Veins of starlight

The golden veins on Anya's arms hadn't stopped glowing since the night of the attack. They pulsed faintly, like embers that refused to die, a constant reminder of what had happened.

Tarek had patched up his wounds, though his arm was still wrapped in bloodied bandages. They sat in what remained of his workshop, which had been half-destroyed during the chaos. Dawnspire was still reeling from the attack, its streets littered with rubble and ash, but the mist had retreated when the dome's emergency generators flared back to life.

"Let me see it again," Tarek said, his voice a mixture of awe and fear.

"No." Anya shook her head, clutching her hands tightly. "I don't even know how I did it."

"You destroyed a Mistwalker with your bare hands, Anya. That's… that's not something you just forget."

"I don't want to hurt anyone," she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Tarek sighed and leaned back against the wall. "It's not about what you want. If you don't figure out what this is, it'll hurt you—or worse, someone else."

Anya flinched at the truth in his words. Since the attack, she'd been afraid to sleep. The golden light felt like it was burning her from the inside, growing hotter with every passing hour.

"What if it's… like them?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Like who?"

"The vampires." She looked up at Tarek, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "What if I'm not human?"

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. "You're not a vampire, Anya. You just saved my life, and I've never seen a vampire burn a Mistwalker. Whatever this is, it's something else."

Anya spent the next few days avoiding people as much as possible. Tarek's workshop became her sanctuary, though even there she felt uneasy. Her hands trembled whenever she tried to hold anything for too long, the faint glow of her veins distracting her at every turn.

Tarek tried to help, but his attempts were clumsy at best.

"Maybe you need to focus on a trigger," he suggested one evening. He held a sunforged blade in one hand, tapping its edge against the workbench. "Like… I don't know, anger or fear. That's what worked the first time, right?"

Anya gave him a flat look. "You want me to scare myself into exploding again?"

"Not exploding. Just… sparking." He grinned, though it quickly faded under her glare.

Still, she couldn't deny he had a point. The first time her power had awakened, it had been in a moment of pure desperation. She'd felt the heat rising in her chest, the golden light pouring out of her like a wildfire. If she could harness that feeling, maybe she could control it.

Later that night, they went to an abandoned courtyard on the outskirts of Sector 7. The dome's light was dim here, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement.

"Alright," Tarek said, standing a safe distance away. "Try focusing on something that makes you feel… intense. Anger, fear, whatever. I'll keep watch in case anything gets too close."

Anya nodded, though her heart was racing. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to block out the cold and the distant sounds of the city.

She thought of the Mistwalkers, the way they'd torn through the streets like shadows made flesh. She thought of the fissure in the dome, the cold mist creeping into her bones. She thought of her parents, their faces blurry but their voices clear, telling her to hide, to run, to live.

Her chest tightened, and the heat returned. It started as a flicker, deep in her core, then spread outward like a wave. Her hands tingled, and when she opened her eyes, the golden veins were glowing brighter than ever.

"I think it's working," she said, her voice shaking.

Tarek stepped closer, his expression cautious. "Try to direct it. Focus it into one place, like your hands or—"

A sudden burst of light erupted from her palms, slamming into the ground with a loud crack. Tarek stumbled back, shielding his face from the blinding glow.

When the light faded, Anya stared at the small crater in the ground, her hands trembling.

"Okay," Tarek said, coughing slightly. "That was… progress. Dangerous, but progress."

Anya dropped to her knees, her breathing ragged. The heat was gone, leaving behind a cold emptiness that made her shiver.

"It's too much," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't control it."

"You will," Tarek said firmly, kneeling beside her. "You just need time. And practice."

For the next week, they worked in secret, testing the limits of her power. She learned that the light responded to her emotions, flaring brightest when she was afraid or angry. But it also drained her, leaving her weak and disoriented after every attempt.

Tarek did his best to encourage her, but she could see the worry in his eyes. The attacks on Dawnspire were growing more frequent, and the dome's cracks were spreading.

One night, as they sat by the workshop's dying fire, Tarek spoke the words Anya had been dreading.

"We can't stay here forever," he said quietly.

Anya stared at him, her heart sinking. "What do you mean?"

"The dome won't hold much longer," he said. "We need to find a way out. Maybe there's another city, another dome—something."

"There's nothing out there," Anya said, shaking her head. "Just vampires and wasteland."

"Then we'll fight," Tarek said, his voice steady. "We've made it this far. And with your power…"

She looked down at her glowing veins, doubt gnawing at her. She didn't feel like a savior. She felt like a ticking time bomb.

But as Tarek's words sank in, she realized he was right. The dome was failing, and staying in Dawnspire would only delay the inevitable. If she wanted to survive—if she wanted to protect the people she cared about—she had to be stronger.

"I'll do it," she said softly. "I'll learn. And when the time comes, I'll fight."