The Life After Death

  Chapter 8: Duality

  The words of Hevalis lingered in my mind like an unwelcomed guest, their weight heavier than I had anticipated. His warning about my manaheart being fragile had hit home, especially after all that happened before. I held back on pushing my limits, at least overtly.

  I couldn’t ignore the allure entirely, though. Late at night, when all was quiet, I’d sit cross-legged on the wooden floor of my room, closing my eyes and letting myself sink into the rhythm of manaheart refinement.

  As I focused, the vibrant colors of the mana particles came to life in the darkness behind my closed eyes. They swirled like stars in a night sky, a kaleidoscope of radiant blues, fiery reds, sunflower yellows, and soothing greens mingling with faint white and blacks.

  It was mesmerizing, a dance of energy that felt both foreign and intimate. I limited myself to refining just enough to maintain control without pushing my manaheart into strain. I’ll grow stronger in time, I reminded myself. For now, patience.

  Instead, I turned my attention to my body. Each morning began with Raiden’s booming voice pulling me out of bed. “Come on, Emrys! The sword won’t swing itself!” he’d yell, his hair catching the sunlight as he waited for me in the yard.

  He handed me a wooden practice sword, the weight of it familiar yet strange in my small hands. It was the first step in my training—learning to adjust to the weight and balance of the blade.

  My small arms struggled to lift it at first, the strain pulling at muscles that were barely developed. But Raiden was patient, guiding me through the proper way to hold it, letting me feel the center of balance. Each swing started awkwardly, the wooden blade wobbling in my grasp, but with each repetition, my movements grew steadier.

  Yet, it felt oddly disjointed. My mind knew exactly how to hold the blade, how to strike efficiently, but my small body couldn't. The lack of muscle memory was frustrating, forcing me to relearn skills that had once been second nature.

  “Remember,” Raiden would say, his tone firm but encouraging, “a weapon is an extension of your body. Control it, don’t fight it.”

  Yeah, yeah, don't laugh, control it, don’t fight it, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. If only my body would listen. My brain’s over here running a masterclass on swordsmanship, but my arms and legs? They're just attendees on their first day.

  Raiden’s lessons were rigorous but oddly satisfying. He emphasized the basics—footwork, balance, and controlled strikes—though his methods lacked the finesse I remembered from my past life.

  As I practiced, I couldn’t help but critique his movements internally. He’s swinging too wide. That’s wasted energy. A tighter arc would be more efficient.

  “Dad, why do you keep leaving your left side open?” I asked one morning, my tone more curious than accusatory.

  Raiden froze mid-swing, blinking at me. “My left side? What do you mean?”

  I stepped forward, mimicking his stance. “Here, look. When you step in for a strike, your left side is exposed. An opponent could counter easily.”

  Raiden’s eyes narrowed, his lips twitching in amusement. “Well, look at you, master swordsman. Got all the answers, huh? Care to show me?”

  With a grin, I adjusted my stance, demonstrating the refinement I had in mind. Raiden watched closely, his expression shifting from amusement to shock and acceptance. “Not bad,” he admitted, ruffling my hair. “Not bad at all. You’ve got a sharp eye, my son.”

  Sparring with Raiden became a daily event, and at first, it was a humbling experience. My initial attempts to mimic his movements were clumsy; a misplaced step would send me sprawling, or a poorly timed swing would leave me vulnerable.

  My small body, still weak and uncoordinated, couldn’t generate enough force to make an impact, and more often than not, I found myself flat on my back, staring up at the sky with Raiden’s booming laughter ringing in my ears.

  “You’re getting there,” he’d tease, extending a hand to pull me up. “Eventually.”

  It was frustrating knowing exactly what I needed to do but lacking the physical capability to execute it. My legs would falter when I tried to replicate footwork from my past life, and my swings often lacked the precision and power I remembered. Still, I refused to give up.

  With each sparring session, I adjusted, learning the nuances of my smaller frame and weaker muscles. It’s like trying to fight with training weights strapped on, painfully slow, but progress is progress.

  As the weeks passed, I began to experiment by incorporating small bursts of mana and air magic into my movements. A subtle push of mana into my legs and guiding the air around me gave me a burst of speed, allowing me to dodge more effectively, while channelling a sliver of wind force into my arms added an edge to my swings.

  The wooden swords cracked and clattered against each other, their sharp impacts echoing across the yard. Each strike sent vibrations up my arms, the stinging sensation a constant reminder of my limitations.

  Raiden, however, wasn’t holding back either. His swings were heavier, his movements sharper, and every now and then, he would call upon his fire magic. The heat was palpable, the flames dancing along his blade as he used them to pressure me into mistakes.

  The combination of his fire magic and relentless strikes forced me to stay on my toes. The air around us grew thick with the mingling scents of burnt wood and the faint metallic tang of heat. The crackling sound of flames intertwined with the whistle of air currents as I tried to counter his advances.

  It was during one of these sessions that I realized something crucial; Raiden wasn’t just skilled with a sword—he was an Emanator. He wasn’t drawing fire from the environment; it was coming from within him, a power he wielded effortlessly.

  So Dad’s an Emanator, dodging a flaming arc that seared the air just inches from my face. No wonder he doesn’t need the perfect conditions to use his magic. He carries it with him.

  The realization both impressed and irked me. It explained his confidence and why he didn’t seem to struggle with control the way others might.

  Still, his form could use some work, narrowly blocking his next strike. If he focused less on brute force and more on precision, he’d be unstoppable.

  “You’re picking up on things quickly, Emrys,” Raiden remarked one morning, sweat glistening on his brow as he blocked a particularly sharp strike. “But don’t get cocky.”

  “I’m not cocky,” I shot back, my breathing labored. “Just better than you think.”

  Raiden chuckled, stepping back into a defensive stance. “Oh, is that so? Then show me.”

  I grinned, shifting my weight and trying to replicate a move I’d mastered in my past life—a quick feint followed by a low sweep. My body, however, had other plans. My footing slipped, and I toppled over, landing unceremoniously in the dirt.

  Helena’s laughter erupted from the porch, her voice filled with playful delight. “Nice one, Em! Maybe next time you’ll actually hit Papa!” she called out.

  “You’re progressing faster than I expected, son.” Raiden laughed, raising out his hand to pick me up from the ground. “At this rate, you’ll be giving me a run for my money in no time.”

  Not quite yet, feeling the ache in my arms and legs. But the glimmer of approval in his eyes was enough to push me to keep going.

  That same day, after sparring with Raiden, I continued on my own. As I channelled a sliver of mana into my movements I felt a faint warmth radiating from my manaheart. It wasn’t the comforting hum I was used to during refinement; this was different. It grew hotter with each swing, a subtle but persistent warmth that made me falter. A sharp, brief pain followed, causing me to stagger.

  I paused, clutching my chest and taking shallow breaths. What was that? I thought, alarmed.

  Am I pushing too hard? The memory of Hevalis’s warning resurfaced, and I immediately withdrew from channelling any further mana.

  But even as I caught my breath, I couldn’t shake the lingering sensation. It felt as though my manaheart was on the cusp of something.

  No, it’s not worth the risk, I told myself. Better to stay cautious for now.

  In the afternoons when I am not training with Raiden, Elara would take Helena and I to explore Verdant Vale while she gathered items for the house. The village was a patchwork of vibrant green fields and quaint cottages, each surrounded by gardens bursting with life.

  The scent of fresh bread wafted from the local bakery stall, mingling with the sweet, floral aroma of wildflowers that lined the cobblestone streets. Farmers greeted us with warm smiles, their hands rough and calloused from years of tilling the land, while children ran barefoot through the fields, their laughter carrying on the breeze like an unbroken melody.

  I noticed that while Helena and I enjoyed these trips, we rarely joined the other children in their games. It wasn’t for lack of invitation—the children often waved us over with grins and outstretched hands—but Helena and I were content to stay close to Elara, observing rather than joining.

  Perhaps it was the remnants of my old life, or perhaps it was an unspoken bond between Helena and I that kept us together. Either way, their carefree shouts of joy painted quite the contrast to the cautious awareness that lingered in my mind. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched them, though—there was a freedom in their play that reminded me of something I couldn’t quite grasp, a fleeting memory from a life long gone.

  One particular family always stood out to me; an elderly couple, Miriam and Oswald, who lived in a charming stone cottage at the edge of the village. Miriam was renowned for her sprawling herb garden, where vibrant greens, fragrant flowers, and exotic herbs grew in harmonious abundance. She often handed Elara small bundles of fresh herbs and jars of salves, her warm smile adding to the generosity. "These will help keep the little ones strong," she’d say, her black hair streaked with silver glinting in the sunlight.

  Oswald, on the other hand, was a whittler with a knack for crafting small figurines of animals and villagers. His rough hands worked deftly, creating lifelike carvings that seemed to leap out of the wood. He would often stop us as we passed. "You’ve got sharp eyes for a young one," he remarked one day, squinting at me through thick spectacles that magnified his sharp, playful gaze. "Bet you’ll be carving your own path in no time."

  I couldn’t help but compare them to an old storybook couple, the kind who would hand out wisdom and cookies in equal measure. They were delightfully predictable, and their cottage, overflowing with life and the scent of rosemary and thyme, was a regular stop for Elara. Their kindness was genuine, and I found myself looking forward to their occasional treats and warm words.

  While Elara exchanged herbs and chatted animatedly with Miriam and Oswald, Helena and I took off to the nearby Elyswyn Bloom, a field named after the mythical garden of the Elyswyn spirits, filled with purple, pink, and white blossoms that shimmer faintly under the sunlight.

  The meadow stretched endlessly, a sea of vibrant blossoms swaying gently under the cool breeze. The soft hum of bees mixed with the distant chatter of villagers, creating a serene backdrop. We flopped down onto the soft grass, the fragrant scent of flowers enveloping us as we gazed up at the sky. The two moons, one silver and the other a golden red, hung high above, their glow casting a dreamy light over the landscape.

  "Look at that one," Helena said, pointing to a cluster of clouds that formed an odd, lopsided shape. "Doesn’t it look like Papa’s face when he’s mad?"

  I chuckled, tilting my head. "More like his face when he’s trying to explain something and forgets halfway through."

  She laughed, the sound light and carefree. Turning her head toward me, her purple eyes shone with a joy that was contagious. "Em, do you think the moons are watching us? Like… they know what we’re doing?"

  I glanced at her, my lips curving into a soft smile. "If they are, they’re probably just jealous. I mean, how could they not be? I’ve got the best view right here," I said, gesturing around us before subtly glancing at her. The warmth of the moment made my chest ache in the best way possible.

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  Helena swatted my arm playfully, her cheeks tinged pink. “You’re so weird, Em. I might be the older one, but the things you say sometimes feel otherwise.”

  Weird huh? But moments like this… this is what makes it all worth it.

  This field wasn’t just any place—it had become ours, a shared secret. Every week when Elara brought us to the inner village of Verdant Vale, Helena and I would escape to this serene expanse, a place where time seemed to pause just for us.

  The Elyswyn Bloom became our sanctuary, a haven where the world’s noise faded into the hum of bees and the rustle of blossoms. It wasn’t just a field; it was our little universe, untouched and perfect, just for us.

  Meanwhile, Helena’s growth in her water magic was nothing short of astounding. Particularly after receiving her wooden wand from Hevalis. With its aid, her spells grew sharper and more controlled, allowing her to channel her mana with precision. She even began to draw mana directly from the blue crystal embedded in the wand.

  Could she be a Reservist? I wondered. It was fascinating to watch the subtle glow intensify as the crystal harmonized with her energy, amplifying her abilities in a way that seemed beyond her years.

  If that’s the case, a wry grin tugging at my lips, she’s going to be a terror to deal with.

  Elara’s gentle guidance and patient teaching helped Helena master the basics of reading and writing, a skill I secretly picked up by observing their lessons. Her initial attempts, though enthusiastic, weren’t without their struggles.

  I couldn’t count the number of times she smudged ink across her nose or fumbled with letters, confusing similar looking letters with an exasperated sigh. “Why do they look the same?!” she’d groan, dramatically dropping the quill, which only made Elara chuckle softly.

  Watching Helena fight through those small hurdles, however, was both endearing and inspiring. Whether it was a perfectly written sentence or a spell she nailed after countless retries, lit up her face with pride.

  "One day, you’ll see, Em," she declared, sticking her ink-stained tongue out at me, "I’ll perform spells so good, they’ll make the sky rain!" Helena’s enthusiasm was infectious, and her ability to weave water spells with increasing precision left us all in awe.

  One afternoon, under the shade of an old oak tree, she chanted, "Aqua Celeris, fer cum vi! Splashbolt!"

  Her voice was steady and clear, and the spell fired a fast-moving stream of water that shot forward, slamming into a nearby rock and toppling it over. The sound of rushing water filled the air, and the impact left the ground damp with a faint spray of mist that clung to our skin. Helena’s wand glowed brightly, its blue mana crystal shimmering as it amplified her spell.

  “That was amazing!” I exclaimed, my eyes wide as I turned to her.

  She grinned, a mix of pride and exhaustion on her face. “Thanks, Em! But that spell used so much mana.”

  Elara, who had been watching from a distance, clapped her hands in approval. “Well done, Helena! You’re getting stronger every day.”

  I couldn’t help but marvel at her progress, the controlled intensity of her spell showing just how far she had come.

  She’s really something else, shaking my head in amazement. She probably surpassed me at this rate.

  During one of our shared mana refinement sessions, as the afternoon light filtered through the swaying branches of the Elyswyn Bloom, their faint floral fragrance lingering in the air, I noticed something astonishing. I could sense her manaheart radiating a steady, powerful energy. Shock coursed through me as I realized her manaheart had reached the Dawn stage, the same as mine.

  But the realization came with something else—a question I couldn't shake.

  Where was her breakthrough?

  The book described the advancement of a manaheart as a moment of strain, pressure, and eventual release. A threshold. A barrier. A breakthrough.

  Yet Helena and I had none of that. No sudden spike of mana. No loss of control. No pain. No awakening-like surge. Nothing.

  Her manaheart had simply… grown. Quietly. Smoothly. Naturally.

  Did the book get it wrong? I wondered, my brow tightening.

  “Hel,” I said slowly, my voice a mixture of amazement and disbelief, “did you know your manaheart is already at the Dawn stage?”

  She blinked at me, then smiled shyly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “Yes. I just… kept it as a surprise, I knew you would try to sense my manaheart.”

  I couldn’t help but feel both proud and unnerved. For all my memories and past experiences, she was keeping pace with me in a way I hadn’t expected. Still, seeing her growth filled me with a warmth I couldn’t quite describe.

  Together, we continued refining our mana, the faint sound of energy between us a silent testament to her incredible progress.

  As we sat cross-legged, I turned to Helena with a small smile. “Hel, when you close your eyes, try to focus on the colorful mana particles around you. Picture them vividly and pull them closer to you.”

  She tilted her head, her expression curious but sceptical. “Colorful? What do you mean? All I ever see are grey and blue particles.”

  I froze, blinking in confusion. “Grey and blue? What are you talking about? I see all kinds of colors."

  Helena frowned, her brows furrowing as she tried again, her eyes squeezed shut. “Nope. Still grey and blue. Are you sure you’re not making this up?”

  I leaned back slightly, my mind spinning. Why is she seeing something completely different? Does everyone see their own colors? The mystery gnawed at me, leaving a question I couldn’t yet answer.

  "That's it for today, I don't want to strain myself," I told Helena, letting out a deep breath as the faint hum of mana dissipated between us. The soft golden light of the setting sun filtered through the leaves, casting a serene glow over our surroundings. As I stretched my stiff limbs, I noticed Helena giving me a curious look.

  “Are you sure? I think we could refine just a little longer,” she teased, her voice light but tinged with genuine enthusiasm.

  I chuckled, shaking my head. "Hel, we’ve been at this for hours. I can barely feel my legs, and I’m not about to collapse just to prove a point. Besides, I think we’ve made good progress today."

  She grinned, her expression one of playful defiance. "Fine, fine. But don’t think I’ll let you slack off tomorrow!"

  “Deal,” I said, rolling my eyes but smiling at her determination. With that, we gathered ourselves, the lingering scent of the Elyswyn Bloom in the air as we made our way back to Elara, the faint buzz of bees and cicadas serenading our steps.

  As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the time for my fifth birthday drew near. The house buzzed with quiet excitement as Raiden, Elara, and Helena prepared for the occasion. Elara baked a fragrant honey cake, the warm, golden scent filling the air and mingling with the earthy aroma of the wildflowers we had gathered to decorate the yard.

  Helena darted around the house, her laughter echoing through the halls as she helped Elara with the preparations.

  The day of my birthday arrived in a blur of sunlight and laughter. Oswald and Miriam from the village gathered in our yard, their cheerful voices blending with the lively hum of the celebration. The aroma of the honey cake Elara baked lingered in the air, mingling with the floral scent of the wildflowers adorning the yard.

  Helena ran toward me, her silver-white hair catching the sunlight as she threw her arms around me. “Happy Birthday, Em!” she exclaimed, her voice warm and full of joy.

  I chuckled, returning the hug tightly. Her presence always brought me comfort. “Thanks, Hel. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Elara approached with a radiant smile. “Happy Birthday, my not so little Emrys,” she said, pressing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “We’re so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I murmured, touched by her words.

  Raiden stepped forward next, a playful grin on his face. In his hands, he carried a small but intricately carved dagger made from a material as strong as steel, wrapped in a leather hilt.

  “Here’s your first weapon, Happy Birthday my son. Every warrior needs one to protect their family,” he said, holding it out to me with a sense of ceremony.

  I took it, my hands trembling slightly. The dagger felt balanced, its hilt wrapped in dark, supple leather that provided a firm grip. The blade itself shimmered faintly in the sunlight, its surface etched with delicate, swirling patterns reminiscent of flowing water.

  The material, though polished to resemble a perfect sheen, carried the unmistakable resilience and weight of steel. The leather pouch it came in was simple yet sturdy, stitched with care and dyed a deep mahogany, giving it an air of understated elegance. “Thanks, Dad,” I said, staring at it in awe. “It’s perfect.”

  “Don't take it out in the house, your mother will use it to kill me,” he joked, ruffling my hair. His eyes sparkled with amusement, and I couldn’t help but grin at his infectious energy.

  The warmth of their gestures filled my chest with an unshakable happiness, and for a moment, the world seemed perfect.

  As the evening settled in, the sky painted in hues of gold and lavender, Oswald and Miriam bid their goodbyes, their kind words lingering like a warm echo. "Take care now, young Valenharts," Miriam said with a smile, her arms full of a small bundle of herbs gifted to Elara. Oswald gave a hearty chuckle as he waved. "Keep that little blade sharp, Emrys!" As they made their way down the path, their figures silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

  Helena and Raiden remained in the living room, their laughter filling the air as Raiden lit the hearth with a small flourish of fire magic. The flames danced and cast a warm, flickering glow across their faces, creating playful shadows on the walls.

  "Papa, you always make it look so easy," Helena said, her eyes wide with admiration as she leaned closer to watch. "That’s because it is easy," Raiden teased with a grin, causing Helena to roll her eyes dramatically.

  Meanwhile, Elara hummed softly to herself in the kitchen, her movements precise as she tidied up the remnants of the celebration. The warm glow from the kitchen lantern highlighted her serene expression as she carefully wrapped the remaining slices of honey cake in cloth, setting them aside for later. "You two always leave me with the cleaning," she called out teasingly, her voice carrying a playful lilt.

  Before helping Elara tidy the kitchen, I headed to my room to put the dagger away. As I stepped inside, I felt an unusual heat blooming in my chest. At first, it was a faint warmth, almost soothing, like the glow of embers after a fire had died down.

  I dismissed it as lingering excitement from the day. Determined to help Elara tidy up, I ignored the sensation and returned to the kitchen. The warmth, however, stayed with me, pulsing faintly in the background of my awareness.

  I joined Elara in the kitchen, picking up a rag to help wipe the counters. “Thanks for the cake, Mom. It was amazing,” I said, glancing at her as she worked.

  She smiled warmly, brushing a stray strand of dark hair from her face. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Emrys. You deserve a wonderful birthday.”

  Raiden’s laughter echoed from the other room as Helena challenged him to a game of knuckle stones, a simple yet intense game of skill and luck involving small, polished stones, her voice full of mock seriousness. “You better not cheat this time, Papa!” she declared, eliciting another chuckle from him.

  “You hear that, Elara? My own daughter thinks I’m a cheat!” Raiden called out, feigning indignation.

  Elara smirked and shook her head, her eyes twinkling. "Well, dear, if the shoe fits..."

  I chuckled at their playful banter, feeling a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the fire in the hearth. These moments, simple yet profound, reminded me of how much I valued this family.

  After finishing in the kitchen, Elara and I joined Helena and Raiden in the living room, the cosy warmth of the hearth embracing us. The room was alive with laughter as Helena and Raiden continued their lively game of knuckle stones. I sank into the soft couch by the fire, feeling the day’s joy still lingering.

  Just as I began to relax, I froze, my hand instinctively clutching my chest as a sudden, powerful throb shot through me, sending searing pain cascading through my body. My breath hitched, and I gasped, the intensity of the sensation making my vision start to blur.

  Elara's voice reached my ears, faint and full of concern. "Emrys, are you okay?" But I couldn't answer. Each pulse of my manaheart brought waves of agony that blurred my vision.

  Elara’s voice trembled, full of panic. “Emrys! Say something!” Her hands hovered near me, unsure whether to touch me or not, as if afraid she’d make things worse.

  Raiden, his face taut with worry, immediately stopped his game and dropped to his knees beside me. “Son, hold on! Tell me what’s happening!” His steady hand gripped mine firmly, grounding me in the chaos.

  Helena darted closer, her voice cracking with urgency. “Em! Breathe! You’re going to be okay!” Her small hands lifted, and I felt the cool mist of her water magic begin to surround me, a gentle contrast to the unbearable heat radiating from my chest.

  Despite their efforts, the pain only grew, my manaheart pulsing brighter with each agonizing throb.

  I let out a strangled scream as the heat in my chest flared brighter. Panic and desperation fuelled my every thought as I struggled to maintain control. Through the haze of agony, I forced one eye open and caught a faint, glowing hue—heat visibly forming beneath my trembling hands. Fear gripped me as my mind raced to the worst possible conclusion. Summoning what strength I had left, I instinctively called upon my air magic.

  Move! Get away.

  The burst of wind surged outward, pushing Elara, Raiden, and Helena safely out of the way while simultaneously propelling me backwards, hurtling down the hallway into my room. The impact left me reeling, but the momentary distance was all I could hope for as the searing pain continued to take over.

  Helena and Raiden stood frozen, their faces etched with shock and disbelief. "Papa… how did Em... do that? There was... no incantation." Helena’s voice quivered, the words tumbling out as she tried to process the chaos.

  Raiden, however, remained silent, his expression darkened by worry. It was as if the memories of Helena's awakening surged back to haunt him, replaying vividly in his mind. His lips pressed into a thin line, his hand instinctively moving toward his sword as though seeking reassurance in its presence.

  "Emrys!!" Elara screamed, her voice choked with fear, gathering strength and running towards the entrance of my room. Just as she neared the doorway to my room, a blinding light erupted from within.

  After a few seconds of deafening silence, flames surged outward, consuming everything. The walls buckled, the ceiling collapsed, and a deafening explosion rocked the house. The force of the blast created a gaping hole where my room once stood, the roar of fire filling the night.

  Flames surged around me in a chaotic dance, scorching everything in its path. Their heat pulsating with a tangible intensity that pressed against my skin and singed it. The acrid scent of charred wood and smoke filled my nostrils, making my throat sting with every breath.

  A sharp stinging sensation from my left forearm drew my gaze downward, revealing a faint burn mark etched into my skin, the edges raw and tender as if branded by the flames themselves.

  I stared at it in a mix of disbelief and unease, my hand trembling slightly as the residual heat seemed to seep into my very core. Smoke swirled through the air, stinging my eyes and obscuring the remnants of my room.

  Through the haze, I spotted them, Raiden and Helena were on their knees, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and terror. Raiden’s hand hovered protectively near his sword. Beside him, Helena clutched the hem of his tunic, her eyes wide and glistening with tears as they flipped between me and the destruction around us.

  Lying in front of them was Elara, unconscious and frighteningly still. Her clothes were scorched, exposing her right leg’s inner thigh and parts of her upper chest where the fabric had burned away. The skin on her right leg, from calf to outer thigh, bore angry red burns, and her right arm showed similar damage. Smoke curled around her prone figure, the sight making my chest tighten as guilt and panic surged through me.

  As I stood there in the middle of the wreckage, naked and trembling, the heat of the flames still licking at the air around me, I gasped, “What the hell just happened?!”

  My voice cracked, barely audible over the crackling remnants of fire as my eyes locked onto their stunned faces.