In the quiet outskirts of the village, Cecilia stood over her wooden worktable, grinding fresh herbs into a fine paste. The rhythmic sound of the mortar and pestle echoed in the small, dimly lit room. The soft glow of an oil lamp illuminated her weary face, etched with concern that had grown deeper over the past three months.
When the preparation was done, Cecilia wiped her hands on her apron and set about arranging dinner. She ladled steaming stew into bowls and placed them on the modest table alongside slices of fresh bread. The aroma of thyme and simmering vegetables filled the air, but to Cecilia, the meal felt hollow.
She walked down the short hallway to her daughter's room and knocked gently on the wooden door. "Dinner's ready, my dear," she called softly.
Silence.
She waited, holding her breath for even the faintest sound of movement. None came.
Cecilia sighed deeply, leaning her forehead against the door. It had been like this for three months—ever since that fateful day when Hela returned home, trembling and clutching the fiery Aries Card in her body.
Before that day, Hela had been full of life and purpose, always eager to help with herb gathering and delivering medicine to those in need. But now, her daughter was a shadow of her former self, locked away in her room, consumed by fear and self-loathing.
The worst moment had come not long after Hela's return. While cleaning, Hela's hands had erupted in flames without warning. The fire hadn't burned her skin, but it had scorched the fabric of her tunic and set a pile of herbs ablaze. She had screamed, panic gripping her, as Cecilia rushed to douse the flames with water.
"I'm cursed!" Hela had sobbed, trembling uncontrollably.
Cecilia had pulled her into a tight embrace, stroking her hair as tears welled in her own eyes. "No, you are not. You are my daughter, my brave, beautiful daughter. Everything will be fine. I promise."
But things hadn't become fine. In fact, they had only gotten worse.
Hela's nights were haunted by vivid nightmares—visions of fire consuming her, flames chasing her through endless darkness. Each time she woke, her bedclothes smoldered, her palms glowing faintly with the residual heat of the fire she could not control. She began to fear even her own touch, isolating herself further, her cries of frustration and despair muffled behind the walls of her room.
"I can't control this!" she had screamed one morning, collapsing to her knees. "I hate this! I don't know what to do!"
Cecilia had knelt beside her, pulling her into another embrace. "Shh, my dear. I'm here. I'm always here," she had whispered, though the cracks in her own voice betrayed her growing helplessness.
Now, as Cecilia knocked on Hela's door once more, the silence that greeted her felt heavier than ever.
"I have to leave tonight to deliver the medicine supplies," Cecilia said, her voice steady though her heart ached. "I've left food on the table for you, Hela. Please... please eat something."
She lingered for a moment, hoping against hope for a response. When none came, she turned away, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her worry.
Inside the room, Hela lay curled up on her bed, the blankets pulled tightly around her. Her mother's words echoed in her mind, and for the first time in days, she forced herself to sit up.
When she stepped out into the main room, the sight of the dinner table stopped her in her tracks. Her favorite dishes—stew, bread, and a small plate of fruit—were neatly arranged, waiting for her. Tears welled in her eyes as she walked over and sat down.
Her hands trembled as she reached for a piece of bread. "I don't deserve this," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm a burden... I'm a coward..."
Her tears fell freely now, dropping onto the table as she clutched the bread in her hands. She hated herself for what she had become, for leaving her mother to shoulder their responsibilities alone.
And yet, as she stared at the meal prepared with so much care, a small, stubborn spark ignited within her. Until when will I let this fear control me? she thought.
She clenched her fists, the bread crumbling slightly in her grip. Though her body was wracked with guilt and her heart weighed heavy with fear, a question echoed in her mind—a question that refused to let her give up.
How much longer will I let myself suffer like this?
Hours passed, and still, Hela's mother had not returned. The weight of worry began to settle in Hela's chest, a feeling unfamiliar to her in the past months of isolation. She tried to distract herself, forcing herself to clean the house as she had done before, but the task felt heavier than ever. Each corner she dusted, each surface she wiped, seemed to echo with the absence of her mother.
For three months, Cecilia had always come home at dusk, no matter how busy or far her errands took her. It was a rhythm Hela had come to rely on. But tonight, the silence stretched too long.
Hela bit her lip, pacing restlessly. Her hands trembled as she set down the cloth, her stomach tightening with an unsettling dread. She couldn't shake the thought that something had happened to her mother.
The sun had set, leaving the world outside her small cottage cloaked in shadows. The quiet of the forest surrounding their home grew deeper with each passing moment.
For a long while, Hela stood at the door, frozen. She had kept herself hidden from the world for so long, but now, the fear of losing the one person she loved more than anything filled her with determination.
With a shaky breath, she forced herself to change into her comfortable clothes—worn boots and a tunic that had once been practical for long walks in the woods. Yet now, as she stood in the doorway, ready to step out into the unknown, it felt different.
The forest had always been her home, but now it seemed vast, even oppressive. The thought of venturing out in the dark, alone, filled her with dread, but she couldn't ignore the gnawing worry for her mother's safety.
She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as she stood tall, summoning the courage she never thought she had. Now is not the time to be afraid, Hela. She whispered to herself, the words a mantra to banish her fear.
Your mother needs you.
Something about the thought of her mother in danger sparked a fire within Hela, not of fear, but of resolve. Slowly, the swirling storm of uncertainty within her calmed, replaced by a clarity she had not felt in months. For the first time since she had received the Aries Card, she felt at peace.
The forest was dark, the trees looming like silent sentinels, but Hela no longer felt lost. Her senses seemed heightened, every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, clear in her mind. She felt an awareness of the space around her, an intuitive understanding of her surroundings as though the forest itself were revealing its secrets to her.
As her hand tightened into a fist, a sudden warmth spread up her arm. Startled, Hela looked down—her hand was glowing with a soft, flickering flame, dancing like a living thing. The flames were brighter than before, more controlled. The fire did not burn her, nor did it bring panic.
Instead, it felt... right.
Is this... the Aries' flame? she thought, watching in awe as the fire pulsed within her fist. This was not the uncontrolled flame she had fought against for months. It was different. This flame did not feel like an enemy—it felt like a part of her, like something that had always been within her, waiting to be unlocked.
The fire hummed with power and confidence, a reassuring strength that flowed through her veins, filling her with purpose. She clenched her fist again, and the flame flared higher, casting long shadows against the trees.
For the first time in three months, she smiled, a genuine expression of hope. She wasn't afraid anymore.
Without hesitation, she ran into the darkness, her heart pounding in her chest. Her feet moved faster than they ever had, her body propelled forward by the flame that now burned brightly within her. It wasn't just the fire that guided her; it was something else—an invisible force, like a voice in her mind, urging her forward.
You can do this, the voice seemed to say, and for once, Hela believed it.
Her speed increased as she ran deeper into the forest, and with each step, she felt stronger, more in control of the power surging within her. The flames didn't just light her path—they seemed to propel her, like wings beneath her feet.
Then, in the distance, she heard a scream.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" The desperate cry cut through the night air, unmistakable.
"Mom!" Hela cried, her heart skipping a beat as she followed the sound, her fear now sharper, but no longer paralyzing.
She changed course, her body moving without thought, driven by the urgency in her mother's voice. The flames around her hands flared, and before she knew it, she was running faster than she had ever thought possible.
Her feet pounded the earth, her breath coming in short bursts, but it wasn't the weight of exhaustion that slowed her—it was the realization that she didn't even notice the flames pushing her forward, guiding her with an unnatural speed.
She didn't understand it, but she didn't need to. The flames, the power—they were hers now. And it felt like she knew exactly what to do.
As she neared the clearing, the flickering glow of a fire met her eyes. In the center, her mother was struggling, surrounded by men in dark cloaks. Their faces were obscured by shadows, but Hela could see the malicious intent in their eyes.
"No!" she shouted, her voice raw with fear and fury. Without thinking, she raised her arms, and the flames in her hands leapt forward, as if summoned by her will, streaking through the air like bolts of lightning.
The cloaked figures recoiled, surprised by the force of the fire. Hela's heart raced, but she didn't hesitate. With a roar, she pushed forward, the flames blazing around her as she charged into the fray, determined to save the one person who had always believed in her.