When night fell, most of the village was already in bed since it was customary to get up early to make the most of the daylight. Among the exceptions were two children, who, having given their mother an excuse, were sitting still awake in front of the fire of their small cottage.  

The two had resembling appearances; the features of their faces were similar, except that one was clearly feminine, while the other already presented some features of masculinity. Their hair was red, while their eyes were blue, something common in those lands.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Delia whispered in her brother's ear.

"Of course. Despite our blessing of fire, our father did not want to take us to war... Also, the oracle has never paid any attention to us. For some reason, she only cares about Rendal," answered Denle, who, with his eyes closed, was trying to concentrate on something.

"But summoning a spirit... I've heard they're very dangerous," Delia stressed, nervously playing with her little hands.

"It's the only way for the village to recognize us truly. If we get a spirit, we will be as strong as the heroes of legends. Besides, you don't have to worry. I've been hearing his voice for months. We can even say that we are friends," her brother reassured her. Now, I need you to shut up for a few seconds. Now comes the complicated part of the invocation that the spirit taught me."

Denle raised both hands toward the fire, which began to move vigorously as if the wind were fanning it. Soon, the fire rose so much that it almost touched the ceiling, surprising Delia, who begged her brother to be careful not to cause a fire.

Suddenly, a figure began to emerge from the flames, or rather, the flames themselves took the shape of one.

"Denle, my boy, you took your sweet time, but you did a good job nonetheless. Just like I would expect from a possessor of the "flaming heart," one of the greater blessings from the great god Ardentes."

"Fierlon!" exclaimed Denle, addressing the fiery figure. "I finally see you in person!"

"Fierlon, are you a servant of the god Ardentes?" Delia asked timidly.

"Hahaha, not at all, little girl. The god I serve is a mere subject of the great god of fire. However, to humans, even us spirits possess unimaginable magic." The fire spirit, Fierlon, paused briefly before addressing Denle. "So you don't have to worry, as I promised you, boy. I can give you all the power you desire. But first, we must accumulate it."

"And how will we do that?" Denle asked, puzzled. 

"In the same way that some gods accumulate their own power, with souls. These have always been a wonderful source of energy."

"But... human sacrifices... have been prohibited in Findelor for hundreds of years..." Denle said, almost losing his voice as he realized what the spirit suggested.

After hearing the spirit's words, the two children had turned pale with fear.

Fierlon, ignoring this, slowly approached until he was almost above Denle. He looked down at him, showing what appeared to be a smile drawn on his face formed by the flames.

"Don't worry, I know you're just a child. For now, I will help you with that. Why don't we start with your sister? And then your mother, who sleeps in the room next door."

Delia quickly hid behind her brother's back while Denle clenched her fists. Despite his young age, he knew that this spirit had deceived him and deeply regretted not having heeded the warnings in the tales of the elders.

"If… If you need a life, take mine!" Denle gathered his courage and stretched out his arms in an effort to protect Delia.

Of course, that only made the fire spirit laugh.

"It's true; I had forgotten that humans, no matter how short and insignificant their lives are, like to protect the lives of their relatives," Fierlon said once he had finished laughing. "But, boy, don't talk nonsense; if I take your life, I will lose connection with this plane of the world. At least for the moment... Let's make another deal: if you cooperate with me, I won't touch your loved ones."

"Like the deal in which you were going to give me power…?" While looking down, Denle asked sarcastically. But, at the end of the day, he knew he had no choice but to accept.

"Of course, that deal also stands; we just had some differences regarding how to accomplish it," Fierlon stated calmly.

Without giving Denle time to refute anything, the fire spirit dissolved its humanoid form, and the resulting flames transformed into a whirlpool that rushed toward the boy. Denle covered his face with his hands to protect himself, but the fire did not consume him; rather, it began to wrap around his index finger.

"Brother!" Delia screamed, watching as her twin fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

When the flames disappeared, it was possible to see that a red-hot ring had appeared on Denle's finger in their place, but the boy endured the pain, trying to make as little noise as possible not to wake their mother.

"Alright, boy, it's time to leave," said Fierlon, his voice coming from the ring.

"I… I'm going too!" exclaimed Delia, steeling herself.

"No...stay with mom," Denle said with difficulty, still enduring the pain.

"I was born first! I'm the big sister, and you can't tell me what to do!" Delia insisted, making clear she wouldn't take no for an answer.

"I don't care, but if you don't want to involve your mother, you better get going; there are signs of movement in her room."

After Fierlon's words, the twins looked at each other and hurried out of the cottage into the darkness of the night.

*****

A middle-aged man walked at a tired pace along a dirt road that went up one of the village's peripheral hills. On his left shoulder, he carried an improvised fishing rod, and in his right hand, he held a basket with two medium-sized fish.

The man's name was Serban, and he was nicknamed the Lame One because of an accident in his youth. Although he was not called to be part of the lectur's army due to his condition, that was no excuse for not working hard for his family.

The last harvest had not been very good, and he regularly went fishing at night to compensate for the lack of food in his home. That particular night the fish took a long time to bite and he was returning a little later than usual.

It was probably time for the change of season, which caused the tiries, the area's crimson fish, to change their habitat and take refuge in the lake instead of swimming through the village's river.

He was sorry for his daughter, who was surely waiting for him with her cheeks inflated with anger, and especially for his wife, who had to get up as early as him.

"Mmm… aren't those the children of the Hivere?" Serban squinted his eyes, trying to better distinguish the figures approaching in the distance.

Even in the darkness of the night, the twins' reddish hair was quite visible. Perhaps the magic provided by Ardentes' blessing had something to do with it.

"What are you two doing here at this time of night?" Serban approached. Seeing that the two children were sobbing, he decided he couldn't leave them alone. "Come with me; I'm going to take you to your mother; walking through this darkness is dangerous."

The twins, who were lost in their thoughts, noticed the adult's presence and raised their faces. Under the moonlight, Serban could then see that they were looking at him with an expression of terror.

"Run," Denle said in a broken voice.

But the warning was in vain; Serban had no time to react, and in a matter of seconds, he was enveloped in a whirlwind of fire. The word "Liselotte" was the last thing that left his lips before he lost his life.