Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 30/02, Recreated Here

Spica

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ1004/022

Title: Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 30/02, Recreated Here

Author: Spica

Date: Written approximately 30/02, Year 5607 A. o. W.

Extent: One letter, three pages long

To Jasmine, my friend,

The Branding Ceremony is not nearly as grand of an affair as I thought it would be. Yes, the friends and family of newly-branded Embers were invited to join. Abiegni’s entire family came: her smiling mother, her proud father, and the toddler cradled in her father’s arms. Ash also invited Undying Embers from the neighboring villages, and any location that could spare their Embers sent them. I even saw merchants in the crowd, standing alongside their wandering protectors. 

I make it sound like a grand event. It is not. The Tending Grounds, even when injected with new life, are nothing more than a sad smolder.

I saw them, the merchants and the family members who could spare the trip and the Embers, and wished I saw you, instead. I did not invite my father either. I couldn’t bring myself to send the letter.

The ceremony itself is actually quite simple. Ash and the senior Embers who oversee the Tending Grounds heat up a brand, carved in the shape of His Eternal Warmth’s sigil. The same mark you see on every Undying Ember. All it is, is a wrought iron stick and some fire. They press it against the trainee’s skin, imbuing them with His Eternal Warmth’s blessing.

It is symbolic, yes, although it does have some practical uses. It makes us better conduits for His magic. It allows us entry into His Hearth, the central headquarters of all Undying Embers. It completes the transformation our Sparks begin in us. 

The senior Embers stood in an amphitheater at the center of the Tending Grounds. Their orange uniforms made them look like glowing coals against the obsidian of the walls. The trainees waited off to the side, standing at attention. I was sweating from a combination of the heat and my own anxiety, but Abiegni was an unmoving statue beside me.

I felt so out of place. As her protege, Fir insisted that I receive a special uniform. Abiegni is like every other Undying Ember, clad in colors consumed by the flames. My armor is the same as hers, just as His Eternal Warmth’s sigil hangs off my stole, but my robes aren’t orange. They’re purple. Fir insisted that the color fit me better.

I don’t have a helmet, either. My every expression is on display. Instead, Fir referred to the bow I wore in my hair when we first met and insisted on keeping its legacy. A purple bow hangs behind my head, and from it flutters a veil half-eaten by everlasting flames. It’s warm against my head even now, when I have yet to fully disrobe from my uniform. 

There was a moment when my weakness prevailed, and I thought once more about running away. Fir seemed to sense something off about me, as she turned back and caught my eye. Her smile bled excitement. I knew, then, that I could not leave. I regret being set on this path, but there is nowhere in the world that can shelter me from this reality. 

Ash called Abiegni forward. She walked with her head held high. Fire that had yet to live in her body already blazed in her soul. As she stood before Ash, he praised her strength, her resolve, and her dedication to His Eternal Warmth. She was one of the brightest Embers he’s had the pleasure of training. Under his praise, she glowed.

She presented her inner wrist to Ash. He laid the brand carefully onto her skin. The distinct sizzle of burning flesh filled the silence, but Abiegni’s smile never faltered. She showed no sign of pain or of fear.

Instead, she was set ablaze.

When Ash lifted the brand away, she had changed. Her eyes, once a cool green, glowed orange in the pupils. Red tinged the ends of her hair. And her sigil, still fresh on her skin, glowed as brightly as a star in the crisp night sky. 

Besides her, I was nothing but burnt coal.

Ash called my name. I stepped forward.

There is no oath to swear when we are Branded. No, our acceptance of our initial Spark, our willingness to travel here and to be trained… that is an oath enough. Ash does not need to speak to us, but he must feel the need to say something. When I stopped before him, his mouth was drawn in a tight line. I knew he held no praise for me.

Ash stepped closer to me. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. These words were not meant for Fir, standing just a little ways away, to hear. “You and I both know you do not deserve this. And yet neither of us have a choice in the matter, do we?”

I had nothing to say to the cold truth. 

“I hope you don’t die out there,” he said, and pressed the iron to the back of my hand.

I do not know how Abiegni did it. The pain was unimaginable, and unlike anything else I have ever felt. All of the magic I had struggled to master during my training rushed into me all at once. I felt scorched from the inside out. If I opened my mouth to scream, I feared only molten lava would flow forth. Magma replaced my blood; steel replaced my bones. In the span of a few seconds, I was remade, forged into a creature far more blazing and brittle than I had been before.

Then Ash lifted the Brand away. The pain lessened with its absence, though the flame still licked at my insides.

I looked at His Eternal Warmth’s sigil. I was now His, forever. 

Fir approached me. “You’re perfect,” she said, and the warmth in her voice was nothing if not genuine.

She wrapped her arms around me. The world went quiet, save for the slight sizzle of my new Brand. Somehow, her embrace dulled the pain. 

“One day, everything here will be under your command. And until then, you and I will be inseparable,” she whispered to me. 

I realize now that the brand dominates my writing hand. Even holding my pen is agonizing. And yet, I must continue to write. I can’t let these thoughts cycle endlessly in my head. That, truly, would consume me alive. 

Fir says the pain will fade in a few days. That it is nothing to fear. It is simply a reminder that nothing is made in the forge without violence. 

It is an honor, she says.

An honor I know I do not deserve. An honor tied innately to you, I think. Though I wonder, just what do two young women from the edge of the world have to do with the honor of His Eternal Warmth?

Tonight will be my last night at the Tending Grounds. Tomorrow we are to set off towards the Hall of Kindling and Charcoal. It seems Fir has received a missive to go there, though she offered no explanation to me besides a deep sigh and a roll of eyes.

Perhaps there, hidden within the annals and tucked away between yellowed pages, I can find the answer to this sick game. 

From,
Spica