Nathan slumped in the interrogation chair, breathing labored, his vision blurred by the relentless heat clawing up his spine. Sweat soaked his shirt, plastering it against his skin. He could feel the fire now, not just as a fever or a fevered dream, but as a living, writhing force threading through his veins, devouring everything in its path.
The agent across from him, a cold-faced man with calculating eyes, tapped his pen impatiently on the table. "Feeling alright, Wilson? You look like you're about to melt."
Nathan bit down a retort, his mind foggy and his body betraying him, the fire sapping him of strength. He locked eyes with the agent, summoning the last dregs of defiance left in him. "You call this interrogation?" he rasped, voice rough and broken. "I've been through worse."
The agent tilted his head, a faint smile pulling at his lips. "Brave words, but they won't last long." He leaned forward, gaze narrowing. "Tell me, what do you see in these visions of yours? These… flames. Are you aware of what you're bringing into this world?"
Nathan's chest rose and fell as he struggled for breath, and with it, a spark of defiance flared within. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, his fingers gripping the cold metal arms of the chair.
The agent's smile slipped, replaced by a hardened glare. "We both know that's a lie." He motioned to a guard who stepped forward, placing a heavy, gloved hand on Nathan's shoulder, forcing him back against the chair with a bruising grip.
Nathan's body convulsed, heat flooding through him as if in retaliation, and he barely held back a cry as the fire inside surged. His vision dimmed, his senses overwhelmed by the roaring inferno that had somehow become part of him. He was close to breaking, he knew it. But something in him—something raw and unyielding—wouldn't let go.
The agent's voice drifted to him, distant and warped. "This fire you carry—it's spreading. And when it breaks free, there'll be nothing left of you but ashes."
Nathan's world tilted, the fire within him finally overtaking his last defense. He slumped forward, consciousness slipping as the room dissolved into darkness.
In the depths of that darkness, he was back in the realm of fire, standing alone on a vast plain of scorched earth. The air shimmered with heat, distorting the horizon, and in the distance, a colossal figure stood, a blazing form that seemed to radiate endless, undying power.
The fiery entity extended a hand toward him, its palm open, fingers splayed. The flames flickered, alive, shifting and writhing in an endless dance.
Nathan took a step forward, the heat intensifying with each stride. He could feel the fire beckoning him, calling out with a voice that was both familiar and terrifying. It wasn't just an invitation—it was a challenge, a promise of power… and the threat of annihilation.
Take it, the fire seemed to whisper, the words resonating in his mind. Embrace it, or be consumed.
He hesitated, his hand trembling as he reached toward the blazing figure. He could feel his skin scorching, the pain a constant reminder of what lay ahead. But there was no other choice. Either he would take the fire and make it his own, or it would devour him.
Just as his fingertips brushed the flames, the world shuddered and he was ripped from the realm, tumbling back into the harsh, sterile reality of the containment cell.
Nathan's eyes fluttered open, his vision a haze of fluorescent lights and white walls. His body felt like a lead weight, every muscle straining with the residual heat that had yet to fade. He could hear muffled voices, the indistinct chatter of agents assessing him, dissecting his every move, his every weakness.
"...unstable," a voice muttered nearby. "We should consider transfer to Facility X if his condition worsens."
"Facility X?" another replied, incredulous. "That place is a last resort. But if he keeps showing signs of… whatever this is… the higher-ups won't hesitate."
Nathan clenched his fists, anger bubbling under the surface. They saw him as a thing to be contained, a dangerous unknown to be stored away and forgotten. But they had no idea what he was going through—what he was becoming. This fire, this power—he didn't understand it yet, but it was his, and no sterile lab or clinical words could strip it from him.
One of the agents, a tall man with a military bearing and a gaze as cold as ice, approached his bedside, crossing his arms. "Listen, Wilson. I don't know what kind of twisted game you're playing here, but whatever you're hiding? It won't last. We'll crack you eventually."
Nathan gave a weak smile, his voice a hoarse whisper. "You think… this is me hiding something?"
The agent sneered, leaning down to meet Nathan's gaze. "We've seen your kind before. Think you're special, a cut above the rest. But in the end, you're all the same. Anomalies. Broken things that need to be locked up."
A glint of something dark sparked in Nathan's eyes. "Maybe you're right," he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. "Maybe I am broken. But that just means I have nothing left to lose."
The agent's expression tightened, but he said nothing more, turning on his heel and striding away. The door clanged shut, leaving Nathan alone in the dim cell, the weight of the words pressing on him, cutting deeper than he'd let show.
That night, as he lay in the darkness, the fire returned, curling through his veins like a silent storm. It was different this time, not just a relentless burn but something almost alive, a presence pulsing within him, resonating with the beat of his heart.
He felt his body reach a breaking point, the fire stretching him beyond his limits, bending him to the point of shattering. His skin burned, his muscles ached, and every breath felt like inhaling molten lava. He clamped his eyes shut, jaw clenched, enduring the agony as best he could.
Then, as if in answer to his silent suffering, the System's words flared to life in his mind: When the fire calls, will you answer?
The question lingered, filling the silence of his cell, echoing in his mind with a weight that felt inescapable. He didn't know what answering would mean, but there was a part of him—a part burned away by this fire—that knew he couldn't ignore it any longer.
He had to answer, or he'd be consumed.
By morning, Nathan was barely able to stand. His body was weak, his skin pale beneath the reddened, feverish sheen. But there was something else there, a glimmer of resilience, a spark that hadn't been there before.
When the guards came to escort him to another examination, he steadied himself, raising his chin, locking eyes with them with a defiance he hadn't shown before. The fire was his now, a part of him, and he would not be broken.
The same agent from before met him in the hall, his expression unreadable as he watched Nathan approach. "You still think you're going to get out of here?" he asked, his voice cold and mocking.
Nathan's mouth twisted into a grim smile. "I don't think anything. I know."
The agent's eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease passing over his face. Nathan could tell he sensed it too—the change, the fire lurking beneath the surface. They could lock him up, isolate him, push him to the edge of his sanity, but he'd come through it. And he'd come out stronger.
As they reached the containment cell, Nathan cast one last glance over his shoulder, his gaze piercing, filled with a quiet, simmering fury. "Remember my face," he said, voice low. "Because it's the last thing you're going to see when I'm done here."
The guard chuckled, but the sound was hollow, edged with nervousness. "Big talk for someone in a cage."
Nathan gave a small, humorless laugh. "You think this place is going to hold me forever? You have no idea what you're dealing with."
The door shut behind him, locking him in once more, but this time he felt no despair. Only the fire, warm and alive, surging through him like a heartbeat. He was done breaking. Done being pushed.
The System's message returned, more certain than ever: When the fire calls, will you answer?
Nathan let the words settle over him, a fierce smile curving his lips.