Books In Fire Novels & Stories

“A highly flammable oil was used in one of the stores in the market,” The firefighter revealed, holding up the charred remains of a burnt can of oil for Beta Richard to examine. “That was what set the place on fire and the fire quickly spread to other places because there were fabrics, books in the library, planks and other materials which aided its quick spread.” He continued, explaining carefully to Beta Richard and the others. “Hmmmmm!” Beta Richard sighed, “But how are you sure that it was a deliberate act?” Beta Richard asked him, his brow furrowing in concern as he scrutinized the can of flammable oil in the firefighter's hand.

The Archive of Fire was complicated. But it was alive. And it was just beginning.

I should have known better than to go out day drinking with my friends. But here I am, walking the streets with a group of four giggling girls, hopping from one bar to another, a slight buzz already clouding my judgment. It’s a typical girls’ time out, and we’re having a blast. As we stumble along, laughing and chatting, we pass the local fire station. My heart skips a beat when I spot a group of firefighters gathered outside, not lounging or working out, but having a casual barbecue.

My instincts screamed at me to turn back, but I ignored them. I reached out. The second my fingers brushed the book’s surface, a violent shudder tore through me. The world around me vanished. Fire. The vision struck hard and fast, like a blade to my mind. I saw flames swallowing the land, smoke choking the sky, the ground trembling beneath the weight of something monstrous. Shadows moved through the fire, writhing, shifting, forming grotesque shapes—creatures unlike anything I had ever seen. Wolves fought against them, their howls lost in the chaos. A battlefield soaked in blood.

--- Chapter 19: The Memory of Fire The fire began with a whisper. A single spark in the server room—silent, almost reverent—before the flames unfurled across steel and glass, licking their way through the laboratory like a reckoning. The chemicals hissed as they caught, feeding the blaze with everything that had been hidden. Smoke rose in slow spirals, curling through the air like it had come to collect what the past was too cowardly to keep. Isla didn’t move.

A fire is crackling there, fighting the damp chill of the sea air. I throw the box in. It lands on the logs. The white cardboard begins to brown. The tissue paper curls. Then the lace catches. It doesn't burn like normal fabric. It flares. Green and blue flames lick up the chimney. The smell of burning chemicals fills the room, sharp and acrid, choking out the smell of old books. Ciro coughs, covering his mouth with his arm. I don't move. I watch it burn. I watch the white turn to black ash.

Shadows flicker red beneath my door now, dancing like cruel spirits. “Run!” The word echoes in my skull. The door bursts inward in a spray of sparks and splintered wood. Flames roar behind a towering silhouette. A man steps through the fire. I cannot see his face — only the outline of him carved in burning light. And his eyes. They glow. Not with reflection. With power. The world fractures into red and gold. Heat devours everything. The scream tears from my throat— I wake choking on smoke that isn’t there. My room is dark. Quiet. Whole.

My chest tightened. “What?” He hesitated. Then shook his head. “No… maybe not.” “Why?” He looked toward the hallway. “The room.” My heart jumped. “No,” I said quickly. “I already—” I stopped myself. His eyes lit up slightly. “You went in?” “I just looked,” I said quickly. He didn’t get angry. He just leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t go there again.” “Why does everyone keep saying that?” I asked. “Because…” He paused. “Some things don’t stay just books.”

Gold would do to this, Gold wouldn't do that, Gold doesn't like this, Gold likes that. They kill a part of him even before he has the chance to try it. "But just like a phoenix, I am reborn again..." He rises from the ashes. The exact same thing people burn is where he'll come back. This time, stronger and better. This time, he rejects to care about what they think will suit him. This is his life. Another symbolism of fire is judgment. "I love my fans, I really do." He didn't prepare a speech. He's just speaking things that enter his mind. It doesn't have an order.

A surge goes through my body and I throw myself before the fire place, "Darius, no! wh-why, why did you throw the book into the fire!?" I watch helplessly as the book begins to burn. Taking a hasty move I stick my hand into the flames, trying to grab the book but the heat of the fire consumes my hands and I hiss in pain. Darius grabs onto me, hauling me away from the fire and into his arms. "Fuck, Audrey. What is wrong with you!? Why did you put your hand into the fire, do you not consider you will get burnt!?" My gaze is still fixated on the book as it chips away, the familiar pages folding in burns.