Chapter 16: The fox and the flame

Camela screamed. Flames danced around her like hungry wolves, circling, leaping, and biting at her dress, trapping her in a circle of heat.

Smoke clawed up her throat, stinging her eyes and burning her lungs. She stumbled backward, her heel catching on the cracked floor while she choked and gasped for air.

But in the fire—a shadow moved.

Not Vincent, not the guards, but someone else was watching—standing tall, still, and smiling.

Camela’s lips trembled. She wanted to speak, but her mouth was dry.

Then—

A shape stepped through the flames.

A woman.

Untouched by the fire.

Her hair was like burning silk, and her skin was pale, glowing like moonlight.

Her voice was low and familiar, and that smile…

A female voice “Daughter.”

Camela’s throat tightened. “Mother?”

The woman stopped just at the edge of the flame. Her voice was calm, almost soft. “You still know me.”

“No…You’re dead. You’re not…” Camela crawled backward, panic rising within her.

But the flames closed in again.

The woman tilted her head, and as she did, the smoke shifted. The face became clearer. It was her mother. But not the same. Her eyes were golden like Vincent’s, and her smile… wasn’t kind.

“Mama?” Camela took a shaky step forward.

“I’ve missed you,” the woman said, her voice warm but wrong, twisted like a lullaby played in reverse.

The woman tilted her head. “I lived. And then I burned. And then I became something else.”

Camela stared. “What are you?”

The woman smiled.

“The flame.”

Camela’s heart dropped. “No,” she whispered, coughing. “It’s not you. You’re dead…”

The shadow stepped closer. Through the smoke, the face became clearer. It was her mother. But not the same. Her eyes were gold like Vincent’s, and her smile… wasn’t kind.

“Mama?” Camela took a shaky step forward.

“I’ve missed you,” the woman said. Her voice was warm but wrong, twisted like a lullaby played in reverse.

“You’re not real,” Camela whispered.

Her mother laughed softly. “You always were the stubborn one.”

“You died. I buried you. I saw…”

“You saw what he showed you,” her mother replied, pointing toward the shadows behind the flames. “But death is not the end here.”

Camela’s knees weakened. “Why are you here?”

“I never left.”

Camela staggered to her feet. “You left me,” she hissed. “You died. You let him take me!”

Her mother stepped forward, the flames parting for her. “I died because I refused to kneel. Just like you.”

Tears stung Camela’s eyes. “Then why are you helping him?”

“I’m not helping him,” her mother said. “I’m watching you.”

“Watching me burn?”

“No,” she whispered. “Watching you choose.”

Camela shook her head. “There’s no choice. It’s either obey him or be destroyed.”

The fire surged.

Her mother raised her hand, and the flames stilled. “There is always a third path. But only the fox finds it.”

Camela blinked. “The fox?”

Her mother stepped closer. “Yes. He walks with flame, but does not burn.”

The flames around them calmed, curling like petals. Her mother stepped through them without harm, her dress untouched.

“You were born in fire, Camela. Like me. Like him.”

“Who?”Camela asked.

“Your father,” she said, “the real one.”

Camela shook her head violently. “My father is the mayor…”

“No,” her mother interrupted. “That coward only raised you. Your true father is the flame that binds this place.”

“Vincent?” Camela’s eyes widened. “Is he…?”

“No.” Her mother’s smile faded. “He is the Fox. The trickster. The thief.”

Camela swallowed hard. “Then who?”

The flames rose again, forming a shape—a figure of fire. A man’s face carved from ash and light, with horns growing from his skull.

“Camela,” her mother said, kneeling, “your real father is the King of Fire. The first to burn the veil between life and death.”

Camela stepped back. “I don’t believe you.”

“You will,” her mother said softly. “When you take your place beside him.”

Suddenly—

A second shadow moved in the smoke.

A voice—velvet, sharp, and low.

“Did someone call me?”

Vincent stepped through the smoke as if it were air, untouched by the flames. His eyes glittered, and his jacket was as black as ash.

Camela stepped back again. “You,” she whispered.

Her mother stood between them.

Vincent smirked. “Ah, the ghost returns.”

“I’m no ghost,” her mother said.

He smiled wider. “No. You're a flame now, aren’t you?”

Camela looked between them. “You knew?”

Vincent chuckled. “She was mine before she ran. Like mother, like daughter.”

Camela’s stomach turned.

Her mother’s voice darkened. “I was never yours.”

“And yet, here you are—still burning for me,” Vincent said.

The heat pressed in again.

Vincent circled Camela slowly. “Do you feel it now? The warmth? The truth?”

“Stop,” she said, backing away.

He stepped closer. “You’ve been marked, Camela. Touched. Branded. Do you still think you can run?”

“I’m not running,” she responded.

“Good,” he replied, “because I brought you here for the next part.”

“The next part of what?” she snapped.

“You're claiming.”

He reached out.

Her mother stepped in front.

Vincent paused. “Still guarding her?”

Her mother said nothing.

Vincent turned to Camela. “If you want to walk free, touch the flame and speak your choice.”

Camela’s voice cracked. “What choice?”

Vincent pointed to the fire. “Truth or loyalty.”

Camela turned to her mother. “What’s the difference?”

“Truth burns,” her mother replied. “Loyalty chains.”

The flames rose higher, turning wild. The circle shattered.

Camela fell back, coughing.

From the smoke, a beast stepped forward. Half-wolf, half-shadow, its eyes glowing gold and it growled low.

Vincent tensed. “You brought him?”

Her mother smiled faintly. “The fox always returns.”

The creature stood in front of Camela, growling at Vincent.

“Touch her now,” the flame-mother whispered. “And see what burns.”

Vincent stepped back.

Camela reached out and touched the creature.

Warm.

Alive.

It licked her hand. Tears fell from her cheeks.

Vincent laughed darkly. “So the flame chose her?”

Her mother shook her head. “No. She chose herself.”

The fire died instantly. Camela stood breathless next to the fox.

Vincent’s smile vanished.“You’ll regret that,” he said coldly.

“Maybe,” Camela whispered.

He walked into the smoke and vanished.

Camela turned to her mother. “Is it over?”

Her mother’s voice was faint. “No. It’s only begun.”

The fox beside Camela looked up then suddenly barked. From behind them, a door creaked open.

Dozens of red-masked figures stepped through, each one held a burning crown, and at their lead—Vincent

He was wearing a crown of thorns, eyes glowing, and a voice cold. “Now we see what burns deeper—flame or blood.”

The room changed. The chapel melted into smoke. Now, she stood in a vast, black cavern. Lava poured like rivers down twisted walls, and red stones floated in the air glowing like dying stars.

Her mother raised her hand. “If you wish to escape, you must pass the trial.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“No one ever does,” her mother said, her voice cold. “But you carry the flame now. You wear the ring.”

Camela looked at her hand. The black ring still burned her skin. “I won’t be like him.”

“Then survive him.”

From the shadows, another door opened. Vincent stood on the other side. He was barefoot, his shirt open, with eyes glowing. His expression was unreadable.

“I warned you,” he said, stepping into the firelit chamber.

Camela whispered. “What did you do to her?”

Vincent glanced at the woman beside her. “She’s not your mother anymore. She’s part of this place. Just like I am.”

Camela clenched her fists. “I want to leave.”

“Then burn for it,” Vincent said.

The ground beneath her feet trembled. Lava cracked the stones. Her mother faded, swallowed by smoke.

“You broke the rules,” Vincent said. “You refused the throne.”

“I said no,” Camela replied. “And I meant it.”

Vincent tilted his head. “Then let’s see how far you’ll crawl to survive.”

The ring on her finger glowed, and Camela’s breath caught in her throat. Vincent rushed toward her—too fast.

She dodged left, barely escaping his reach. Flames followed his fingertips.

“You lied to me!” she shouted, grabbing a piece of glowing rock.

“I promised you power,” Vincent said. “I never promised peace.”

Camela threw the rock. It struck his shoulder, causing him to stagger for just a moment.

She then ran through the cavern down into the tunnels of red stone. The heat was unbearable. The walls breathed fire.

Behind her, Vincent’s voice echoed. “Run, my bride. But the flame always follows.”

Camela stopped at the end of the path. There was a cage.

Inside was a girl. Her hair was like ash and her eyes like hers. She was chained to the wall, pale and weak.

The girl lifted her head. “Help me,” she whispered.

Camela stepped closer. “Who are you?”

The girl tried to speak—then screamed. Flames burst from the chains and behind them—Vincent appeared.

“She is your mirror,” he said. “The part of you you locked away.”

“I don’t understand,” Camela said backing up.

“You will,” he whispered, “once you wear her chains.”

Then—

The cage door opened by itself, and the chains flew out and grabbed Camela, clasping her wrists and neck locked tight.

Camela struggled to break free. The heat licked at her skin. The ring on her finger pulsed again, hotter this time. She blinked and the girl inside had vanished. The cage door slammed shut.

Vincent watched. “Become her,” he said. “Or burn.”

Camela screamed, shaking her head violently. “No”

Her wrists burned from the chains biting into her skin. The ring pulsed, worsening the pain. Vincent stood across the cage, his face calm yet cruel.

“Become her,” he repeated. “Or burn.”

The flames died down and in the silence—

Camela gasped for breath.

She opened her mouth to speak but her voice was no longer hers; it echoed in someone else’s voice.