Keeper Of Two Worlds

Embers in Small Hands

"Your robot toy broke because Arven borrowed it again, didn’t it?"

"Yeah! He borrowed it yesterday, and when he brought it back, the wheels were missing!"

"See? What did I tell you? That’s why you shouldn’t let him play with it!"

Another child quickly grabbed the plastic ball that had been rolling toward Arven before he could touch it.

Arven, the six-year-old boy, stopped in his tracks. He held back his hand, which had been reaching for the ball. His gaze shifted from one face to another as they stood in a circle, as if deliberately forming a barrier to keep him out.

“I just want to play too,” Arven said softly.

“Forget it, we don’t want to play with you!”

“You’ll just borrow our toys again and break them! Our toys are expensive, you know!”

“You’re so poor.”

Laughter immediately erupted.

Arven looked down. His flip-flops scraped against the dusty ground. “I always return the toys I borrow.”

“But they’re broken!”

“I didn’t break them,” Arven protested, because he didn’t feel like he’d broken them.

"Liar!"

One of the kids gave Arven a gentle shove on the shoulder, but it was enough to send his small body stumbling back a few steps.

"Go away!"

Arven’s chest heaved up and down. He didn’t understand why his friends had changed so much.

Just two days ago, they’d still been playing hide-and-seek together. And just yesterday, he’d only borrowed the toy cars for a little while.

Arven wanted to explain that he always took good care of their toys so they wouldn’t get broken. But every time he opened his mouth, their laughter cut him off.

“Ask your dad to buy you some toys. Stop borrowing all the time!”

That last remark from one of his friends hit harder than the shove. Arven clenched both fists. His lips trembled as he held back his frustration.

Why do they always say that? If his parent really can’t afford to buy toys, what’s wrong with borrowing them? Aren’t friends supposed to share with each other?

Arven’s breathing began to quicken. He wasn’t sure when exactly the air around him had started to feel hotter. Tiny pebbles near the tips of his shoes trembled slightly. No one noticed. All they saw was an angry little boy.

But something else was happening.

A faint red light appeared between Arven’s fingers. At first, it was no bigger than a firefly. Then it grew brighter. Hotter.

Arven himself didn’t see it.

He just felt a tickling sensation on his palms.

“Huh!” Arven blew on both his hands, frowning.

But the red light only grew larger.

“Arven!” A woman’s voice broke the silence.

Everyone turned their heads.

A plain-looking woman came running breathlessly from the end of the alley. The shopping bag she was carrying fell, spilling tomatoes and vegetables everywhere.

“Oh my goodness, Arven!” Sarmila’s face went pale.

She could clearly see the red light glowing from her son’s hand.

Without a second thought, Sarmila immediately hugged Arven as tightly as she could.

“Arven, it’s okay. It’s okay!”

Arven’s small body tensed. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“Okay, let’s go home. I’ll buy you a snack.”

Sarmila stroked Arven’s hair repeatedly.

Slowly, the red glow faded. The heat that had filled the air also disappeared.

The children who had been watching exchanged glances.

“That was weird.”

“It looked like there was a light just now, didn’t it?”

“You must’ve seen it wrong.”

They immediately ran off, leaving the spot behind. None of them truly understood what had just happened.

The walk home felt quiet. Arven walked along, kicking pebbles. His mother stole a few glances at her son. Her heart still hadn’t calmed down.

“Mom.”

“Hm?”

“Why did you look so startled just now?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Were you afraid I’d get into a fight?”

Sarmila gave a faint smile. “Yes, Arven.”

But that wasn’t it, what had made Sarmila’s knees go weak was the red light she’d just seen. It wasn’t the first time. A year ago, when Arven had a high fever, the oil lamp in their house suddenly lit itself. A few months later, the stove suddenly burst into a huge flame while Arven was crying.

Sarmila always considered it a coincidence.

Today, Sarmila could no longer convince herself. There was something about Arven that defied reason.

The two of them arrived at their small house. Some of the walls were still made of wood. In the backyard was a simple bathroom with a concrete tub that was always filled with well water.

As soon as they got home, Arven went straight into the bathroom.

“I want to wash my feet first!”

“Okay.” His mother just nodded.

She sat in the living room, still staring at her trembling palms.

In the bathroom, Arven rinsed both his feet with water, then splashed water on his head. His frustration slowly faded.

But images of his friends flashed through his mind again.

“You’re so poor.”

“Go ask your dad to buy you a toy!”

“You break other people’s toys!”

Arven’s lips puckered. “I’ve never break their toys.”

Arven stared at the palms of his hands. They felt warm again. Slowly, he brought them closer to the water’s surface, hoping to cool the heat he was beginning to feel.

Suddenly, that red light appeared again. This time it was clearer. Like a small ember burning beneath his skin.

“Huh?” Arven blinked.

Before he could pull his hand back ....

Whoosh!

A tongue of red flame shot out from his palm. Arven jumped.

“Ow?!”

The flame didn’t burn the concrete. Nor did it lick the walls. Instead, it danced on the surface of the water.

The water rippled, forming a small whirlpool.

The fire and water swirled together, as if they knew each other.

Arven gaped. His eyes widened. “Wow, that’s cool!” He chuckled.

To a kid his age, it looked like magic or a fun game. Arven tried to touch the flame. As soon as his fingertip got close, the flame vanished. The water returned to stillness. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

Arven frowned. “Why did it disappear?”

He tried again. Nothing happened. His hand felt normal. Once more, Arven brought his palm close to the bathwater, but to no avail.

Arven’s lips puckered again. Then, for some reason, his eyes began to burn. He thought of his friends once more. Tears simply began to fall. He cried silently. He didn’t understand why his chest felt so tight.

In the front room, Sarmila could no longer keep it to herself. Her husband had just returned from work as a construction laborer.

Sweat still dampened his shirt.

“Ajiman.”

“Hm?”

“I need to talk,” Sarmila said seriously.

Ajiman sat down. “What’s the matter?”

Sarmila clutched the hem of her shirt tightly.

“I saw it again.”

Ajiman’s expression turned serious. “Saw what?”

“Arven’s hand.”

“What’s wrong with his hand?”

Sarmila took a deep breath. “Fire was coming out of Arven’s hand.”

The room suddenly fell silent. The old wall clock seemed to tick louder.

Ajiman laughed hollowly. “Maybe you’re just tired.”

“I didn’t imagine it, Jiman.”

“How could that be?”

“I saw it with my own eyes.”

Ajiman fell silent. His gaze shifted toward the bathroom. The faint sound of Arven’s quiet sobbing could be heard from the back of the house.

His chest suddenly felt heavy.

“Earlier, Arven was teased by his friends again. He couldn’t take it, he probably got angry, and a faint red glow appeared from his hand,” explained Sarmila.

Ajiman massaged his temples.

“Ajiman.” Sarmila gripped her husband’s arm. “Tonight, let’s take Arven to a shaman.”

Ajiman roughly rubbed his face. He didn’t believe in things like that. Yet several incidents over the years came flooding back into his mind.

Lights turning on by themselves. The stove flame suddenly flaring up. Water boiling without a flame, and many other strange occurrences. They always happened when Arven was angry or crying.

“Why do we have to go to a shaman, Mila?”

“Maybe there’s a jinn residing inside Arven. I’m terrified,” Sarmila said, clearly very worried.

Ajiman swallowed hard. “I’m actually worried too. If there really is something there, we’ll go tonight, before whatever’s inside Arven gets any stronger.”