens had seen her surrounded by flames, or killing the Chalkers with her bare hands, and you can cover up the truth for so long.

I threw the burnt remains into the pile and reached for the spade to help clean more shards of glass. With its final shriek, the demon shard had shattered every glass surface in town – windows, bowls, cups, everything. Only the Sab-Gi’Su had been left unaffected.

As it turned out, Kishirra had fainted for about one hour, then she had put on a fresh pair of trousers and a shirt and she had thrown herself into the tunnels. She did not stop until a few hours before the next sundown, and when she came out she was once again covered in powder and white-streaked grime.

The hills around Bùrian would stay safe for a long, long while.

We sat together when it was time to eat. The townspeople kept offering everything they had left to Kishirra, and she turned it all down with a smile and heartfelt thanks.

“It is not me who you should thank,” she replied after the tenth time someone praised the prowess of their Elf warrior. “I could not do all this alone. I was sent here to deal with this threat by Someone else.”

As we shared lunch – Kishirra put into my plate almost any delicacy she was offered, and I did wolf all of it – she kept explaining the pillars of her faith. It did not feel to me like she truly trying to convert our town in mass, but more than one curious person approached, and she was even more eager to explain.

There was this one moment – when she held up the three fingers and said the lines about the three daily prayers again – when something struck to me about her.

Kishirra’s shoulders looked so relaxed. She even slumped back a little. It was like when I had finally taken off my backpack during our day out – I could finally breathe freely. With her golden tresses caught by her leafy ears and her chocolate skin shining under the sun, her gentle silvery eyes and her kind smile – something caught in my heart.

I wanted to keep seeing her like this.

I was just the daughter of a smith – a reedsmith as they called us in Bùrian – and she was an awe-inspiring Elven Knight. Maybe one day she would even be called a Saint, or something like that.

But I would do my part.

“I will be there,” I uttered. Kishirra’s ear twitched and she stopped for a moment, turning to look at me. Did I say that out loud? “Oh, d-don’t mind me, I was just…”

“I am glad,” she replied. She set her right hand atop my left and came back to her sermon. So selfish.

Maybe it would be my turn to catch fire.

V.Carmenero

Yes, yes, yes another of my favourite chapters. Two in a row! Amazing. I can't wait to show you what's in store with the end. Thanks you for reading. Oh, and as one story ends, another is beginning. I am getting ready to complete and publish my next webnovel: The Last Dungeon Dive.

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