JARON

Silver Sea

Mid-Rainrise

Smoke and ashes.

Two things that were always promised at Ember Keep. When Jaron had first arrived there, the smoke and ashes were a constant reminder to him of all he'd lost in Port Hullscar. After the pirate attack, many of the survivors enlisted in the navy, prepared to endure the hellish training at the Ember Keep. Jaron was the smallest and youngest, but he was more determined than anyone else.

He wanted to learn to sail. He wanted to fight. But what he wanted more than anything was to be an emberblood. If he'd been able to wield fire that day, maybe he would've been able to save his little brother and sister, maybe he could save others from the same fate.

Emberbloods were not born with their powers like other magicked-bloods. Stormbloods and frostbloods had been blessed by their gods during ancient times, their power passed down through their familial lines. Witchbloods made a sacrifice to their goddess in exchange for their unique magics. Emberbloods, however, were chosen, their magic earned and bestowed upon them by the fire god, Vulcan, brother to the caged Magnus.

That was the whole purpose of the Ember Keep—to train navy recruits to near death and let their god find those worthy of the flame. Even with nothing left but an empty stomach and a broken body, the strongest of desires could still ring above all else. During Jaron's time at the Ember Keep, he'd only seen one man become an emberblood, and he fought tooth and nail to get there. He'd watched the sacred flame burn longer after the ritual had been completed.

Jaron had arrived in the sunspur season and wasn't allowed to start dueling until the first frost. Being the youngest and the smallest didn't spare him any beatings, nor did it earn him any extra servings of food or any pity. He should have died by the end of frostfall, but his will to live was too strong, his thirst for vengeance coming before all else.

Moon after moon, duel after duel, Vulcan's flame remained unlit. Many had given up the chase, choosing to join rank in the Navy instead, but not Jaron. Faces and names came and left, but he remained. It was nearly a year after he had come to the Ember Keep that the sacred flame ignited once more.

On that day, the Commandants had grown weary of the recruits, pushing them beyond their limits with training drills and duels that left the losers unable to walk away on their own. Jaron was chosen to duel against, Corvin, a recruit elder than him by four years and nearly double his size. Since Corvin's arrival at the Ember Keep a couple moons before, the Commandants had only praised his strength and quickness to learn. In hopes of appeasing Vulcan, perhaps they'd thought to choose an opponent who would be a swift and easy win for Corvin. They'd underestimated Jaron's tenacity.

Jaron knew that Corvin would be the one leading the dance, so when the Commandants signaled the start of their duel, Jaron was sure to be the first one to attack. His blade was dull, but his strikes were quick and relentless. Corvin blocked his attempts again and again, then countered Jaron with a strike of his own, sending him stumbling into a water trough for the horses. Jaron had promised himself he would silence their laughter.

He faced Corvin again, soaking and slipping through the mud. Jaron didn't wait for his opponent's attack and ran forward, striking Corvin in the upper-arm. If they had been real blades, the wound would've been deep, but Corvin only groaned and switched his stance. He attacked then, a flurry of slashes and jabs that Jaron couldn't keep up with.

One strike hit Jaron's temple, dropping him to the ground as stars filled his vision. The whole side of his head hurt and something was wrong with his leg, but he still crawled up onto his knees. Corvin's footsteps neared, then a kick to Jaron's face sent him flying onto his back in the mud. Jaron rolled and curled in on himself as the surrounded men laughed again, unable to see out of his right eye as it closed-up.

Keep fighting, he told himself. If you want the flame, you have to take it for yourself.

Jaron put his hands in the mud and slowly lifted himself from the ground, despite his body begging him to stay down. He reached for his sword as he stood, and once he was on his feet he pointed it at Corvin.

"What are you doing?" Corvin asked with a hardened gaze. "You've lost."

Corvin attacked, striking both of Jaron's arms and his side. Jaron fell to his knees and wobbled as he stood back up, sword still in his hand. Again and again, Jaron found himself on the ground and each time he got back up, unwilling to give in. The men's laughter hushed.

"Just stay down!" Corvin yelled. He dropped his sword and grabbed Jaron by his shirt.

"No," Jaron said, looking up at him as blood streamed out of his nose. "I will keep fighting for my destiny. I will take the flame for myself."

Corvin raised his fist to strike Jaron, but gasps of the recruits and Commandants around them stopped him still. Their gazes followed to the adorned fire pit, the altar in which Vulcan's flame lit nearly a year ago. The flame that danced in the obsidian altar was brighter than the one Jaron had seen that day, tendrils blue instead of orange as they licked the air.

The Commandants muttered amongst themselves as Jaron was released from Corvin's grip. He had looked to the altar each day, wondering when and if it would ever light again, and that day it burned brighter than ever.

"Come." A Commandant suddenly stepped in front of Jaron, blocking his view. Jaron wasn't sure which one of them he was speaking to, but when he looked up, the Commandant's eyes locked with his. "You've been chosen."

The breath whooshed out of Jaron as relief flooded through him. He followed the Commandant up the stone steps to the altar. It was as if he was in a dream, the moment unreal, the scenery around him slipping away until there was nothing but him and the blue flame. He knew what was to come next and the pain that would follow, yet when the Commandant told him to put his hands into the flames, Jaron did not hesitate. He would take the flame for himself.

His scream ripped through the air as the fire consumed his hands. His flesh melted away, the searing pain reaching inside of his hands and up his arms until it was if the fire was inside of his entire body. After what felt like a lifetime, the Commandant pulled him back as the blue flame began to die. Jaron could barely see through his swollen eyes as he looked at his palms, thinking he'd see nothing except bones, but his skin was healed with thick scars that covered his hands like gloves. One moment he had been looking at his hands, the next, flames exploded out of him. They spread across the wooden awnings and surrounding structures in the fort, devouring everything in sight. Men scrambled about, the few emberblood Commandants doing their best to control the wildfire.

Someone shook his shoulders. "Jaron!" the Commandant yelled, though his voice sounded muffled to him. "You must control it."

Jaron closed his eyes and thought of pulling the fire to him, but the flames only continued to rage. "How?" he asked frantically. "I don't know what to do."

"You have to become a stable vessel for your magic," he explained, sweat dripping down his brow. "Your magic comes from the realm of the gods, so you must find what it is in this realm that grounds you. You have been here longer than any recruit I have ever seen. What is it that keeps you fighting?" Jaron closed his eyes once more. "Find that spark. Hold onto it."

Sera's hazel eyes that sparkled when Jaron would agree to chase her around the fields behind their uncle's cabin. Alrik's laugh as he tried to keep up with him. He would do anything to see them both again, to return to those simple days, but there would be more. He could, however, learn to wield his newfound flame as a weapon. He could make sure that other Incendians could keep living their own simple days. When he opened his eyes, the flames were gone, white smoke rising from where they had reached.

Once Jaron found that spark, he kindled the flame, never letting it die.

~~~

The farther north Jaron sailed with his two captives, the colder the wind blew.

Having one stolen female on his ship was not something Jaron was thrilled about, but having two of them on board was a cruel punishment, especially when one was an Incendian led astray and the other was as cold as she was dangerous.

The archer's frosty glare usually rested on wherever the Storm girl was, protecting her with her watchful gaze since she could do nothing else. Today, however, Jaron noticed the archer's sight was keen on the horizon, brow knit with concentration as if she were trying to figure out where they were sailing to. Strands of her long black hair blew across her face, her cuffed hands unable to sweep them away. Not that she would sweep them away if she could. Even Crew's noisy parrot hadn't gotten under her skin in the days they'd been at sea. That was a feat even he couldn't conquer.

Lorelei, however, brewed like a looming storm in the distance, her gaze turning darker and more frantic each day. The clouds followed suit, barely allowed a sliver of sun to shine through during the day. But at night, when she slept, the clouds dissipated just enough to see the moonlight and the shimmering of stars beyond.

Today, the clouds were nearly as deep of a color as the endless sea. The wind whipped at the sails, the sound of it so loud that Jaron didn't hear Crew amble up next to him.

"Looks like a storm's rolling in," Crew mused, gaze trailing to where Jaron's had been just a moment before. "Boat this small won't fare very well."

"I am well aware of the circumstance," Jaron said, gripping the wheel tighter. Crew was right. A proper sea storm would pick apart their small ship and leave it as nothing but driftwood. This storm, however, didn't seem like any storm created by nature.

"It's her," his god whispered. Jaron noticed he less like the hiss of a dying flame, almost as if he'd somehow grown stronger. "Her magic bleeds."

"Take over for me." Jaron stepped away from the wheel and around Crew, heading across the deck toward the true storm.

The Storm girl noticed him coming right away and stood as stiff as the ship's railing behind her, brushing her hair from her face. She quickly tucked her fingers away in the sleeves of the too-big charcoal overcoat he'd given her to wear. Jaron caught the glimmer of gold shimmering up past her knuckles before she could fully hide her hands from him.

"Are you causing this?" he asked her blankly, finger pointed toward the sky. "I don't know what your plan is, but a storm like this will only kill us all."

Nara appeared at her side, stepping slightly in front of the Storm like a shield. This was the third time third time she'd silently snuck up on him. She truly would be deadly to him if he released her from those cuffs.

"And you condone this?" Jaron asked, narrowing his gaze at the archer. "If she sinks this vessel, are you going to swim to the nearest island?"

The archer glanced over her shoulder at the Storm whose focus was drawn to her trembling fingers. Then she turned back to Jaron with a frost-filled glare.

"And if she did unleash a storm?" the archer asked. "You've stolen her from her home for means unknown to her. You are nefarious. Do not pretend to be anything otherwise."

Jaron curled his hands into fists as his sides. "Spent some days at sea with me and you believe yourself to understand my motives then?"

"It doesn't take much to read an open book," the archer replied, lifting her chin at him. "Relic of a sword and hands marred with scars? You're an emberblood with something to prove to your meddling god. What did he promise you? Power?"

Each word was so precise, yet spoken with the calm of unrippled water. This made the heat in his chest flare even more. The whisper in his mind hissed.

"You know nothing," Jaron told her. "Have I not fed you? Provided you with clothing suitable for sea-faring? I even recuffed your wrists in the front at the Storm's request."

"Yet I'm still cuffed." The archer perked one brow.

"You and I both know that those cuffs are the only thing keeping you from attempting to kill me."

The Storm's head was tilted back toward the sky, rain openly falling on her face. He glanced down at her hands, watching as the gold slowly crawled up her skin toward and past her wrist. The wind picked up, roaring in his ears.

As she gazed up at the sky, Jaron expected to see some sort of triumph written across her expression–a look that meant this storm was a successful part of her and the archer's plan. But as his eyes searched her face, he noticed her chin trembling.

Her magic bleeds.

It suddenly made sense to him. She couldn't contain her magic and it was pouring out of her like wine from an uncorked bottle. Letting himself drown out in the middle of the Silver Sea without avenging his sister, without finding his brother would be an unfair fate. Death was not an option when he still had to finish what he started.

"You have to try to control it!" he yelled at her over the raging wind of the storm. He had to say something that could reach her. "Forget about me, if your storm sinks this ship, the archer—your friend—dies too."

The archer narrowed her gaze at him and then glanced back at the Storm. "He's right," she told her. "Can you try to pull it back in?"

The Storm shook her head, wet hair clinging to her face. "I can't!" she cried. "I don't know what to do!"

Jaron scrambled his brain for some way to help her see that she could. He remembered what the emberblood had told him that day at Ember Keep.

"You have to find your spark!" Jaron yelled over the crashing of waves into the side of the ship, hoping he could be heard.

The archer scoffed. "How is that supposed to help?"

Jaron thought of a way to get through to them both in a way they might understand. "Our magic is not from this realm! Whatever it is that anchors you to this realm, you have to find it or your storm will consume you and anything or anyone close to you." His eyes connected with the archer's for a moment, something strange passing between the two of them. Almost as if she understood what it was that he was trying to say.

The Storm, however, did not hear his words.

The wind and rain whipped at his cheeks, the sails flapping violently. If they took too much more of this, they'd be finished. If the Storm couldn't control her chaos, then they had to at least try to outlive it until she was completely drained.

"Archer!" he yelled. She turned her attention back to him, hair sticking to her face, an unfamiliar look of uncertainty and worry fleeting across her gaze before she blinked it away.

The archer glanced down at her wrists, then pushed them toward him. "Then uncuff me."

Jaron hesitated for just a moment, wondering if perhaps the archer truly would take the opportunity to end his life. But from the desperation hiding behind her frosty glare, he could tell that he would be safe for at least this moment. He would worry about what came after when the time came.

Jaron rushed to the mast with the archer behind him. He grabbed the halyard for the throat sails and handed her the one for the peak sails. He nodded at her and they both started to pull the ropes together, the sails protesting to rise with the force of the wind.

He looked to check on the Storm, noticing she'd moved to the center of the deck. Her eyes glowed blue like lightning, sparking with gold like a hammer against hot iron. She stood motionless as her hair danced wildly in the wind. The golden shimmer on her fingertips began to spread up her skin.

Crew left his place at the wheel and ran past them, toward the Storm. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, but her gaze remained unfocused.

"Crew!" Jaron yelled over the storm. "Stay back!"

A flash blinded Jaron, followed quickly with a boom. The sound of something heavier than rain dropped onto the deck as Jaron's vision cleared. Several feet away from the Storm, Crew's body laid motionless, steam rising as rain sizzled against his charred skin. Shock kept Jaron frozen at the mast, hands still gripping the rope.

The archer, however, left his side and rushed to the Storm. Jaron looked from the rope in his hands, up to the sails which needed to be restricted, and back down to the two of them.

"Damn it," Jaron said as he hooked the halyards. He headed toward the middle of the deck, slipping in the sea slick, and nearly falling. "Wait!" he yelled to the archer. "You could get struck too!"

Jaron grabbed her arm to try to keep her back, afraid of the reaction the Storm might have if she killed her friend the same way she killed Crew. The archer spun around on him and quickly flicked his hand away. She raised her fists, ready to fight him. He raised his hands to show he meant her no harm. "I'm only trying to protect you."

"I don't need you to," she said, lowing her fists and turning back to the Storm. "Now back up."

Jaron took a couple steps backward.

The archer stood in front of her, but she didn't grip the Storm's shoulders like Crew had done—like the Commandant had done to Jaron all those years ago. Instead, the archer grabbed her hands, holding them in her own as she spoke to her.

"Come back, Lorelei," she said, her voice calm even though a storm raged around them. "You are Lorelei Storm and you wield a storm's power, but you are not chaos and destruction. Remember how you got here and where you come from. Think of your mother's stories and the simple, but happy days you lived with her. Think of everyone waiting for you back in Baltessa, even Arius and the ridiculous things he says. Think of Kane. I know he must be searching for you."

The lightning in the Storm's eyes began to fade, the golden sparks dying completely. The wind calmed a breeze and the rain to a mist. The sky remained blanketed with dark clouds, but the storm had ceased its rage for the moment.

The Storm blinked and hugged the archer, who stood with her arms still at her side for a moment, like the affection was not something she was used to. Neither was Jaron. He watched with interest as the archer finally lifted her arms and embraced her back. When the Storm pulled back, her face twisted into a fear-filled sob, as she noticed Crew's charred body on the deck.

"Don't look," the archer said, stepping back in front of the Storm.

"Did I...?" The Storm took a deep breath. "Did I do that to him?"

"It was an accident," the archer assured her. "It was the storm, not you."

"It was me," the Storm cried, her eyes wide and petrified. "Oh, Goddess, I killed him." A sob escaped from her then, he knees buckling as she fell into the archer. "I'm going to be sick."

The archer helped the Storm get to the side of ship before she could vomit. Jaron remembered the day his magic had exploded out of him. If he'd hurt or killed someone that day, would his reaction have been the same? Would he have cared the way this girl did?

The Storm leaned over the railing and emptied her stomach into the sea. The archer rubbed her back and glanced back at Jaron, their eyes meeting. Her expression remained unchanged, frosty and closed-off, but something in her eyes was different.

"I won't cuff you again," he said. When her icy demeanor wavered, he couldn't deny that his chest swelled in the slightest. "We will need to stop at the nearest harbor to make quick repairs. Just try not to kill me."

"Your life is safe," she replied. She glanced out at the calming sea, then back at him again. "For now, emberblood."

For now, he'd enjoy the peace.