Ashvale never stayed quiet for long.
Even on peaceful nights, the wind would whistle through the shutters with the voice of an old man complaining about his back, and the tavern two streets down refused to close before midnight. Elias had long grown used to the village's peculiar ambiance: a little too loud, a little too lively, and always just one stray chicken away from disaster.
He was finally drifting to sleep that evening, the bed creaking under his weight and the soft warmth of Rhea's magical presence nearby soothing his nerves, when the first bell rang.
Not a church bell.
The fire bell.
The sound was sharp, panicked. It rang once—twice—then a third time in quick succession.
He bolted upright.
"Fire?" he mumbled, swinging his legs off the bed.
Across the room, Rhea sat up as well, rubbing her eyes. "Loud…"
"Stay here, okay?" he said, hurriedly pulling on boots. "It might be nothing."
But the orange glow spreading outside their window said otherwise.
As he cracked open the front door, heat slammed into him like a wall. The scent of smoke curled into his nose, dry and bitter. Just two blocks away, a bakery's upper floor burned like a torch, flames licking the sky. Villagers were shouting, passing buckets in a desperate chain, but it was clear they were losing the fight.
And then came the scream.
A child's voice. Thin, shrill, from inside the building.
Elias cursed under his breath and turned back into the house.
"Rhea, don't come out—!"
But the door to her room was already open.
She stood there barefoot in her oversized nightgown, a determined expression on her face.
"I heard it," she said, pointing toward the fire. "There's someone inside."
"I know," Elias said. "But it's too dangerous. There's fire everywhere, and I—"
"I'll go."
"Rhea—no."
Her eyes met his. She wasn't flaring with magic. No red glow. No summoned rings. Just that quiet steel she carried when she thought someone else was going to get hurt.
"You always protect people," she said. "Let me try, just once."
Elias hesitated.
She was still a child—on the outside.
Inside, she was something ancient and powerful. And maybe tonight… she could be something more.
He nodded.
"Be careful. Don't… don't be a hero. Just get them out."
She gave him a tiny, serious salute. "Yes, Uncle Elias."
He groaned. "Still not my actual title."
But she was already gone.
Rhea darted through the crowds, weaving between people with unnatural speed. No one noticed her—whether from distraction or some subtle veil of her demonic aura cloaking her presence. Her small form slipped past the bucket lines and into the alley beside the bakery.
The door in the back was cracked, black smoke curling from it.
She stepped through.
The heat was overwhelming.
Wood cracked and groaned. The stairs looked like melting candy sticks, and the walls glowed red with trapped flame. Rhea held her hands close to her chest.
Her skin didn't burn.
Not even a singe.
Fire licked her nightgown and fizzled out harmlessly.
She didn't know why. But it felt… right. Like fire knew her. Respected her. Maybe even feared her.
She stepped carefully through the kitchen and into the narrow hallway leading to the stairs.
A sob echoed from the upper floor.
"Hello?" she called. "I'm here to help!"
A choked cough. Then, "Up here!"
Rhea darted up the half-burnt stairs, skipping the broken ones. She reached a smoky bedroom where a little girl—no older than three—was curled under a bed, her face streaked with ash and fear.
"I'm stuck!" the girl wailed.
"I'll get you out," Rhea promised.
She knelt, stretched her hands under the bed—and the wooden beam above her snapped.
The ceiling came crashing down.
But the fire didn't touch her.
It parted around her like a tide meeting stone. A shimmering shield of heat surrounded her, flaring briefly gold.
The little girl stared.
"You're glowing."
Rhea looked at her hands. She was. Her skin shimmered with gold light instead of red.
That had never happened before.
Still, she focused. She wrapped the girl in her arms, shielding her with her body, and stood.
The house was falling apart around them. But the flames refused to touch her. Not even the smoke could choke her lungs.
Step by step, she made her way back down.
And then out—bursting through the smoke-filled doorway like a phoenix, clutching the girl close.
A cheer went up from the crowd.
Elias, halfway through casting a protection spell on the bakery's side wall, saw her and froze.
The crowd parted around her like a miracle. And in that moment, she looked like one.
The child in her arms clung to her like a lifeline.
"I got her," Rhea said, voice shaking with adrenaline.
Elias ran over and scooped her into a hug—both of them.
"You're insane," he breathed. "You're also amazing."
Rhea smiled weakly. "She smelled like cinnamon buns."
Elias blinked. "That's… not what I expected you to say."
"They were good buns."
Later that night, with the child safely returned to her mother and the fire finally extinguished, Elias sat with Rhea on their rooftop.
They shared a stale muffin someone had handed out during cleanup. It tasted like ash and triumph.
"You glowed gold," Elias said.
"I did?"
"Yep."
Rhea stared up at the stars. "It didn't hurt. The fire, I mean. I felt… like it couldn't touch me."
"That's because you're you," Elias said, ruffling her hair. "You're a terrifying flame princess."
"I like bread more than burning things."
"Then you're a soft flame princess."
She giggled.
Then quieted. "Do you think… I was born like this?"
"With magic, or with fire immunity?"
"No. I mean broken." Her voice was small. "I always feel like something inside me is… twisted. Like I'm a mistake."
Elias looked at her for a long moment.
Then he gently pulled her into a hug.
"You're not a mistake, Rhea. You're fire. Fire can destroy—but it also warms. It cooks food. It makes life possible."
He leaned back and tapped her nose. "You're the warm kind of fire."
She sniffled. "I think… I want to be soft. I think you make me soft."
Elias laughed. "That might be the nicest insult I've ever gotten."
She grinned. "You're welcome."
And above them, the stars watched quietly as a former demon queen sat on a rooftop in a too-big nightgown, eating burnt muffins with the only person who had ever looked at her like she was something worth saving.
To be continued…