Phoenix

Nix has scarred hands and a daydream that refuses to stay where it belongs: a battlefield thick with smoke and ash, the broken army of Eloria climbing the hill at dusk, and Eremil drawing up on a black mare with dried blood on his face and an axe still in his hand. The magical fire that killed their former allies came from Nix's own hands, and Eremil's eyes say so. Then the smoke clears and it is only lunch break, with Pete throwing his cards down in disgust at losing again and holding out a Pyromancy card, a cloaked figure wrapped in flames, asking whether Nix ever wishes magic were real. Nix does not want to look at it. Fire has no place near flesh, least of all the discoloured, webbed skin stretched across one hand. But trigonometry and card games keep giving way to another world, the daydreams keep arriving uninvited, and the magic that left those scars is not finished with Nix yet.