Snow

#The Flameborn #NoSleep

The rain hammered down like it was trying to drown Brooklyn, but inside the kitchen, Luis was waging his own war.


He sat at the table, hunched over his plate of bacon and eggs like a king surveying his crumbling kingdom. In front of him sat a small digital scale, its surface clean but worn from use. He carefully placed each strip of bacon on the scale, pausing to adjust their placement like the numbers might decide his fate.


“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, not looking up from his ritual. “Carbs are poison. Discipline—that’s what people like you don’t have.”


I didn’t bother responding. Luis was the kind of guy who loved the sound of his own voice. Watching him weigh his bacon like it was a lost treasure was surreal enough without trying to reason with him. I let his words hang in the air, sour and heavy, and slid out the door into the rain.


It wasn’t long before I ran into Iggy. He was leaning against the chain-link fence that divided our yards, his arms resting casually over the top like he’d been waiting all day.


“You must be the new kid,” he said, his voice steady, unhurried. There was no smirk, no flash of teeth—just a calm, measured tone that didn’t demand attention but held it anyway.

“Angela,” I replied, keeping my tone even. I didn’t know what to make of him—his confidence, his sharp eyes that seemed to read more than I wanted them to.


“You live with the keto king and the ghost lady,” he said, matter-of-fact, like it was common knowledge.


I frowned. “You know them?”


“Everyone around here does,” he said. He adjusted his stance slightly, leaning into the fence like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Luis likes to talk. June Linda… she’s different. But you—you’re different too.”


He said it like a fact, not a compliment. I didn’t answer. I didn’t like being sized up, not by him, not by anyone.

“You ever feel like you’re meant for something bigger?” he asked, out of nowhere. “Like there’s this pull, and you don’t know where it’s taking you, but you know you can’t ignore it?”


My hand instinctively went to the locket hidden under my shirt. It had been humming lately, almost imperceptibly, like it had a heartbeat. “Yeah,” I said finally. “I do.”

Iggy’s eyes softened for just a moment, as though he understood something about me I hadn’t shared. “Well, when you figure out what it is, let me know. I’ve been chasing that feeling my whole life.”


The next morning, school was its usual miserable self. I was still “new,” which meant I had a target on my back. The teacher introduced me, and the class sized me up like wolves spotting fresh meat.


“She looks weird,” someone whispered.


“Bet she’s one of those freaks,” said another.



I kept my head down and slid into a seat. The whispers swirled around me, but I ignored them. What I couldn’t ignore was the sound of the classroom door creaking open.



Iggy walked in, his jacket damp from the rain, and handed the teacher a note without a word. He took the only open seat—one desk away from me. The silence didn’t last.


“GAWWWWWDDAMN!” The shout came from the back of the room. “DAT MUTHA-FUCK-AHHH GOT SOME HUUUUUUUUUUUUGE ASS LIPS!”

The room exploded with laughter. Iggy didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He just turned, slowly, and locked eyes with the kid who’d spoken. The laughter died off.


“You,” Iggy said, his voice low and deliberate. “You got something to say about lips?”



The kid shifted uncomfortably but tried to hold his ground. “Yeah. They’re huge,” he said, though his voice wavered.


Iggy stood up, dragging his chair with him, the sound of the metal legs against the floor slicing through the tension. He lifted the chair like it weighed nothing and crossed the room with quiet precision. The kid’s bravado evaporated.

“Here’s how it works,” Iggy said, his tone calm but edged like a knife. “You mess with me, you mess with her. And I don’t play nice.”

With that, he slammed the chair down—not on the kid, but so close to his feet the floor shook. The kid jumped, pale, and the rest of the class went dead silent.


Iggy leaned in closer, his eyes locked on the bully. “Got it?”


The kid nodded quickly, his eyes wide. Iggy straightened, adjusting his jacket like nothing had happened, and walked back to his seat. I didn’t know whether to thank him or punch him for dragging me into his mess. Still, I couldn’t ignore the flicker of gratitude I felt.


The day got stranger from there. The locket’s hum grew louder, until I couldn’t tell if it was real or just in my head. After school, it pulled me—literally tugged at my chest—toward the edge of town.


I found myself at an abandoned library, a crumbling husk of a building surrounded by weeds and shadows. The air felt heavy, alive, like the place was breathing. I stepped inside.


That’s where I met Belis. He looked like he’d walked out of another era, his eyes dark and ancient. He didn’t bother with introductions.


“The Flameborn,” he said, his voice low and rough like gravel. “Your history is written in flame, Angela.”


He spoke of an ancient lineage of magic wielders, destroyed by shadowy creatures called The Ashen Ones. The locket, he said, was my inheritance—a tether to power and danger.


“There’s a prophecy,” Belis said. “A thirteenth year, a locket, and a choice. You’ll either unite the world or burn it to ash.”


I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know how to breathe. The locket’s hum turned into a roar, and the ember inside it flared. Shadows danced around us, and for a moment, I thought I saw something moving in them—watching.


When I stumbled home, I found Iggy waiting on the steps of my porch. He didn’t say anything—he just looked at me, steady and unshaken.


“What?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.

“You’ve got that look,” he said, his tone even. “Like you’ve seen something you’re not ready to deal with.”


I hesitated, the locket burning against my skin. “Maybe I have.”

Iggy leaned back slightly, his hands in his pockets. “Well, whatever it is, you won’t deal with it alone.”


I wanted to tell him he had no idea what he was talking about. But I couldn’t. Somehow, I knew he’d end up in this with me, whether I wanted him to or not.


 

The locket flared again that night, waking me from a fitful sleep. I sat up, gasping, and saw something—or someone—standing in the corner of my room. A figure cloaked in shadow, their eyes like embers, staring straight at me.


“Angela,” they said, their voice resonating with an otherworldly hum. “You’ve made the first step. But the fire has only just begun.”


Before I could respond, they vanished, leaving nothing but the lingering smell of smoke.



The flame had awakened, and I couldn’t put it out—not even if I wanted to.