CHAPTER 646: CHAPTER 646 - AFTERGLOW

Chapter 646 - Afterglow

"I am fire. And you are the angel who delivers it."

The demon had spoken countless words over time, and among them were temptations like this.

Temptations woven with lies—yet even the keen perception of a fairy could find no fault in the demon’s words, making them seem almost like the truth.

"Words have power."

Repeated words leave an imprint on the mind, influencing actions.

That is why words have power.

"Was it I who set the fire? Or was it you?"

Was this the demon’s doing, or had she been the one who called the demon forth?

If so, was the fire ignited by the demon her responsibility?

Blackened ashes coursed through Shinar’s veins, gnawing at her heart and planting fear within her.

Yet, she endured.

Pride had long since been stripped away, and what remained was little more than a desperate struggle.

Even as she faced the fire, feeling terror rise within her, she pretended not to be afraid.

That was Shinar’s defiance.

Given that, it goes without saying how astonished she was when she saw what Enkrid did.

"He set fire to the tent?"

It was an act of pure madness.

And yet, at that moment, it didn’t seem so terrifying.

The flames—once the embodiment of fear, of terror, of the demon itself—did not feel that way.

Why?

She didn’t want to know.

She was too preoccupied with suppressing her emotions, with hiding what she felt, to bother searching for an answer.

A fairy cursed to be unable to face flames had only one option in that moment—silence.

And then, the fire spread.

She turned away, unable to bear the sight of the roaring flames.

But it wasn’t unbearable to the point of breaking her.

"I should thank Bran for that."

Bran—her mentor, her longtime friend—had taught her not to fear fire.

He had passed on his beliefs the way fairies always did: through action, demeanor, and life itself.

A Wood Guard lighting a cigarette—it was as strange as a ghoul eating chocolate pudding.

Yet Bran had done it.

Fairies did not avoid using fire altogether, but Wood Guards—fairies born from trees—instinctively kept their distance from it.

It was an ingrained behavior, etched into their very being.

"Wood and fire."

A combination that could never truly belong together.

And yet, Bran had still placed the cigarette between his lips and struck a flame.

Shinar felt time accelerate.

At the same time, she realized—this was a lucid dream.

The shackles that had bound her for so long unraveled.

Words were like forged metal, twisted and woven together with time to become a curse.

The demon had gripped Shinar for far too long, slowly eating away at her.

But that demon was dead.

As reality and dream intermingled, memories of the past invaded her dream.

"Fire. It’s fire."

A serpent of flames coiled around her ankle, searing her flesh.

Crackling sounds filled the air as grass and flowers burned, their scent thick and acrid.

Cold sweat trickled down her skin.

It felt as if her real body were drenched in sweat as well.

The curse left by the demon could not be cast off so easily.

It wasn’t sorcery, nor magic—it was a curse woven from words.

"Do you still feel like just dropping dead?"

A voice slipped into her ears.

Dreams had a way of shifting without notice.

The surroundings flickered, and suddenly, she was sitting in the middle of a forest.

Shinar looked down and saw her hands—small, like they had been in childhood.

Her pale hands rested in her lap.

If she rolled up her sleeves, a fresh scar would likely be there, one that had only recently formed.

"If I must die, then so be it."

Just before reaching adulthood, when she had become the child of the curse, Shinar had spoken those words.

And her father had told her—It’s not your fault.

Now, she saw that very father, leaning against a tree.

He was the owner of the voice she had just heard.

"Has your mind changed?"

He asked again.

Shinar gazed at him in silence.

In her usual dreams, her father would appear only as a distant voice in the darkness, speaking a few words before vanishing.

But today, he stood before her in broad daylight, bathed in sunlight.

A soft golden glow filtered through the forest canopy, illuminating his face and trailing down to his feet, making him solid, real.

"It has changed."

The answer did not come from Shinar.

Her mother had spoken.

At some point, she had appeared beside her father.

Her eyebrows, her eyes, the bridge of her nose, her lips—every feature mirrored Shinar’s own.

When they were young, her sister had said that Shinar took after their mother while she herself resembled their father.

"And how would you know that?"

Her father asked her mother.

She, too, stood beneath the golden sunlight, her blonde hair reflecting the light.

"Because we share a bond."

"I share one, too."

"Yes, but mine is even deeper."

"I feel it just as much."

Their words were measured, their tones calm—yet it was a quarrel, in the way only fairies could argue.

Her father would persist with quiet stubbornness.

Her mother would respond with effortless dismissal.

"You’re being stubborn."

Her mother’s gaze never left Shinar, even as she spoke to her father.

Her lips moved for him, but her eyes—those were for Shinar, filled with gentle warmth.

As always, that was her mother.

"No, I’m a fairy. I speak only the truth."

Her father refused to back down.

"You’re distorting it."

"No, this is how I feel."

"You’re twisting your own emotions."

"My heart tells me this is true."

Their bickering stretched on.

Even knowing this was a dream, watching them felt oddly pleasant.

It was... familiar.

"Both of you, stop."

Another voice joined in.

Her sister—Naira Kiraheis.

Her tone was as cold as ever.

"Naira, you’re so cold," her father said.

"I’m just an ordinary fairy."

"Bran said you were remarkably skilled at controlling your emotions."

"I handle my affairs my own way."

"That’s rather sad."

A lack of expression did not equate to a lack of emotion.

Fairies, with their inherent sensitivity, felt emotions deeply.

If left unchecked, their emotions would surge wildly, making them grieve over the smallest things, or burst into joy just as easily.

Frogs accepted their limits because they could see them.

Fairies, overwhelmed by emotions, adapted by mastering restraint.

They had fragile psychological structures—like a blank canvas that absorbed whatever colors were placed upon it.

Frogs drowned themselves in desire to break through their limitations.

Fairies, to protect their own fragile psychology, disciplined themselves in emotional control.

That was why fairies who had fully solidified their sense of self could begin expressing emotions again.

Like her parents did.

Even as they revealed their feelings, they never harmed each other.

But other fairies—especially young ones—would be shaken by such displays.

That was why emotional restraint was a necessity when raising a sensitive child.

And now?

The child was grown.

That was why they could act this way.

And her sister, Naira.

She had always been exceptional, ever since she was little.

She learned and understood things in an instant.

Her thoughts tangled and twisted, leading to strange conclusions.

If ability dictated who should remain, then...

"It shouldn’t have been me."

"The flame is both destruction and creation. So fire is not something to be feared—only something to be handled with caution."

Aden, her first love had once told her.

’I know.’

’That’s why I’ve repeated it to myself countless times.’

’Fire must be handled with care.’

It wasn’t about avoiding it—it was a declaration of intent to control it with caution.

To teach that one simple truth, Bran, despite being a Woodguard, overcame his instinctual fear and lit his cigarette.

"Igniculus, sparks the embers. Breathe life into the extinguished flame."

Aden spoke.

And that was what Aden did—he forged metal, giving it life, breathing soul into the fire.

Tonight’s dream was unusually sentimental.

Then, with a faint flicker, everything darkened as if about to be extinguished.

In the forest that had always been the backdrop of her family and Aden, black soot gathered, flowing and coalescing until it filled the woods.

Before she knew it, the sunlight had vanished, as if swallowed.

"Cursed child."

"Because of you, everyone died."

Humans might think fairies suppress their emotions, but among fairies, this much was enough to convey their intent.

A slight nuance in their tone could hold all the meaning necessary.

The voices came from within the soot—resentful, accusatory, full of complaints.

They shifted all blame onto her.

Shinar had yet to escape her curse.

She could only endure it, recognizing it as a time she had to withstand.

But before her stood her father, blocking the way.

"If you’re dead, at least become pollen and scatter."

Her mother stepped forward as well.

"Like stubborn little potato sprouts."

She even hurled harsh insults.

"Shall I burn them all for you? It’s not as if only demons wield fire."

Aden joined in.

Her sisters crouched before Shinar, meeting her gaze.

"And that man? What do you think of him?"

Naira, who was particularly good at hiding her emotions—even among fairies—never did so with her.

Until the day she died, she would bring up such trivial things.

Even now, she did.

It felt like an ordinary conversation between sisters.

"Stubborn, insane lunatic."

"Well, he’d have to be, wouldn’t he?"

The sisters laughed and then rose, blocking the way forward.

Over the lingering resentment of the curse, the soot thickened.

What had Enkrid said?

Something about meeting a demon in his dreams, but forgetting what it had said.

The soot, as if forming its own will, spoke.

"You damned wench, call my name! You know my true name—shout it!"

In her dreams, she had always run and been torn apart.

But now, there was no need.

Shinar steadied herself.

She couldn’t overcome it all at once.

But she could begin.

"If you think it’s too late, if you think it can’t be done and stop—then nothing will ever happen."

’Enki, you were right.’

You were right, and I respect your resolve.

Shinar forced her lips to move.

She needed courage, so she summoned it.

Courage became will, and will gave her strength.

She spoke to the demon.

"Who were you again?"

If it was time to forget, then she would.

Her words carried that intention.

"You damned wench—"

The demon howled in rage.

Then, it set the forest ablaze.

A wall of fire consumed everything in her vision.

Scorching pain flared up from the terrible burns on Shinar’s back and arms.

Her family, who had stood before her, were engulfed in flames.

Neither Aden nor her sister could stop the fire.

The inferno swallowed the dream, consuming her along with it.

But amid the roaring flames, a blue light flickered.

It sliced through part of the blaze, holding its ground before it.

Perhaps because of that—though it was hot—she could endure it.

So she would.

She would endure.

"One day, you too will smile again, Shinar. Until then, do not forget how to."

As he burned, her father spoke.

Yes, Father.

That day has come.

A smile blossomed across Shinar’s face, radiant as a blooming flower.

She awoke with dampness at the corners of her eyes.

She had cried in her sleep.

"Ah, that wasn’t such a bad dream."

Muttering to herself, she rose from her bed.

Scattered thoughts passed through her mind, and she vaguely recalled Enkrid mentioning something about heading to the spring before bed.

Shinar stepped out of the wooden house.

Outside, the air was crisp, and the sunlight was bright and refreshing.

It was the kind of day that made one want to submerge themselves in water.

***

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