Serafina's Fire

Serafina

The sun was already sinking behind the jagged skyline of Dust District when I darted through its alleyways, a basket clutched tight to my chest. The cobblestones were uneven, slick with the afternoon’s rain, forcing me to watch every step.

My heart hammered as I dodged a group of children splashing through puddles, their laughter sharp and careless.

One boy stumbled over a loose stone and hurtled straight toward me, barely catching himself before we collided.

He looked clean. Well-fed. Boots intact, tunic unpatched—Coal-born, without question. The kind of child who had never tasted ash in his mouth or slept with hunger clawing at his ribs.

He must have slipped through the back gates or climbed the wall that kept Dust where it belonged, chasing gall wasps—for sport, for profit, or merely for a tale worth boasting about later.

He scrambled to his feet and glared at me, brushing dirt from sleeves that had never known real filth.

“Watch where you’re going, Dust rat,” he spat.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered, tightening my grip on the basket. “Some of us are just trying to survive.”

His face twisted in disgust, as if the word itself offended him, before he bolted back to his friends.

A small smile touched my lips as I watched him go—a fleeting reflection of who I used to be, when laughter and play came easily, and joy carried no price.

Then reality rushed in.

The smile vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

Survival.

Not fun. Not laughter. Just survival.

That word had been my constant companion for eleven years now.

Finally, after weaving left and right through the maze of Dustborns, I reached our shack. The thing leaned to one side, its walls patched with wood and metal scavenged from the streets. Inside, the air smelled of damp cloth and sickness. Lio was curled on a thin mattress, shivering beneath a threadbare blanket. His face was ghostly pale, and I knew immediately the fever had returned with a vengeance.

“Lio…” I whispered, setting down the basket. My hands shook as I brushed damp hair from his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

He coughed violently, and I flinched, gripping his shoulder to steady him. “S-Sera…” he murmured. “I… I’m fine.”

“No, you're not,” I said firmly. “You’re burning up. And I need to clean these rags for you.”

He tried to protest, but his words dissolved into another coughing fit. I swallowed my fear, forcing myself to stay calm. The truth was simple: he was too weak to work, to fetch water or food, and if I didn’t act, there was no one else who would.

I leaned back against the wall, slipped off my bonnet, and drew a slow, steady breath. The memory of our childhood flared—soft carpets, polished floors, sunlight streaming through tall windows, servants bustling quietly in the hallways. My parents had loved us, cherished us. And then the empire came. My father had been accused of plotting against the crown, my mother taken away for questioning, and the wealth we had known vanished overnight. I was seven. Lio was barely four. By morning, the world had turned to ash, and we had been left here, in the Dust District, to survive or die.

I shook my head, pushing the memories away. The present demanded my attention. I filled a basin with lukewarm water, dampened a rag, and pressed it against Lio’s fevered skin. His frail hand reached up for mine. “S-Sera…”

“Sshhh... I’m right here,” I whispered. “Just rest.”

Suddenly, a hard knock rattled the door.

“Sera,” a voice called, rough and familiar. “Taxes due. Time to pay up.”

My blood ran cold. Hands trembling, I yanked my bonnet over my head, tucking my hair out of sight as if hiding it could shield me from what was coming.

I opened the door to find the Collectors crowded in the doorway, black coats marked with the Warden’s sigil stitched faintly at the collar—a ring pierced by a vertical line. Dust authority.

Their leader stepped forward—a tall young man with dark hair, cruel eyes, and the lazy confidence of someone who knew the law would never touch him. “Evening, Dust-girl,” he sneered. “Warden Voss likes to keep her ledgers updated. So where's her coin, girl?"

“Here,” I said quickly, fishing a few copper pieces from the small pouch beneath my apron. “It’s all I have—from ash-shifting. If you come back later, I can pay more. I’ll be hauling produce at the market and carrying water to the brothels tonight.”

The leader snatched the coins from my hand and counted them with practiced speed. When he realized it wasn’t enough, he shook his head, the smile on his lips twisting into something cruel. With a casual flick of his fingers, the collar of my dress tightened around my neck.

I gasped.

“This isn’t enough,” he said coolly. “You know what happens when you can’t pay, don’t you? We’ll put little Lio to work—and I guarantee he won’t last a day."

The way he said it sent a chill through me. Sick residents were a liability. They didn’t last long. Most ended up on the purge list.

“I… I’ll get more,” I stammered, my voice catching as my throat tightened. “I promise.”

He studied me in silence, eyes hard and assessing. Behind him, the rest of the gang let out low, mocking chuckles as they took a step back.

“Fine,” he said at last.

He snapped his fingers, and the invisible pressure around my throat vanished. I stumbled forward, coughing, dragging air back into my lungs.

“Tomorrow then,” he said, pocketing the coins. “Sera, the Warden’s patience wears thin. And sick dependents…” His gaze slid past me, lingering on Lio. “…are very expensive.”

He paused, then added softly, almost kindly, “If I were you, I’d give some thought to the Warden’s proposal.”

Then they were gone, swallowed by the alleys as if they had never been there at all.

I slammed the door shut and exhaled shakily.

The Collectors weren’t the worst of it.

That honor belonged to the woman they answered to.

The Warden had summoned me once under the pretense of a “labor review.” Her office had reeked of ink and incense, the windows barred, and the door’s lock clicking behind me was a sound that still haunted my dreams.

She had smiled as she looked at my papers.

"There are ways to ease a girl’s burdens", she had said, her voice mild, almost kind. "Special arrangements."

"Pledge your loyalty to me, and I will make you a Collector."

"All you have to do is bend the knee. Submit."

I had understood then—with a clarity that tasted like ash. I would survive, yes… but only by becoming the very thing I despised. A bully, forged by fear and dressed in authority.

I swallowed and forced the memory away. Refusing her hadn’t freed me. It had only marked me.

The Collectors were proof of that.

A cough cut through the room. I rushed to Lio, kneeling beside him, and helped him sip from a chipped cup. His throat was parched—but the cup was empty. My stomach twisted. We needed more water.

I grabbed the jug and hurried back outside, balancing it carefully against my hip.

At the well, she appeared as if summoned from the shadows, a frail old woman who traded fortunes for food or coin, her form blocking my path. The last shards of sunlight clung to her silver hair, and her eyes glinted like fractured glass, sharp enough to cut.

Sometimes she offered me scraps from her day’s earnings, but today there was no basket at her side.

Perhaps… perhaps she has coins for medicine.

“You seek what the world has denied,” she rasped, leaning heavily on her crooked staff.

I shook my head. Fortune-telling would do me no good. I needed money.

“I… I need coins,” I said, tightening my grip on the jug. “For food. For medicine. For my brother. If you can spare some, please—I’ll be forever grateful.”

Her gaze swept over me, sharp and unsettlingly perceptive. “Ah… desperation. Fire in your heart, but no foresight to temper it.” She tilted her head. “The shrine—ancient, forbidden—offers what you crave. It’s calling to you. You can hear it.”

She knew about my dreams? Impossible. I’ve never told anyone—not a word about the whispers or the visions. She must’ve heard me muttering in my sleep, I reasoned, though even that felt flimsy.

She leaned closer, her eyes locking with mine. “But every gift wears its chains. Are you willing to bear the cost?”

“I don’t have time for riddles,” I snapped. “If you won’t give, then shoo. I have a sick brother to tend to.”

The woman’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “So be it. But remember—you cannot fight destiny.”

I glared at her retreating back, forcing down the urge to call after her and demand an explanation. Whatever she meant could wait. I had more pressing problems.

I filled the jug quickly and hurried back, balancing it with practiced care. Children darted past me—begging, snatching, laughing despite their ragged clothes and hollow bellies. One little girl tripped over my slipper and let out a sharp cry. I knelt to help her up.

“Easy now. You need to look after yourself. Healers cost money,” I murmured.

She nodded, wide-eyed, before darting off again, leaving me to return to Lio. I poured the water carefully into his cup. He sipped slowly, shivering.

“Better?” I asked.

“A little…” he murmured. “Sera… do you have any food? I’m starving.”

My stomach growled the moment he said food. Me too.

“I’ll make us some cabbage soup,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. “And this time, you’ll have bread. Someone gave me half a loaf.”

I unloaded what little I’d scavenged onto the table and set to work.

As long as I'm alive, there's hope of saving my brother.