TravelingDreamer
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B5—Chapter 19: Control
🕑 Added 2025-01-05 11:40:12 +0000 UTCI stood on the lake shore, gulping air like a drowning man. My chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, and my hands shook—not from exhaustion but from the sheer, unrelenting rush of magic I’d unleashed. The surrounding air shimmered with heat, the acrid tang of smoke still clinging to my clothes and skin.
Al and Mahya sprinted toward me, but I barely registered their arrival. My heart pounded too loudly in my ears, drowning out everything but the lingering echo of power. I stared at the sky and the last floating ashes.
Mahya’s sharp voice sliced through the haze. “What was that?”
My head jerked up as if yanked by a string. “What was what?” The words came out hoarse, more growl than question.
She flung her arm around wildly, like a windmill spinning out of control, before pointing skyward with an accusatory jab. “That! The fire! I know it was you. I saw you land when the fire died. What? Why? Are you crazy?” Her voice climbed with every word, the last question a shout straight into my ear.
The tight coil inside me snapped. I shoved her back with a force I hadn’t intended, my voice breaking like thunder. “Don’t shout at me. You’re not my mother!”
She staggered backward, her boots skidding on loose stones, arms flailing to keep her balance. “Not shout?” Her voice cracked with disbelief. “You were engulfed in fire! I thought you were burning alive!”
Before I knew it, I was in her face, my words lashing out, spitting venom I couldn’t hold back. “You always say wizards are crazy, so guess what—” My lips curled into a snarl. “I let my insanity out!”
My voice had a wildness, a raw, untamed energy that refused to be bottled. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, my hands twitching with lingering magic. I didn’t care that my heart was hammering like war drums or that I probably looked like a man possessed.
Mahya’s wide eyes reflected both fear and fury, her chest heaving as she squared up to me. But behind her rage, I caught something else—concern.
Al approached quietly, his footsteps deliberate, and placed a hand on Mahya’s shoulder. “Give him space,” he said softly, his tone like a balm against the rising tension. “Let him breathe.”
Mahya spun on him, her arms flailing with the same restless energy she’d pointed at me moments ago. “Space? Breathe? He was burning alive!” Her voice cracked, raw with lingering panic, her eyes darting back to me as if expecting to see scorched skin and blistered flesh.
Al, ever composed, barely blinked at her outburst. His gaze remained level, unshaken by the firestorm she was unleashing. “It might have looked like he was burning alive,” he said with a slow, measured calm, “but as you can see for yourself, he’s fine. Maybe a little... emotional at the moment”—he glanced my way, brow lifting just slightly—“but unharmed. So please, calm down.”
Mahya’s chest heaved, her breath ragged from running and yelling, but she stilled under Al’s steady gaze. Then, with a subtle shift, he leaned in close, his lips brushing near her ear. His voice dropped to a whisper, too low for me to catch, but whatever he said made her freeze.
Mahya’s wide eyes snapped back to me, her expression caught somewhere between alarm and realization. She swallowed hard, her lips parting as if to say something, but no sound came out at first. Finally, she stepped back—just a few cautious steps, like someone retreating from an animal they weren’t sure was done snarling. “I’m... I’m sorry I yelled,” she said, her voice quieter, more tentative. She smoothed down her shirt. “Breathe. Relax. Everything is fine.”
But the way she said it, her voice wavering slightly, told me she wasn’t entirely convinced. And truth be told, neither was I.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out everything—the lake, the smoke, Al’s calm voice, Mahya’s panicked shouts. But none of it worked. My chest still heaved with ragged breaths, my pulse pounding like a war drum in my ears. The harder I tried to clamp down on my emotions, the more they clawed their way to the surface, tearing through my control like a beast let loose from its cage.
No. Not let loose. Broken free.
And now the cage lay in splinters, impossible to put back together.
A tremor ran through me as I stumbled forward, my knees hitting the rocky shore with a dull thud. The cool stones bit into my skin, grounding me just enough to keep from toppling over entirely. My hands plunged into the lake’s water, the icy bite shocking against my overheated skin. I scooped handfuls to my face, scrubbing at the lingering feeling of heat, desperate for the cold to drown out the heat still burning beneath my skin.
For a moment, I stared at the rippling water, watching the distorted shapes dance across its surface. Then my reflection came into focus—and I froze.
The face staring back at me wasn’t the one I expected.
I leaned closer, my wet hair dripping into the lake, sending ripples skittering across my image. I expected to see the familiar aftermath of my magic’s fury. Bald head. Missing eyebrows. But my hair remained intact, matted with water but untouched by fire.
It wasn’t the lack of burns that unsettled me. It was my eyes.
They were wild, wide, and bloodshot, veins spiderwebbing across the whites in jagged lines. Dark circles hollowed out my face, deepening the shadows under my eyes. But it wasn’t just the exhaustion or the aftermath of magic use. No, it was something more primal. Something feral.
My expression scared me.
I sucked in a shuddering breath, running a hand through my damp hair in the hope the motion might somehow ground me. But the reflection wouldn’t let me look away. The man in the water looked feral and didn’t feel like me anymore.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I could cage the beast again.
“I heard you singing,” Al said, his voice cutting through the lingering tension like a gentle breeze, his expression calm. “Is it a new song?”
I nodded, the fire still raging inside me, though the water on my face had cooled my skin. “Yeah,” I murmured. “Three, actually.”
Al tilted his head. “Can I hear them, please?”
I swallowed hard and reached for my guitar. My fingers brushed the strings, but they trembled, betraying the chaos still simmering beneath my skin. I took a deep breath, the air cool and sharp in my lungs, and forced myself to steady.
“I wrote three new songs,” I repeated, my voice steadier this time.
Al smiled faintly with a patient, unshakable expression. “Play them for us.”
With a nod, I adjusted the guitar on my lap and strummed a few soft chords, letting the notes settle before diving in. My fingers moved instinctively over the strings as I began to play A Chasm Between Worlds.
When the last chord faded into the lake’s stillness, Mahya crossed her arms with a frown. “Kind of depressing, don’t you think?”
Al didn’t even hesitate. He leaned over and kicked her leg—not hard, but enough to make her stumble a bit.
“Hey!” she yelped, rubbing her shin. “What was that for?”
I couldn’t help it—I snorted, then laughed, sharp and unexpected. The sound surprised me, breaking through the gloom like sunlight through storm clouds. It wasn’t just the kick that did it, though. It was Al. Prim, proper, noble Al. The one who usually raised an eyebrow at our antics, now joining in.
I grinned at him, shaking my head. “We’re ruining you,” I said, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice. “The prim and proper prince... kicking people now.”
Al shrugged, a small, mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he said with a tone of quiet defiance, “but you two have made life far more interesting.”
Mahya snorted, crossing her arms again. “Oh, we’ve corrupted him. Wonderful.”
Al looked at me, more seriously now. “Another song?” he asked gently.
I nodded, my fingers already brushing the strings again. The guitar hummed softly beneath my touch, each note carrying a lingering tension I hadn’t yet shed. “Yeah,” I said, quieter this time, the weight of my earlier outburst still pressing down on me. “Another one.”
I closed my eyes and let the melody of Flame’s Embrace flow through me. The tune was slower, heavier, but there was fire in it—controlled, tempered. Each strum echoed across the water, rippling outward like distant memories, and I let the song pull me along, grounding me in something more steady, more real.
When the final note faded, Mahya stepped closer, her footsteps soft on the rocky shore. I kept my gaze on the lake, half expecting her to criticize this one, too. Instead, she knelt beside me and, without a word, wrapped her arms around me in a firm hug.
Her warmth caught me off guard.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured, her voice close to my ear, steady and full of quiet determination. “We won’t let it consume you. We’ll pull you out each time.”
She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, a teasing smile softening the intensity of her words. “That’s what friends are for, no? Besides, it spices up your life and ours.”
Her laughter broke through the tension like the first crack of dawn after a storm. It wasn’t loud or boisterous, but it carried a promise—a reminder that I wasn’t alone in this. That they wouldn’t let me drown.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. Words felt unnecessary, so I didn’t say anything. Instead, I rested my head on her shoulder—a silent thank-you.
And the chaos inside me began to settle for the first time since I unleashed the fire. The cage might be broken, but with them here, I felt stronger. More in control.
“The last song?” Al asked, his voice soft.
I nodded and adjusted the guitar on my lap. The strings hummed under my fingertips as I began to play Inferno. The chords were heavier, darker—raw emotion poured into every strum. The song carried all the fire still burning inside me, flickering between sorrow and rage, loss and yearning.
My voice cracked once or twice, but I kept going, letting the music speak for me. Mahya’s brows were drawn tight, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her worry wasn’t subtle—it hung in the air between us like smoke after a fire.
Al, however, smiled gently. “Beautiful songs,” he said, his voice calm. Unshaken.
I exhaled slowly, my fingers lingering on the strings. “Thank you.”
After a beat, Al tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. “How about writing another song?” he asked. “Something more positive? More uplifting?”
I blinked, surprised by the suggestion. My mind was still stuck in flames and shadows, and the thought of writing anything light felt impossible. “I’m not sure I have it in me right now,” I admitted in a quiet voice.
“Try,” Al urged, leaning forward slightly, his eyes steady on mine.
Mahya shot him a side-eyed glance, her expression darkening. The corners of her mouth twitched, like she wanted to say something but held back. Her displeasure was evident in the way her arms crossed tighter, fingers tapping impatiently against her sleeve.
Al, ever composed, shook his head—just a slight movement, barely noticeable. But I caught it. It was subtle, a silent message between them. Let it be.
Mahya’s frown deepened, but she said nothing, instead focusing on the rippling lake. Her tension radiated through her stiff posture, but she stayed quiet, giving Al room to press me further.
Al’s gaze returned to me, unwavering. “Even if you do not feel it now,” he said softly, “you will. Sometimes the best way to pull yourself out is to create something that lifts you.”
I glanced down at the guitar in my lap, my fingers absentmindedly brushing the strings. The lingering fire inside me flickered, quieter now, smoldering beneath the surface.
Maybe he was right. Maybe.
I let out a long breath. “Okay,” I said, the word barely more than a whisper. “I’ll try.”
I plucked at the strings absentmindedly, letting random notes drift into the air. But no melody took shape. No spark. My mind felt as empty as the sky stretching above the lake.
I bit my lip, strumming a little harder, hoping the music would pull something out of me. But I only managed jarring chords that sounded more like a snarling beast than a song.
Behind me, I heard the soft pad of paws on gravel. Rue trotted over, his massive form settling down beside me. He pressed his warm, shaggy head against my shoulder, his breath puffing softly into my ear. His presence was solid, comforting, grounding me without a word.
I reached up and scratched behind his ear. “Hey, buddy.”
He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he leaned in heavier, like he was trying to anchor me in place. The warmth and steady rhythm of his breathing reminded me of the quiet moments we’d shared during our travels. The absurdity of some of those experiences flashed through my mind, vivid as yesterday.
The last world we’d been to… I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath at the memory.
I reached for my notebook, holding it with one hand while balancing the guitar with the other. The worn leather cover was familiar and comforting. I flipped it open to a blank page, the faint scent of ink and paper mingling with the lake’s fresh breeze.
Rue’s ears twitched at the scratch of my pen as I began jotting down words, playing with phrases that captured the sheer ridiculousness of what we’d seen. As the lyrics started to take form, my mood lightened. The absurdity of it all made me grin. It wasn’t deep or profound, but that wasn’t the point. It was lighthearted, playful—a reminder that not every moment needed to be wrapped in fire and fury.
I hummed the words quietly to myself, tapping my pen against the guitar’s body as I worked to match a whimsical tune to the lyrics. Something bouncy, a little offbeat, to convey the chaotic insanity of that world. The notes started to flow more naturally now, like a river breaking through a dam.
Rue’s head bobbed along with the tune, his tail thumping lazily against the ground. “Good, yes?” his telepathic voice echoed faintly in my mind, his childlike cadence bringing a smile to my face.
“Yeah,” I said softly, more to myself than to him. I glanced at the page, the words scrawled across it in looping handwriting. The song wasn’t perfect—rough around the edges, like me—but it captured something real. A reminder that even in the chaos, there’s room for laughter. And maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what I needed right now.
The Cultivator Chronicles: A Merchant’s Lament
The Road of Ridiculousness
We landed by the road, thought it was fine,
Till a peacock of privilege crossed the line.
“Hand over the beast!” he bellowed with pride,
“Why?” I asked, my patience wide-eyed.
He sputtered, he roared, then screamed some attack—
Rue stared him down, and he wet his slacks.
City of Crazy Colors
Through narrow streets, we walked like fools,
Past bathrobe guards with farming tools.
“Kowtow three times and call me grandpa!”
What was this place—a bizarre opera?
Al played the noble, Mahya rolled her eyes,
While Rue just sniffed food and ignored the guys.
Daddy Dearest
Then came the city lord, all puffed and spry,
“Call me daddy, or prepare to die!”
I rubbed my face, ready to snap,
Was everyone here in need of a nap?
But no, it’s custom—they’re just that mad,
With family titles driving them bad.
Naked Justice
On the road again, with thugs in sight,
Demanding our gold, ready to fight.
Mahya punched one, I zapped a few,
Al shot calmly—nothing new.
Then we stripped them down and sent them away,
Naked and humbled, with Rue leading the way.
Sword-Surfing Psycho
Up in the air, peace reigned at last,
Until a lunatic came flying fast.
On a sword—yes, a sword!—he zoomed through the sky,
Throwing lightning and poison—what? Why?!
I fried him, we landed, and then I declared:
“This world is bonkers. Let’s get out of here!”
Final Reflections
From grandpas to daddies, from threats to bare bums,
This world’s full of idiots swinging their thumbs.
I came here to trade, not to fight,
But these folks lose their minds at the mere sight.
Next time, I’m bringing Rue’s growl as a guide—
When Rue says "crazy," I’m turning aside!
Mahya was doubled over, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. She clutched her sides, tears streaming down her cheeks as my ridiculous tune came to a chaotic end. “That—was—perfect!” she gasped between bouts of laughter, wiping her eyes.
Rue sat beside me, his tail wagging like a metronome, proudly howling along as my backup singer. His "aooos" had been out of tune and entirely off-beat, but his enthusiasm made up for any musical shortcomings.
Al stood to the side, arms crossed, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t laughing like Mahya, but his expression held a quiet warmth. The kind of smile that said he’d gotten exactly what he’d hoped for.
When the final note faded, I realized something had shifted inside me. The storm of emotions, the chaotic fire that had threatened to consume me, had dimmed. I felt steadier. More grounded. The song, silly as it was, had pulled me back to myself.
I set the guitar down carefully, stood, and walked toward Al. Stopping in front of him, I reached out and squeezed his shoulder—a firm, grateful grip.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice quiet but steady. The words carried more weight than I expected, but they felt right. He’d pushed me when I needed it most, in his calm, unshakable way.
Al’s gaze met mine, his smile softening into something more thoughtful. He didn’t say anything—no long speech or unnecessary words. Instead, he gave a single, sharp nod. One precise tilt of his head.
It was enough.
That small gesture held everything we needed to say.
In his own quiet way, Al had reminded me that even when I lost control, even when I spiraled, I wasn’t alone.
And that knowledge anchored me more than any song ever could.
Comments
Danielle Warvel
I’m hoping this is set up for some real character growth for her as well, and that this incident serves as a lesson to her as well about the hidden stress and frustration and hurt her sometimes thoughtless and overly harsh, judgmental, or just unsympathetic behavior can ferment in others, and makes her think more about the effects her bad habits of treating John like a mix of childhood friend she can’t help but give a hard time an uneducated child she’s responsible for. Ultimately, John is right. She is not his mother. A good friend points out when they are doing something wrong or dangerous, but they do it from a place of respect as a peer, exactly like Al did, not a place of superiority like Mahya often does. Him offering support without reservation or caveats and guidance as suggestions rather than orders or declarations is exactly how it should be done when a friend is extremely upset. It is a completely different tone and attitude than what a guardian or parent would have towards a younger person in a similar situation, which is not appropriate between two adults, and is bound to feel condescending for whoever receives advice in such a manner. John has been incredibly forgiving, to a concerning degree, but enough is enough. Yes, John is less experienced than her is regards to the world of travelers, but he is an adult who is fully capable of and entitled to making his own decisions, including decisions to take risks to explore himself and his magic. She needs to tone down the mom energy before the underlying tension it is causing eventually succeeds in driving a big enough wedge between them to drive John away physically as well. That would be tragic, because as has already been established, John isn’t really a loner by nature and does a lot better when he’s around other people.
TravelingDreamer
Yep
Danielle Warvel
Al is essential to this dynamic. He’s definitely the glue holding them together right now, because without him Mahya’s, ‘scold first, ask questions later’ tough love approach would have backfired and her impatience and lack of tack or sensitivity would have just led things in a horrible direction, given the state John was in. I get that it comes out of concern but she really needs to learn to pay attention to social cues, think before she speaks, and figure out why John is doing something strange BEFORE she starts assuming it is stupid or as crazy as it appears and begins dressing him down for it.
