Yes, turn it on, please.

Translator engaged. Be advised that a small period of calibration time is needed. Allow the program to record as much of the foreign language as possible. Specific translative actions are not required.

I stayed silent for the moment, shrugging helplessly. Speaking a language that would debilitate them would probably be seen as an attack.

"Gre-shjel maj fallajebry! Zuri gers Heijra su delm!" The leader shouted at me, roughly motioning with his spear in my direction.

I didn't exactly understand what he wanted, but I got on my knees based on a guess. Apparently, that was sufficient. He scooted closer, apparently searching for something on my face, and used the blunt end to turn my head left and right.

Apparently satisfied, he waved backwards, shouted "Selm", and the tension bled out of everyone. What 'Selm' meant I couldn't tell you. Maybe 'Safe'? Or 'Clear'?

The leader thrust his spear into the ground and begin dispersing the small crowd that had gathered, and one of the contingent helped me to my feet, looking much more relaxed than before as he (or she) clapped me on the back and walked off.

***

I was surprised to be given free reign, not even a bodyguard or watcher, and decided to help with the cleanup. The village wasn't built from anything more sturdy than wood, and so had felt the full extent of the inferno that was unleashed upon it. There wasn't a house left untouched by the flames, which only burned higher with every passing hour, their tenacity very unnatural.

At first, I found myself using my medical knowledge where i could, creating and applying bandages, as well as turning anything straight and unsharpened into a splint. The more serious cases were often carried straight to one of the larger tents, which I was gently nudged away from as I tried to enter. Understandable, really.

Once all the more minor wounds were treated, I joined one of the small groups that kept going into the destroyed town and bringing back wounded people. The town itself almost looked like it had been shelled, were it not for the roaring flames instead of quiet death and smoke. There were craters in the street, large, smoking gouges in the dirt and rock, all of which contained a single, tiny shard of obsidian. I spotted one of the team using a tiny sling on a very long stick to fish them from their hole and put them into a bucket of water, which sizzled mightily every time one of the shards splashed into it. Whenever one of the shards was neutralized this way, the surrounding flames lost a lot of vigor, and stopped repelling and instantly evaporating water.

The blaze seemed to almost be alive, sustained by the small gems embedded in the ground, and once those were removed, it was loathe to spread where we had done so. And despite its tenacity and heat, it did not consume its fuel very fast, as though rationing what was available.

And so we worked to clear paths through the inferno, relying on soaked bandages and sheets to protect from the heat, and occasionally finding someone alive, but trapped under debris. I doubted anyone could have survived the streets without our path.

All throughout this, my neural translator picked up the language, fed it through some very esoteric algorithms and slowly but surely interpreted a completely alien language. As its certainty and accuracy grew, it began interposing them into what I was hearing, which resulted in the occasional foreign word being replaced with an english one. Or maybe an MBasic one, I couldn't tell the difference, really, without the word being spoken.

I did pick up a few common phrases, such as "over there" and "come quickly", and it seemed my comprehension of the language seemed to grow leaps and bounds. I'd initially assumed the translator would be completely separate, as that was what it seemed to have been implying, but apparently it also aided learning. Or did I just learn faster overall? I had picked up the basics of Magic curiously fast, but still.

Occasionally, there were screams of still trapped people audible through the flames, some of which slowly transformed into shrieks of pain and were eventually silenced. We also managed to find and rescue several of those, but every time one stopped shouting was another life lost.

Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. The heat was too much, and although they burned purer than ordinary fire, these flames still produced some smoke. We arrived in a small square, the fire all around, and saved a small family that had jumped into the central well. I felt an irrational anger overcome me, and I threw a spike of magic at the fire still licking at the well's side, as if trying to climb in.

It almost seemed to seek out the small shower of green sparks resulting from my frustrated action, flickering into its path and consuming it, before growing just a little bit higher. It reminded me of the experiments I'd done while travelling. In my experiments with the spark, as well as the tiny flame and the campfire, I'd managed to bolster the fire by feeding it magic. Conversely, I discovered that after bolstering the flame for a while, withdrawing all my efforts instantly would actually cause the campfire to weaken, the small flame to smother and the spark to implode with a tiny blast of cold air. My hypothesis, therefore, was that the act of infusing magic into fire made it "addicted" to said magic, for lack of a better word, and essentially "starve" when the energy was withdrawn. Perhaps it was because magic burned purer, or more easily.

Suddenly, shouts of alarm tore me from my musings, and I looked around, shocked at what I saw. The passage we'd created was gone, the flames licking higher into the air all around, creeping through the grass.

A trap?

The water from the well did nothing, and wherever those gems were that were sustaining this part of the inferno, they were not inside of the little square. We huddled together by the well, smothering any nearby sparks with sand and dirt, but it was of no use. I looked outward into the inferno, which almost seemed to be made up of laughing, cruel faces that jeered at the thought of burning us alive.

It made me angry. Angry at whoever could have created such a... thing, such a vile abomination. By now, I was sure it was alive in some way. True, all fire is to some extent, but this fire was different than the matchstick, or even the campfire. Those had been wild, almost alive in how they moved and felt to my inner sense, but this veritable inferno was actively malicious. My inner sense for magic, which had been steadily developing the longer I trained in the arts, sensed whispers of darkness and destruction all around. Tendrils of evil almost emanating from the flames' magical presence, like heat did from its physical one.

And in my anger, I did something monumentally stupid. Like with the matchstick, I began feeding a tiny trickle into a nearby flame that had just crept along a dry branch. It easily accepted the tiny bit of energy, greedily devouring it and burning hotter underneath my hand. However, in accepting my magic, it had made a fatal mistake. For you see, that was mine. And it still was, even when part of the flame. Or perhaps it would be more accurate while being the flame, a manifestation of thermal energy.

I steadily increased the flow of magic, and the small ember's progress halted completely, quickly followed by more and more blazing flames beyond, all of which had the maliciousness necessary for murder, but no mind to speak of. As I brought more and more fire under my control, it began to cascade, feeding off the greater and greater amounts of magic I was releasing.

More and more was mine to control, its instinctual 'mind' evil, and quickly growing more willfull. Where the fire burned hotter, it gained a sort of willpower, a stubbornness that resisted my efforts to quell it. Eventually, when these areas were surrounded by weaker ones, I could crush these hotspots of malicious willpower and bring them, too, under my control.

And on it went. I began withdrawing sections of the flames from the little square, causing the fire to recede away from us, while I worked feverishly against the growing weariness settling deep in my bones. This wasn't flashy, explosive magic, and didn't actually require breaking the third or second barriers, and as such, I could use it much more efficiently. Still, it was some of the most intensive magic I had ever used, and I was beginning to have trouble controlling areas of the inferno as they regained scraps of their own malicious will.

Yet, I persevered. I did not give in to the drowsiness coating my mind, and systematically destroyed what new sources of independence I could find in the blaze. Slowly but surely, the flames fell under my control, withdrawing from where I could sense life through it, freezing in its tracks and receding away from anything that would further its growth.

When the last ember of flame accepted my authority, I felt more powerful than I ever had. I was the flame, and the flame was me. There was little separation between me and it, the blaze almost a part of myself, and I understood. Suddenly, unbidden, I understood why the fire was as it was. What I had interpreted as maliciousness, as a hatred for all life, It was the fire's only purpose in existence. Killing and consuming fuel was as natural as breathing or walking to it, its primitive mind guided by instincts to alien for me to parse.

How could I allow it to smother? I'd planned to bring it under my control, and then hold it, away from all fuel, until it died of starvation. But this... It was like an animal. So when I felt a hand on my shoulder, attempting to shake me loose from where I was standing, hand outstretched, dominion clear, I roared in protest. I made myself burn higher, burn hotter, crush these upstarts that would dare touch me, a flame that would extinguish their petty life only for the carbon they contained. I wanted to burn burn burn-

You weren't always like this. A tiny part of myself said, and the flames flickered in the sky.

What are you? Another part questioned, and they danced in the air.

Do you remember yourself? The first said again, and they swirled.

I am the flame! I laughed at them, willing them to understand. That was all that needed to be said.

You aren't. Said the first, and the heat bit my flesh.

You are human. Said the second, and it caressed my face.

NO! I am the blaze, the inferno! I will burn this world! And all beyond until there is nothing left but ash and dust! I raged back, my embers glowing hotter at the thought of it.

Remember your past. The first insisted, and I smelled burning hair.

Remember who you are, Amelia. The second reasoned, and I tasted ash in the wind.

I... I want to... It shouted back, confused and angry, flickering high into the sky. The sky, which contained such endless freedom...

"I am human." I whispered out loud, and ripped my Magic back, tore it away from the flames and back towards my body. It felt like I was killing a part of myself, a part that did not understand, that I would never understand. The blinding inferno roared back, attempting to attach itself to more wood, to grow larger and consume more, but it wasn't strong enough.

A mighty wind picked up, blowing embers and ashes inward, toward me. It swirled around my form, my outstretched hand its nexus as it began siphoning the flames away from the world. It thrashed and raged, roared and burned, but it wasn't enough. The flame was I, but I was also the flame.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

The ashen tornado grew until it held the entire square in its midst, its swirling winds tearing apart fire and flames alike, all of them streaming through the narrow funnel back into my hand, dragged along by the magic they contained.

And then, it was done.

The tornado dispersed with the sudden severing of its ties, allowing the ash to settle over the square. Cradled against my chest, I held a shining star, blazing with light and heat so intense I couldn't look directly at it. It hurt. My body felt like it was burning up, the magic dragging the fire along it even as it was absorbed back into my body, scorching at it from the inside as liquid fire burned through my veins, towards my heart, flowing through flesh and steel alike, making my metal appendage groan and spark. But even that did not prepare me for what was to come once it reached.

Like two wires connecting, the magic sensed a passage, and tore through my body, flowing into my heart and settling there like a glowing ember. The pain was immeasurable, but only for a moment. It quickly dulled into a deep ache, not gone, but not blinding. I stumbled back, cursing loudly, shaking my smoking and sparking arm, respectively.

After stumbling over to the well and jumping in, I beheld the town, which had just so shortly before stood in a sea of unending fire.

It was coated in a thin layer of ice.

***

We got most of the people out of there. Some were dead from the fires, and we left their bodies be - according to the local funeral rites, only the equivalent of an anointed priest was allowed to touch them, even tangentially, or it would disturb their passage into the afterlife. It was fine with me, honestly.

When we came back out of the town, the unnatural ice had begun to thaw, creating a slick mud as the ash and dust was swept up in it. And as I carried my side of the makeshift stretcher towards the medical tent, I noticed people giving me scared looks, and adults herding children away from my path.

Understandable, really. I had just tamed a blazing inferno, only to absorb it into myself. Speaking of that, it still hurt. Imagine the worst form of heartburn (ironic), shift it up and to the left a little and then intensify it twice. That's how I felt.

And yet, I didn't feel tired or injured. The weariness that had appeared as I was dominating the flames was only an echo of its former self, and I felt more jittery than lethargic.

When I looked around in the medical tent, it was not as I'd expected. Yes, there were cots set up, and they even had curtains around them, but those made up the edges of the room. There were four entrances, one of which I'd just come in through, and the center of the room was a small platform with a single bed of leaves, around which four people stood, their hair noticeably grayer than the rest. They worked efficiently, though with tools I didn't recognize, but it was still very primitive compared to what I was used to. At least they seemed to know about hygiene, as evidenced by the small cauldron of boiling water from which they occasionally drew one of their tools - and placed them back into after being wiped clean.

All in all, it was a very strange example of surgery, and as I put down the stretcher with a severely burned patient on it, I found my next question answered as well. Surgery on Earth had, for the longest time, be an extremely painful affair. Even if a human survived the procedure despite the abhorrent hygiene, they still felt every cut, every poke.

After seeing that sterilized tools were a thing here, I'd expected perhaps some herbal concoction to numb pain, but was pleasantly surprised to see nothing of the sort. Rather, these people had developed a curious sort of blood-based magic.

From what I could glean as one of the doctors fussed over the burned man I'd brought in, it involved the transference of pain from the injured person, to an animal. I initially moved to stop the man when he'd brought a small rodent in a cage, but sat back when I saw that the procedure did not involve letting it loose on the patient. No, with practiced fingers, the doctor drew one of his claws along the animal's back, opening a shallow cut. It seemed to be extremely drugged out, as it didn't react in any way.

Then, he brought his finger to the man's forehead, and drew a single glyph, then surrounded it in a small circle while whispering to himself. When it was done. he breathed on the rune, and the animal twitched in its cage, but did not do anything more. However, the true miracle was before me - where the man on the stretcher had been moaning with pain, I immediately saw all tension leave him, and he slumped down on his mat, falling asleep almost instantly.

Seeing my interested look, the slightly hunched-over doctor motioned me over, dipping the bloody finger in a small vial of clear fluid, which instantly turned a light pink, leaving his finger as clean as before.

"Sel(seek/interest/knowledge)-medician, are gel'ja(you/person/is)?" He said to me, speaking slowly as though to a child. I didn't feel offended, given that I couldn't understand the language before. However, the Translator was still doing its work, slowly but surely mapping out the entire language. Genius piece of technology, really. I even found that I could somewhat speak it now, having subconsciously picked up the language as it was being translated. I'd even found a little setting that would show the program's three best guesses as to the meaning of a particular word, so I wasn't flying totally blind.

"Yes, I am. I was one back home, in fact." I responded, taking care to actually speak their language instead of MBasic. Back in the inferno it went unheard, but this place was much quieter. My vocabulary was woefully limited, but I still managed to convey my meaning.

"Oho! It is selja(time/always/eternal) Je(Blessing/advantage/tiding) to meet another medician. Are you heljama(attention/interest/seek) in Kjala-men(?)?" Sometimes, a word did not have a true equivalent. Based on the context, it could be a word for the specific spell he had cast, or perhaps the entire field.

"That is what you just did?"

"Yes. Kjala-men(?), the Su(rune/spell/glyph) of Xa(pain/anguish/torture). It is a helkaj(tradition/method/technique) of healing known to all mediciners. It is part of our basic training. I would be glad to estrika(teach/confer/confess) it to you in thanks for all you have done."

"Yes, please. I'd like that."

"Very well. The first zula(use/cast/impact) must always be done to oneself. Are you hurt?"

Still feeling the ache in my chest, I only nodded.

"Then please, sit. I will fetch the hala(material/usage/matter)."

And he walked off, presumably to retrieve another small cage from wherever they were stored.

I, meanwhile, sagged into one of the chairs. It was a little on the large side, but very comfortable. Whatever sort of fibre they used to make these was more elastic than rubber, and so I sunk into the chair, finally breathing out some of the tension I had built.

Meanwhile, I watched the central surgery people finishing up. Their patient was wrapped in bandages, yes, but from their expressions I could tell they managed to save him. Two of them came over, sparing a single approving glance in my direction, and took with them the burned man I'd brought in. Once he was on the central slab, they began cleaning out his wounds and cutting away charred flesh. He would likely have scars for life, but at least he would live.

When they finished up and began applying a thick green paste to the burns, the old doctor returned, this time with another rodent in a cage. He bade me to stay in place, and took a seat opposite me, a small table between us.

"I have never met a krella(stranger/foe/friend) the Glyph of Pain has not worked on. If we are sejfa(luck/chance/gamble), you will not be the first."

I nodded, interested in what he meant. Perhaps his people weren't the only sapient race in this world? It would certainly explain the lack of stares when I'd arrived, obviously not part of their species.

"To prevent unneeded pain, the heljak(being/foe/beast) is numbed before the helkaj(procedure/process/spell). This is done through a panj(potion/mixture/anesthetic), like so." He explained, before holding open the small rodent's mouth and placing a few drops from a vial in its mouth. It took a few seconds to take effect, but the animal almost immediately lay down and was completely unconscious. It made sense, honestly. It may have needed another life, but at least that life did not need to actually feel the transferred pain.

"First, you must terela(taint/corrupt/anoint) your claw with the hejak(animal/beast/life) selka(life/lifeblood/thread). As you do not have any claws, this one will be good." He handed me a small silvery knife, and I hesitated only for a moment before making a very shallow cut along the unconscious animal's flank, allowing a few drops of blood to fall on my fingertip.

"Next, you must take the selka(blood/life/thread) and draw this glyph upon your brow." He fished a small sheet of paper, or perhaps papyrus, from one of his pockets, and slid it over. On it was the same glyph I'd seen him use before, only a bit larger and with small pieces of text accompanying most of the constituent symbols.

For my part, I drew my mirror shard, wincing when I saw Ref's face. Being a reflection of my body, she looked to be in a very sorry state. I gave her a pleading look, and she huffed before coming closer to the mirror's surface. We couldn't really speak in front of these people, and had agreed not to draw undue attention to the fact that she wasn't a normal reflection at all.

Referencing the sheet, I slowly but surely drew the glyph on my forehead, directly between my eyebrows. Eventually, it was as good as I could get it, and looked up from the mirror, only to see the old doctor looking at me amusedly.

"Apologies. You reminded me of one of my drelka(child/progeny/daughter). She always used to get lost in her own su-errel(image/reflection/confidence). No matter. The final step is to give the cerrij(bond/connection/chain) life. You must breathe on it, like the gods breathed life into the world."

"How will I do that? I cannot reach my own forehead."

"Did not Harik(?, possibly a name) cup his hands to bring his trapped animc-ja(companion/lover/friend) breath? Simply do the same."

Unsure of what to do, I cupped both hands, concentrated my magic, and lightly breathed into them.

Curiously, I felt the tiniest speck of magic leave with my exhale, and felt it remain between my hands. Slowly bringing it up to the rune, I opened my hands, and it was immediately drawn back toward me.

Immediately, I felt like an electric jolt had just travelled through me, taking away all the little aches, the soreness in my legs, the burning in my chest. It also sapped away the slight jitteriness, leaving me more tired than before.

"Congratulations, fellow mediciner. You have successfully cast a Kjala-men(?)." I heard the doctor chuckle as he walked away, but felt in no mood to stand up. The chair was too comfortable...

I quickly fell asleep, dreaming of an endless flame, burning from horizon to horizon.