Aetherbound

The first thing Tenko noticed when he woke up was the silence.

Hospitals were never silent—there was always the hum of machines, the faint murmur of nurses, and the subtle thrum of life-support systems doing their work. Yet, for a brief moment, everything felt muted. It was as if the world itself had been holding its breath. Then the sensations hit him all at once: a dull ache in his ribs, the soreness across his torso, and the strange burning sensation in his chest that seemed to pulse with every breath. He blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, his mind struggling to piece together where he was. Memories flashed in fragments—a woman with crimson eyes, sharp and burning like molten fire, staring into him as though she could see the marrow of his bones. A blinding heat, choking smoke that clung to his lungs. The sound of his own screams, raw and endless, swallowed by the roar of flames. And then, silence again. A shadow stretched toward him in that memory, long and unrelenting, until it swallowed everything whole. Tenko's chest tightened, and he gasped involuntarily. The burning sensation deepened, a lingering ember he couldn't shake, even as the memory faded back into obscurity.

Tenko groaned as he tried to sit up, only to feel the tug of IV lines at his wrist. "Don't move too much," a calm voice said, snapping him from his daze. A doctor stood at the edge of the room, clipboard in hand. The man wore a tired smile, the kind Tenko had seen before—professionally reassuring, but edged with something unspoken. His grip on the clipboard tightened momentarily, knuckles pale against the smooth wood. He shifted on his feet, glancing at the IV drip longer than necessary before meeting Tenko's eyes again. There was a beat—a hesitation—as though he were weighing his words carefully, or perhaps biting back something he wasn't allowed to say. When he finally spoke, his tone felt practiced, smoothed over like a veneer hiding a deeper crack. "You've been through quite the ordeal. Do you remember what happened?" the doctor asked. Tenko opened his mouth to speak, but his throat felt dry, and the faint sulfuric taste at the back of his tongue made him wince. He shook his head instead.

"It's alright. You've been unconscious for a few days. We performed surgery… it was complicated, but you're stable now." The doctor's tone was even, but Tenko caught the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. There was something he wasn't saying—something he couldn't say. "And… the scars?" Tenko croaked, gesturing weakly to his torso. The motion sent a sharp, pulling ache rippling through his chest, as if the skin itself resisted him. Every breath felt stretched, his ribs too tight for his lungs, like something foreign had taken root beneath the surface. A wave of nausea rolled through him as his fingers ghosted over the bandages, feeling the ridges of fresh stitching and the faint heat lingering in his skin. "The surgery required some deep work. You'll see a few new marks, but don't worry, they're healing." Deep work. His mind clung to those two words, rolling them over like pebbles in his mouth, trying to make sense of what they meant. What had they done to him? His chest burned faintly again, a smoldering ember buried beneath layers of muscle, and for the briefest moment, he imagined the scars glowing—like molten fissures threatening to crack open. The thought made his stomach churn. "You'll be discharged soon, but until then, get some rest," the doctor said, scribbling something onto his clipboard before turning away. He didn't look back as he left the room.

D.W. arrived not long after the doctor left, her appearance as loud as always: bright, mismatched accessories, bleached streaks in her hair, and a personality to match. "Sleeping Beauty finally woke up," she said, standing at the doorway with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. Tenko smirked weakly. "What took you so long?"

"Traffic." She dropped into the chair beside his bed, tossing a bag of snacks onto his lap. Tenko didn't even realize how hungry he was until the smell hit him. "Hospital food's a war crime," D.W. quipped. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "You scared the hell out of me, you know. I thought…" She didn't finish the sentence, and Tenko didn't push her to. "I'm fine now," he lied, forcing a smile before tearing open the snack bag. D.W. watched him as he ate, her expression unreadable. "You're eating a lot, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, almost dying works up an appetite," Tenko muttered between bites. He tried to keep it light, but D.W. didn't laugh. She just studied him, her eyes sharp in a way he hadn't seen before.

"Tenko…"

"What?"

"You feel… different."

Her words froze him mid-chew. His stomach twisted, but he shrugged it off. "You're imagining things," he said. D.W. didn't argue, but she didn't look convinced either. He'd seen that look before—the barely veiled worry that gnawed at her. It was the same look she'd had when she first visited him, her usual punk confidence softened into something fragile. "You don't have to hover," he'd said, trying to make light of the moment. "I'm fine, really."

"Yeah, I know," she'd replied quickly, her tone betraying her unease. "Just… don't scare me like that again, okay?" Now, as she laughed off his joke, Tenko couldn't help but wonder what she wasn't telling him. The weight of her concern hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. It made him feel both grateful and guilty. After weeks of recovery, Tenko was finally discharged. The nurses gave him a warm farewell, though he suspected they were relieved to see him go—his appetite alone must have been a logistical nightmare. D.W. had been his constant visitor, but her presence had caused more trouble than comfort. Rumors had spread like wildfire: idol Demi Washu had a secret lover in the hospital. Tabloid headlines ranged from salacious speculation to outright fabrications, painting her visits in a way that made Tenko's stomach churn. He hated seeing her dragged into such ridiculous gossip, knowing it was because of him. The tabloids had a field day until her agency stepped in, releasing a statement that she was visiting her older brother who had been hospitalized. Even then, whispers persisted, fans dissecting every word of her interviews and combing through her appearances for hidden clues.

Tenko sighed as he thought about it. He could imagine the meetings, the tense discussions her agency likely had over how to handle the fallout. D.W. had done so much for him—outing herself, navigating public scrutiny, and spending what little free time she had by his side—but her sacrifices came with a cost. He wondered how much of her energy went into maintaining her public image while still looking out for him. The guilt was suffocating, but every time he tried to bring it up, she'd brush him off with her usual resilience. Yet, he could see it—a quiet weariness behind her confident facade, one that she tried to hide but couldn't completely. 

The world outside the hospital was too bright.

Tenko winced as sunlight hit his face, and for a moment, he swore he saw shadows shifting unnaturally at the edges of his vision. He blinked, and they were gone. D.W. walked beside him as they made their way to her car. "You sure you're good to go home?" she asked. "Yeah. I just need some normalcy," Tenko replied, though he wasn't sure what "normal" meant anymore. To celebrate his discharge, D.W. insisted on taking him out to a restaurant. The moment they walked through the door, heads turned. The staff and patrons recognized her instantly, whispering among themselves. Despite the attention, D.W. kept her composure, greeting everyone with a smile. "Welcome back, Demi! Good to see you again," one of the waiters said warmly as they were seated. Tenko couldn't help but smirk. "You're a celebrity everywhere you go now, huh?"

"Comes with the territory," D.W. replied, brushing it off. "Now, order whatever you want. It's on me." The meal was lively, filled with laughter and lighthearted banter. Tenko was on his fourth plate when the faint hum of a Zamboni broke through the chatter of the restaurant. The mechanical figure entered, its cold, polished frame gliding smoothly as its sensors swept over the patrons. Tenko didn't even glance up from his plate, entirely focused on finishing the towering stack of food in front of him. D.W., however, froze. Her fork hovered mid-air, her smile faltering as the Zamboni's scanner passed over their table. She quickly dropped her gaze to her lap, her grip tightening on the napkin in her hand. Tenko's lack of reaction only made the situation more unnerving. The Zamboni lingered for a moment before moving on, scanning the other tables. It finally exited without incident, its departure as unceremonious as its arrival. D.W. exhaled quietly, forcing a smile back onto her face, though tension lingered in her eyes.

"Everything okay?" Tenko asked between bites, his tone casual.

"Yeah, just… tired. It's been a long day," she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The answer felt rehearsed, but Tenko didn't press her. He had more food to finish.

As they left the restaurant, D.W. hesitated for a moment, her expression flickering with unspoken concern. She reached out, briefly placing a hand on Tenko's shoulder. "You're going to be fine, you know that, right?" she said, her tone warm but firm. Tenko gave her a faint smirk, trying to brush it off. But as he looked at her, he could see the faint creases at the corners of her eyes, the slight dip in her voice when she spoke. Her concern wasn't just a fleeting thought—it weighed on her, pressing down in ways she tried to hide. "Of course. You worry too much," he said, his voice light, but the words felt hollow even as they left his lips. Deep down, he wondered if she could sense his own unease, the growing pit in his stomach that he hadn't quite figured out how to explain. Back in his apartment, Tenko felt the hunger gnawing at him again. His space was small and utilitarian, barely more than a one-room studio. The walls were plain, painted in a muted gray, and the furnishings were sparse: a worn-out couch, a scratched coffee table, and a tiny kitchenette tucked into the corner. A pile of books and notebooks sat precariously on the table, alongside an empty mug from the morning before. The air smelled faintly of burnt toast and cheap air freshener, a scent he'd stopped noticing long ago.

He groaned, flopping onto the couch and staring at the cracks in the ceiling. The TV remote lay within arm's reach, and he grabbed it without much thought, clicking the power button. The screen flickered to life, filling the room with the low hum of the news. The anchor spoke with practiced calm as a graphic of the Brimstone Witch appeared beside her. "It's been oddly quiet the past couple weeks," the anchor said, her voice steady but with a trace of unease. A graphic of the Brimstone Witch lingered on the screen, her piercing gaze almost alive against the dark backdrop. "But I'm not complaining—a threat like that needed to be controlled. Authorities are still investigating the aftermath of her last attack, but as of now, her trail has gone cold." Tenko leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing. The words felt heavier than the anchor's calm delivery, as if the silence around the Witch's disappearance was too convenient. He rubbed his hands together absentmindedly, a faint buzz of anxiety coursing through him. It was almost as if the Witch's absence carried a presence of its own, filling the room in an intangible way.

Tenko frowned, changing the channel. The next program was an educational feature about Aether, its smooth voiceover accompanied by vivid diagrams and animations. The screen explained that Aether was an omnipresent energy source, derived from both natural and human-made reservoirs, capable of enhancing physical capabilities, healing wounds, and powering complex spells. However, the narrator emphasized, it wasn't limitless. "Aether relies on resonance with the user's natural affinity," the narrator explained, showing an animated figure drawing glowing threads of energy from the air. "However, misuse or overexertion can lead to critical depletion—sometimes fatal." Tenko leaned forward, watching as the program detailed how Aether infused itself into human physiology. It enhanced cellular function, acted as a conductor for magic, and regulated itself within healthy individuals. Yet the diagrams also showed anomalies—darkened veins and fractures within the glowing energy pathways—hinting at cases where Aether reacted unpredictably.

"For those without an inherent Aether core," the program continued, "interaction is limited. Artificial enhancements exist but are controversial and often dangerous." Tenko's unease deepened. He rubbed his chin, the thought gnawing at him: why was this resonating with him so much? He didn't have Aether. He wasn't supposed to, anyway. The program shifted focus to spells, showcasing how individuals with strong Aether resonance could manipulate energy into specific forms. "Spells are frameworks for Aether manipulation," the narrator explained. The screen displayed a glowing diagram of a hand forming a sphere of energy, lines of text and symbols swirling around it. "Each spell requires precise intent and execution. A poorly constructed spell may destabilize, with results ranging from minor feedback to catastrophic self-damage."

Tenko watched as the program demonstrated various spell categories: elemental control, defensive barriers, healing techniques, and offensive bursts. Each spell type was tailored to the user's Aether capacity, the graphics emphasizing harmony between the caster and their energy source. "But only those with a natural affinity can safely and consistently cast spells," the narrator warned, showing an animation of an unstable Aether conduit shattering. "For others, attempting advanced spells can be dangerous, often with unpredictable consequences." Tenko leaned back, the weight of the information settling over him. He had none of this—no resonance, no affinity, no ability to channel Aether. So why did a part of him feel like that wasn't entirely true anymore? "Curiosity got the better of him. Tenko stood in his living room, holding out his hand. He'd never been able to use Aether—no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wanted it. Back then, Aether had been a distant dream, something only others could touch. Watching his classmates conjure spells in their palms had made him feel like a shadow: present, but unseen. Invisible. "But now…" He clenched his fist, a sick, crawling heat building beneath his skin. Something inside him felt different, alive, like a flame waiting to escape. Just a small fire spell, he thought. Nothing major.

He murmured the incantation, and for a split second, he believed nothing would happen. But then it burst—wild and feral, roaring to life like a firestorm that had been caged for too long. Panic set in as the spell spiraled out of control, self-imploding in a burst of heat and light. Staggering back, Tenko's heart raced. "How… How is this possible?" he whispered. He rushed to the bathroom, flipping on the light. Staring at his reflection, he froze. His right eye glowed with an eerie, unnatural color—the same color as the Brimstone Witch's. Fear gripped him. Trembling, he grabbed his phone and called D.W. "I… something's wrong," he stammered, barely coherent. Her voice was calm but firm. "Take a deep breath, Tenko. I'll come over." Before he could respond, there was a knock at his door. "Hey, are you okay in there?" a neighbor's voice called. Tenko hastily grabbed an eyepatch from a drawer, covering his altered eye. With a deep breath, he forced himself to approach the door, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He opened it slightly, just enough to see his neighbor standing there, their expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Sorry about the noise," Tenko said quickly, keeping his tone light. "Just dropped something heavy. I'm fine, really." The neighbor studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, just checking. Let us know if you need anything."

"Will do. Thanks," Tenko replied, closing the door gently. As the footsteps retreated down the hall, he leaned against the door, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him. The storm inside his mind was no calmer, but at least he had bought himself a little time to figure out what to do next. A faint, chilling laugh broke the silence, freezing Tenko in place. Slowly, he turned his head toward the living room, his pulse pounding in his ears. There, sitting on his worn-out couch, was the image of the Brimstone Witch. The air crackled faintly around her, and her eyes burned with the same intensity that haunted his memories. Her long, silver hair draped over her shoulders, but something about her seemed… fractured, like a ghost forced into a form too solid for its own good. She leaned back casually, her cruel smile cutting through the dim light. "Hey, Tenko," she said, her voice dripping with mockery. Her words slithered through the air, each syllable striking a nerve. "Miss me?"

Tenko stumbled back a step, his hand instinctively gripping the door frame for support. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. "You… you can't be real," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. His heart raced as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image to disappear. "You're dead." The Witch's smile widened, her teeth sharp and predatory. "Dead?" she repeated, her voice laced with cruel amusement. "Maybe. But you know as well as I do, death doesn't mean silence." Tenko's mind raced, fragments of the past days swirling chaotically. The scars. The hunger. "What are you doing here?"

"Here?" she gestured lazily. "Oh, Tenko, this isn't about me being here. This is about you. I'm a part of you now, darling. Didn't the nightmares tell you that already?" He shook his head violently, his fists clenching. "No… no. You're in my head. That's all this is." She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Oh, denial is so precious. But you'll come around."

"Get out of my head," he growled, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury. "Whatever this is, I don't want any part of it." The Brimstone Witch laughed, the sound a distorted echo that sent chills down his spine. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she locked eyes with him. Her flickering form grew sharper, more vivid, as if feeding on his denial. "Oh, Tenko," she purred, her voice now a dark whisper that seemed to wrap around his mind. "You don't have a choice." Before Tenko could respond, her form flickered, and suddenly she was behind him. He felt a cold, phantom-like sensation against his shoulders as she leaned in, her arms draping lightly over him as if to embrace him. Her presence was both suffocating and intangible, an invasive weight he couldn't shake.

"You feel it, don't you?" she whispered into his ear, her breath icy despite its ghostly nature. "That spark inside you. That hunger you can't ignore. It's me, Tenko. I'm the thread tying you to something far greater than yourself." Tenko froze, his body trembling under the phantom hold. He wanted to scream, to shove her away, but his limbs felt rooted in place. "Get away from me," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice shaking. She chuckled softly, the sound dripping with condescension. "Away? Oh, sweet boy, I can't go anywhere. I'm not out there." Her fingers trailed the air near his chest, though her touch felt like a creeping chill deep beneath his skin. "I'm in here." Tenko's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at her finger resting over the scar, the icy sensation burning deeper than any physical pain. "What did you do to me?" he whispered, his voice trembling with anger and fear.

The Witch's smile twisted cruelly, her form flickering with a sinister energy. "You're asking the wrong question, Tenko," she said softly. "It's not about what I did. It's about what you are now." His stomach turned at her words, bile rising in his throat. "No... you're in my head," he muttered, shaking his head violently. "You're not real. You're just… a memory. A nightmare." Her laugh rang hollow, sharp and echoing, as she leaned closer, her presence pressing heavier against him. "A nightmare? Perhaps. But tell me, Tenko… do nightmares make you stronger? Do they give you power you've never known before?" Her finger tapped lightly against his chest. "Face it, sweet boy. You're not the same anymore."

Tenko's fists clenched involuntarily, and a faint glow began to flicker around his hand, unbidden. The Witch's smile widened as her gaze flicked to the light. "Ah, there it is," she purred, her tone both triumphant and mocking. "You don't even realize you're doing it, do you?" The glow intensified, and a small lick of brimstone sparked to life, hovering just above Tenko's trembling palm. His breath hitched as he stared at it, the realization crashing over him. He wasn't consciously summoning it, but the flame responded to the surge of emotion coursing through him. "Get out!" he bellowed, the flame flaring brighter for an instant as he swung his hand toward her in a reflexive act of defiance. The Witch merely laughed, her form flickering and dissipating as the flame passed harmlessly through her. "Oh, Tenko," her voice echoed, seeming to come from all around him now. "You think you can burn away something that lives inside you? How deliciously naive."

The flames extinguished, leaving Tenko standing there, his chest heaving as the room returned to silence. He stared at his hand, his mind spinning. The phantom sensation of her presence lingered, and the scar on his chest throbbed faintly as if in agreement with her words. A sharp knock at the door jolted him out of his daze. "Tenko? Open up!" D.W.'s voice called, muffled but urgent. The pounding grew louder, accompanied by her frantic voice. "I heard yelling! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, his voice hoarse. "Really. Just…" He struggled to find the words, but her expression said she wasn't buying it. "Fine?" she repeated, her sharp eyes narrowing. She pushed the door open further, forcing her way in. "What the hell is going on in here?" Tenko stumbled back, his hands instinctively going to his sides as if to shield himself from her scrutiny. "Nothing," he muttered, avoiding her piercing gaze. D.W. froze in the doorway, her eyes narrowing on the corner of the room. A scorch mark. "Tenko…" she said slowly, her voice tight, measured. "What. Happened. Here?" Tenko didn't respond. He couldn't. His hand instinctively drifted to his chest, his fingers clutching at the scar beneath his shirt. She stepped further into the room, her boots echoing against the floor. "That's a burn," she said quietly, pointing at the smoldering mark. "Someone used Aether in here."

Her gaze snapped to Tenko, suspicion darkening her features. "But you can't use Aether. You don't have Aether." Tenko swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his ears. "It's not what you think," he said, his voice hoarse. "Then explain it to me!" she snapped, her voice sharper now. "Because the only way that happens is if someone fired a spell. And I know it wasn't me." She advanced toward him, her eyes darting from the scorch mark back to him, piecing things together. "Is someone after you? Did someone come here?" He shook his head violently. "No, D.W., it's—"

"Then what the hell is this, Tenko?" she interrupted, her voice trembling. "You're Aetherless. You can't do this." Tenko didn't answer. He couldn't tell her. Not yet. The phantom burn on his chest flared again, as if mocking him, and the Witch's voice echoed faintly in his mind: "She'll figure it out soon enough." D.W. stared at him for a long moment, her confusion twisting into something sharper. "First the Zamboni ignores you—you, Tenko, the guy they always scan because you're Aetherless. Then there's the food." Her voice dipped, softer but no less insistent. "You're eating like you haven't eaten in weeks. And now…" She gestured at the scorch mark on the floor, her hand trembling slightly. "Now you're avoiding me, lying to me… about whatever this is. You're not telling me something, and it's stressing me out. What's going on, Tenko?"

Tenko opened his mouth to answer but couldn't form the words. His chest felt tight, the phantom heat from the scar flaring up as if in protest. He looked away, his gaze dropping to the scorch mark. The room smelled faintly of smoke and something sulfuric—a scent he swore he hadn't noticed until now. The memory clawed at the edges of his mind. The Zamboni.

The mechanical hum had filled the restaurant as the Zamboni entered, its sensors panning over every patron, a routine that happened so often Tenko had grown numb to it. He'd expected the scan to lock onto him—like it always did. But this time, it hadn't. The machine's gaze glided over their table without pause, its lenses flicking green for an instant before it moved on. Tenko had felt D.W.'s hand tighten under the table, her nails digging slightly into his wrist. "That's weird," she'd murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. Her casual expression barely masked her unease. "It didn't scan you." Tenko had shrugged, brushing it off even as something cold slithered down his spine. It's a glitch, he told himself. But the machine had never glitched before. Not with him. Tenko blinked back to the present, his chest tightening as he realized D.W. was still waiting for an answer.

D.W.'s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her presence both grounding and unbearable. "Is this about the surgery? Did something happen they didn't tell us? I knew something was off when you woke up, but you wouldn't let me in." Her voice wavered on the last words, her frustration edged with hurt. "D.W., it's…" Tenko started, but his voice faltered. How could he explain something he didn't understand himself? That he felt something inside him, clawing at the edges of his mind, whispering in a voice that wasn't his own? That his body no longer felt like his?

Her hands clenched into fists. "Dammit, Tenko!" she snapped. "Talk to me. Please. You're scaring me." Tenko flinched. That hit harder than he expected. He'd seen her fight tooth and nail against anything the world threw at her, but he'd never seen her like this—afraid. Not for herself, but for him. The scar throbbed beneath his hand, the burn rising like a pulse. He glanced toward the scorched corner again, guilt curling in his stomach. 

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his breathing unsteady. "It's nothing," he muttered, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. His fingers drifted to his chest again, clutching at the scar through his shirt. The burn beneath it seemed to pulse faintly, as if in response to his denial.

D.W. didn't miss the motion. Her gaze sharpened, flicking to where his hand rested. "That's where…" She paused, her face paling as realization dawned. "Tenko, are you hiding something about the surgery? Did they do something to you?"

The words hit like a gut punch. Tenko's jaw tightened, his mind racing. He wanted to tell her—he needed to tell her—but how could he explain what he didn't understand? That he'd seen the Witch, felt her presence in the room. That he could still hear her voice.

You're mine now, Tenko.

His chest tightened. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the words back, but the heat spread through him again, faint and relentless.

"Tenko," D.W. pressed, her voice quieter now. "If something happened… if they did something, we have to figure it out. Because whatever this is…" She gestured again to the scorch mark. "It's not normal. And it's not you."

He exhaled shakily, forcing himself to meet her gaze. For a moment, the words were on the tip of his tongue.

I think she's still here.

But instead, he shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered. "I… I don't know what's happening."

D.W. watched him, her expression caught between anger and fear. Finally, she let out a slow breath, the tension in her shoulders softening slightly. "Fine," she said quietly, though her tone carried no sense of resolution. "If you won't tell me now, I'll figure it out myself. But you're not fooling me, Tenko. Something's wrong. And you know it." Her fists unclenched slowly, her shoulders sagging as the frustration gave way to something else. "Tenko… you're all I've got," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you're in trouble, I need to know. I can't lose you, too." The words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Tenko turned away, unable to meet her gaze. He didn't deserve that kind of loyalty—not when he couldn't even tell her the truth.

She turned to leave, her footsteps slow and deliberate, but paused at the door. Without looking back, she added, "I'm coming back tomorrow. Don't think you can shut me out." The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Tenko alone with the fading scent of smoke. The room fell still again, but the silence was alive—crawling, watching. Tenko sank onto the couch, his breaths shallow and uneven. The scar beneath his shirt flared hotter than before, spreading tendrils of heat through his chest like smoldering embers.

"You're lying to her."

The Witch's voice came softly, like a whisper carried on smoke. Tenko's hands shot to his temples, gripping his head as if he could squeeze her out. "Shut up," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

"She'll figure it out eventually, you know. You can't hide me forever."

Tenko's breathing hitched as the phantom heat spread to his fingertips. A faint flicker of brimstone danced across his palm, unbidden, uncontrolled. His eyes widened as he stared at it. With a sharp cry, Tenko clenched his fist, snuffing the flames out before they could grow. He staggered to his feet, his chest heaving, his scar throbbing in rhythm with his racing heart. He glanced at the scorched corner of the room, the faint mark a quiet reminder of what had happened. Of what she had done. 

Or really what he had done. The room smelled of smoke and sulfur, the scorch mark in the corner a silent accusation. He stumbled back, pressing himself against the wall as if he could escape the space that had suddenly grown too small.

He was alone again. Alone, except for her.

And for the first time, he wasn't sure where he ended and she began.