Demonbound

8

Lumi woke gasping.

Air burned his lungs as if he had been submerged too long and dragged back too late. His chest heaved, breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts as his fingers clawed instinctively at the floor beneath him.

Cold stone.

Solid.

Real.

He lay there for a long moment, staring up at the shadowed ceiling, heart battering against his ribs. The ache behind his eyes throbbed in time with his pulse.

Slowly, he realised where he was.

The Blackwell library.

Rows of towering shelves loomed around him, their dark spines forming orderly walls that stretched into the distance. Sunlight filtered weakly through the tall windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the pale beams.

Everything was… normal.

Too normal.

Lumi pushed himself upright, dizziness washing over him in a brief wave. He looked down at his hands.

They were clean.

No blood.

No burns.

No blackened veins crawling beneath his skin.

He flexed his fingers. They moved easily, obediently.

He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, then his arms, his legs. Nothing hurt beyond the dull, lingering headache pulsing behind his eyes.

But he remembered.

The runes.

The light.

The way the air had screamed as the circle collapsed.

The horns.

His stomach twisted.

“…It was a dream,” he whispered hoarsely.

It had to be.

He turned his head slowly, eyes locking onto the shelf he had pushed earlier.

The stone bookshelf stood exactly where it should.

Flush against the wall.

No gap.

No staircase.

No darkness yawning open beneath it.

Relief crashed into him so suddenly his shoulders sagged.

A shaky laugh escaped his lips.

“Of course,” he murmured. “Of course it was.”

His heart was still racing, but the logic settled in. Exhaustion. Stress. Fear. He had been through too much in too little time.

Of course his mind had snapped.

He got to his feet, movements stiff, and resumed cleaning.

The familiar rhythm helped. Wipe. Step. Reach. The smell of old leather and dust grounded him, anchored him to the present. The library remained unchanged, indifferent to his earlier terror.

When he finally finished, Lumi left quietly and returned to the servants’ quarters.

His head was pounding now.

A deep, relentless ache.

He collapsed onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. Sleep hovered just out of reach, his body exhausted but restless, skin buzzing uncomfortably.

Sunlight streamed through the narrow window, bright and intrusive. He groaned softly and raised one hand to shield his eyes.

Something flickered.

Heat bloomed in his palm.

Before he could process it, a tiny orb of fire leapt from his hand and struck the curtain.

Flames blossomed instantly.

“What—”

Lumi bolted upright with a strangled sound, lunging forward to smother the fire with his blanket. The fabric smoked as he stamped it out, heart pounding violently in his chest.

He stumbled back, staring at his hand.

It looked the same.

Pale.

Unmarked.

Normal.

“…I’m still dreaming,” he whispered.

His voice shook.

Slowly, cautiously, he stretched his arm again.

Another spark.

Another orb of flame.

It darted forward, licking the air before striking the curtain once more.

Lumi yelped and put it out again, breathing hard, hands shaking.

No.

This wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

“How?” he breathed.

Even if—even if—his sigil had somehow activated, this didn’t make sense. Calder sigils didn’t grant fire powers. Never had.

Force.

Destruction.

Endurance.

Wind.

That was it.

Fire didn’t belong to him.

He tore at his clothes, panic rising as he checked every place a sigil might manifest. His neck. His wrists. His shoulders. His thighs.

Nothing.

No mark.

No symbol.

“I still don’t have a sigil,” he said aloud, voice hollow.

The words echoed uselessly in the small room.

Then what was this?

He couldn’t stay here.

If someone saw—

Lumi slipped out of the mansion quietly, keeping to the less-used paths until the stone gave way to open land. The Blackwell territory thinned as he moved farther out, manicured gardens fading into wild grassland.

The air felt different here.

Open.

Unwatched.

He stopped in the middle of the field, heart hammering.

Just once more, he told himself.

Just to be sure.

He raised his arm.

Focused.

A flame bloomed.

Small.

Flickering.

Alive.

Lumi laughed.

The sound burst out of him, raw and disbelieving, echoing across the empty land. He hurled another spark, then another, watching fire dance across the grass in harmless streaks.

“I can do it,” he whispered. “I can actually do it.”

He spun, laughing louder now, sending bursts of flame arcing into the air. It felt intoxicating. Exhilarating.

He wasn’t powerless.

Not anymore.

Then the dizziness hit.

Sudden.

Crushing.

His laughter died in his throat as exhaustion slammed into him like a wall. His limbs felt heavy, leaden. His vision blurred at the edges.

“What’s… happening…?”

He took one unsteady step.

Then the ground rushed up to meet him.

---

Smoke filled his lungs.

Lumi coughed violently as consciousness returned, eyes snapping open. Heat pressed against his skin, thick and suffocating.

He sat up slowly.

The grassland was ablaze.

Flames stretched in every direction, devouring dry earth, roaring hungrily as smoke coiled into the sky. The fire crackled and surged, far larger than anything he remembered creating.

Lumi stared.

Cold horror crept through him.

“I didn’t…” he whispered. “I couldn’t have…”

The flames answered anyway.

They roared higher, fed by something deeper than dry grass.

Lumi’s stomach turned.

He staggered back, pulse roaring in his ears. If anyone saw this—if the hunters traced it—

Lumi turned and ran.