I ran through the streets with little regard for anyone who saw me, clearly a mistake on my part, but I wanted to put distance between me and those who cared for me, for their safety. I ran on, now feeling the chill of night. I would make for the gates and gain the attention of the guards. No sane person would come for me then, and I could figure out my next steps.

Unfortunately, my lack of discrimination against others roaming the streets dictated my next steps, namely, them stopping. I was grabbed from behind and lifted up, my feet no longer finding purchase on the ground. I stifled a scream and kicked. I kicked backward, upward, and as hard as I could. The grip on me loosened along with a stupefied sound. Sadly, it was not before he shouted, "Got someone!"

He'd let go of me but still managed to grab my cloak. I twisted off my rucksack and shook myself free of the cloak. I took my bag and ran on. There were three more in pursuit now, and gaining quickly. My life as a shut-in did me no favors, and fatigue quickly caught up to me, just as quickly as the men chasing me were.

I wouldn't be able to outrun them, and fighting them off would be a miracle, but I had to try. I came to a stop just before they surrounded me, and pulled the knife out of my bag. I took the stance my father taught me, and leveled by blade against one of them. 

He sneered, "Oh, looks like the lass has a bit of trainin'. Too bad it ain't gonna matter."

I trembled but held my ground. I noticed much too late that someone was approaching and had been grabbed from the side before I could react. Disarming me seemed to come easily to the brute as he squeezed my wrist hard enough to elicit a shout as my weapon dropped to the ground.

They gazed at me as a dog would a piece of meat, licking their lips carnivorously as they muttered 'fun' and 'pay day' amongst themselves. I wanted to fight back. I'd been taught magic and defense, and it was for nothing in the face of numbers and strength that so completely overwhelmed me.

I was held in the air by my wrists and tears started falling again. The one holding me whispered, "Don't worry, we'll show you a good time before we finish the job." My stomach churned, I retched, I sobbed, I wished someone would help me. I envisioned fire forming on my hands, in the same manner my father did. I willed myself to speak, willed myself to cast something, anything, no matter how fruitless in might be.

"Aww, she's trying to use magic? She doesn't even have a catalyst. Shut her up just in case."

Something was stuffed into my mouth, an unpleasant-smelling cloth. My last hope had been sealed. I could no longer speak to cast a spell and did not have a catalyst.

I prayed, to no god in particular, to any who would listen. I beseeched every name of every single deity I knew of in my mind, even the ones that were thought to be missing. I prayed for their intervention, my deliverance, for power. I pictured fire on my hands, searing hot enough to make the man drop me. I pictured my freedom.

My hands felt warm against the night chill, so much so that I noticed, even given the situation. Immediately after I took notice, I heard a searing sound, as if meat was thrown on a hot pan. Agonized screams assailed my ears, and I was dropped to the ground.

I fell and crumpled, not expecting any of whatever was happening. I felt the familiar flow of magic running through me, its warmth shielding me from the bite of the night wind. I saw flames surging over my hands as if I'd reached into a fire and pulled the flames out myself.

The man who had grabbed me first staggered up behind, standing some distance away while the brute next to me whinced and glared at me before his gaze showed sheer terror. He gruffly commanded, "Weapons!"

I was a lone girl, scarcely of age at 14 summers, surrounded and outnumbered by four fully grown men, and yet I heard each and every one of them draw blades from their scabbards. 

They encircled me as I picked myself up. The magic continued to surge across my hands, continued to burn the air around them, and did me no harm. My earlier fatigue too, was gone as if it were naught but an illusion. Their carnivorous gazes had become something else entirely. I could see them all fearful, calculating, with gold and flames reflected in their eyes.

I glanced at my hand, imagining a sphere of flame the size of one of the men's heads. The flame adjusted accordingly, becoming a melon-sized thing. I raised an inquisitive eyebrow and raised my hand towards that same man. I imagined the ball launching forward, and it obeyed, making contact with the man's face before dispersing into nothingness. 

He screamed in agony as he held his face in his hands. I didn't wish to look at what I'd done to him, and as fate would have it, I wouldn't have to. I heard footsteps charging towards me from behind and I moved without thinking. I spun as the man lunged past me, and threw a straight punch to his exposed left flank. A girl's punch against a fully grown man shouldn't hurt, but I gave it my all, and the flames responded in kind.

A surging bolt of flame moved with my hand, tracing a path along with my fist, and connected squarely, before expanding and continuing. The sound of searing meat was heard once more as the man went flying away from me. He bounced and tumbled as he went down, finally stopping against a nearby house, groaning in pain.

I would've hoped to have not damaged the house, but I was so stupefied by the utter destructive force I'd just wielded that I could do naught but stand slack-jawed at the scene. The 3 remaining assailants, one of whom recently darkened considerably, seemed to have the same sentiment, based on their expressions.

My gaze turned to them, and theirs to each other, and then they came in unison. Whatever force allowed me to best the fully grown human slumped across the street would surely not be enough to survive this encounter, would it?

I did not have the luxury of caring for collateral damage, and no leeway regarding life and limb either. I pictured myself enveloped in flames, radiating light, heat, and anything to give them pause. It worked, as I felt the tinge of magic envelop me entirely. My entire being was covered in flames, standing like a bonfire in the night. 

The men looked utterly terrified, and I capitalized, mustering as threatening a voice as I could, "Are you sure... you want to keep going?"

It seemed my choice was a poor one as their expressions turned indignant. I could not say they had much pride, but whatever little they had, I'd surely dealt it a grave injury with my words. They raised their weapons and moved again.

If they were allowed to close the distance, it'd be the end of me. I decided to trust whatever power was flowing through me and let my imagination guide me as I traced a line through the air with my finger, willing the flames to follow. This was all the time I had to devise a plan, and mirroed the motion again, this time sharper, more forceful, as if throwing everything in the wake of my hand towards an approaching enemy. 

A wave of flame swept forth from the path my hand traveled, as if attempting to cleave the air itself. It connected with the man, squarely across his chest, and he reeled back. I repeated the action once more and the man fell backward, screaming in agony.

One of the two remaining attackers paused. It was the man who'd taken a fireball to the face some moments earlier. He simply... stopped and watched. I turned my attention to the last man, approaching from behind, no doubt still bitter about the damage I'd done to his nether region. I glared, and he froze under my gaze, his blade an arm's breadth from me. I kicked him, in the same place as before, but this time with a proper straight kick. My disdain for him was evident, and the fire moved with me, as if angry on my behalf. 

He doubled over in place for a moment as my foot connected. It was for the briefest of moments as if only to see his expression. Then the fire hit him, sending him away, propelled from his crotch into a nearby house. I'm fairly certain I heard a window shattering, but I could not be bothered with others now. I was already trying to leave for this very reason.

I turned back to the last man. I now understood that this hoodlum with his dagger was not a match for whatever I was at this moment, not at that distance at least. He knew it too, as the crotch of his pants began to darken, the smell of urine filling the air. I motioned with my hands to go away, shooing him off as my father did to me earlier that evening. He ran, leaving those I thought to be his allies behind.

I gazed upon my surroundings, alit by the glow of... myself. At the three men laying on the ground, unsure of if they were even alive. Each of them twitched, groaned, or made some motion to indicate their continued existence on this plane, and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

Then came the curious and frightened gazes from behind cracked doors, slightly ajar curtains, and from around corners. I wanted to hide, or at least to stop being a beacon in the night. The flames abated, and I swiftly gathered my belongings, as well as a couple of knives from the downed men. I took off once again into the darkness, faster than I'd ever gone before, faster than I knew I could ever go. I felt the ground give ever so slightly with each step, dust in my wake, embers as well.

Leaving the town was easy. Leaving the thoughts behind that would plague me for weeks to come was not.

That night was the last night alive for my father, the last I could spend with my mother, and my last blissful night. It was also the first night of the legend of "The Wake of Embers".