I did not sleep all night.
Every time I drifted toward sleep, the burn on my chest would flare alive—
the way embers glow red when wind brushes over them.
I sat on the bed, clutching my chest, whispering—
"Stop… please, stop…"
But the voice inside me did not stop.
"Fire never stops…"
The words came out through my own mouth—
but the voice was not mine.
I bit down hard on my lips.
The salty taste of blood spread across my tongue.
Still, the laughter inside me did not fade.
Near dawn, I must have slipped into a shallow stupor.
When I opened my eyes, I realized—
I was no longer on my bed.
I was standing in the middle of the library.
Barefoot.
Sleep-clouded eyes.
And in the center of my palm—
an unnatural warmth.
The Bible lay open on the desk.
I knew with terrifying certainty—
I had not come here by choice.
My body had brought itself.
Slowly, I looked down at my hand.
At the center of my palm,
a faint reddish glow was pulsing.
Not fire—
but the color that exists just before fire is born.
My breathing grew heavy.
"With this very hand…"
the voice inside me spoke again,
"…they tied me."
I shut my eyes.
And in an instant—
everything changed.
I was no longer in the library.
I was standing in a vast stone courtyard.
People everywhere—
hatred on their faces,
sticks in their hands,
fear in their eyes.
My arms were raised and bound
to an iron post.
Dry wood beneath my feet.
Torches all around.
Fire.
I tried to scream—
but no sound came.
Because I was no longer Naziba.
I was Ales.
I jolted violently and tore myself free.
I was back in the library.
Panting.
Sweating.
My hands trembling.
The red glow on my palm
slowly faded away.
I stumbled backward.
"This is no longer memory…
this is possession,"
I said aloud, in my own shaking voice.
Before morning fully arrived,
there was a knock on my door.
A simple, ordinary knock.
My chest tightened.
I went and opened it slowly.
Standing outside
was someone from the neighboring house—
An old woman.
Grey hair.
A rigid jaw.
Eyes filled with an unsettling vigilance.
In a thick Polish accent, she said—
"You live here alone, right?"
I nodded.
Her gaze fell to my chest—
exactly where the burn mark lay.
I hurriedly pulled my shawl tighter around myself.
She whispered—
"The fire has chosen."
Cold flooded through my body.
Before I could speak,
she turned and walked away.
All day long, those words echoed inside my head—
The fire has chosen.
By evening, I could no longer restrain myself.
I went down toward the underground chamber.
The trapdoor was now completely open.
I descended.
Tonight, the cold did not touch me.
Instead—
the air below carried
a strange, familiar warmth.
I stood before the very cell
where I had seen Ales.
There was no one inside the bars now.
But on the wall—
a new burn mark had appeared.
Exactly like the one on my chest.
I stepped closer and touched the wall.
And then—
Fire.
From the center of my palm,
a streak of red light shot forward
and slammed into the stone.
A sharp, hissing sound.
I cried out and pulled my hand back.
On the wall,
a blazing pattern had emerged.
A symbol.
Ancient.
A ritual mark.
From within me,
Ales's voice spoke calmly—
"You can do it…"
With a trembling voice, I said—
"I don't want this…"
The voice answered—
"I didn't want it either…"
At that exact moment,
a violent crash thundered somewhere above.
The sound of something heavy
slamming against the floor.
I ran upstairs.
When I reached the corridor, I saw—
My phone lay on the floor.
The screen wasn't shattered.
But the light was on.
I hadn't touched it.
Slowly, I picked it up.
There was no photo.
No message.
Only—
A video recording in progress.
Stunned, I stared at the screen.
And I saw—
Myself.
Standing in front of that very cell.
And the version of me inside the video
was looking straight at me…
smiling.
I screamed and flung the phone away.
At that exact moment,
the burn on my chest
ignited in a violent surge of heat.
And this time,
the voice inside me did not whisper—
It spoke clearly:
"Now… you are no longer just a witness."