Chapter 3: The Cottage
December 14, 2025 at 11:27 AM
The old man’s cottage sat nestled between two moss‑covered boulders, half‑hidden beneath a canopy of pink‑leafed branches. Smoke curled lazily from the crooked chimney, carrying the scent of herbs and burning cedar. Flora leaned heavily on the man’s arm as he guided her inside.
Warmth washed over her immediately.
The interior was cluttered but comforting — shelves overflowing with jars of dried roots, bundles of lavender hanging from the rafters, and stacks of ancient books piled in precarious towers. A small fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting amber light across the room.
Flora winced as she lowered herself onto a cushioned couch. A sharp sting shot up her arm. When she looked down, she saw the gash — deep, angry, still bleeding from the explosion she barely remembered.
The old man noticed her expression.
“Do not worry, young one. All will be tended to.”
He shuffled to a wooden counter and began preparing a tea, grinding herbs with surprising precision. The mixture released a strange aroma — earthy, metallic, and faintly sweet.
He returned with a steaming cup. “Drink. It will help.”
Flora hesitated. “How did I get here? I was in my home… and then—”
“Your flames intervened,” he said simply. “They carried you away before the blast consumed you.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” she whispered. “Fire doesn’t save people.”
“Not ordinary fire,” he corrected. “Yours is alive. Loyal. It chose to protect you.”
Flora stared at him, unsure whether to believe him — but the warmth spreading through her chest felt real. The pain in her arm faded, then vanished entirely. She pulled back her sleeve.
The gash was gone.
Her breath caught. “How…?”
“Flames heal their chosen,” he said with a wink. “Though they rarely do it so dramatically.”
Flora leaned back, exhaustion pulling at her eyelids. The room blurred softly around the edges. The tea was stronger than she expected — soothing, heavy, almost hypnotic.
She blinked slowly.
The old man swayed.
Then, without warning, he collapsed.
His body hit the wooden floor with a sickening thud.
Flora jolted upright, the haze evaporating in an instant. “Sir?!”
She tried to stand, but her legs trembled beneath her. She stumbled toward him, reaching out — too late.
The old man lay motionless.
Then his eyes snapped open.
They were no longer warm and brown.
They glowed a deep, unnatural red.
