Touch of Flame



Richard didn't know what was happening to him. He went from being cold and freezing all the time, beginning with the icy coldness that made him numb, to burning in hell. He really didn't know which one was worse. Both were equally painful. 

For a moment, he had come to believe he was in fact in hell, being punished for his sins. He would never see his daughters again. Where they safe now? Did they find each other? 

He had often heard Corinna from a distance and seen a man with her. He looked like a dragon and he seemed to want to save him. A few days later, he thought he heard Ravina's cry. After a while, he became sure it was her and his lungs screamed, his body fighting to open his eyes, move, or do anything to see her again. 

He had failed his daughters so badly that now he could only hear them cry in the distance. This hell he deserved, but he knew he had to wake up because he was the reason they were crying when he didn't deserve their tears. As he heard them leave, he fought once again, but they left him there, and it felt like an eternity alone in the darkness. 

Then the pain got worse. He could hear Ares and the familiar voice of the man who was with Corinna, but there was a third voice. 

Malachi. 

It didn't take long for Richard to put together the pieces. Ravina had escaped with Malachi and now she was here with him. Whatever she had planned, she seemed to have succeeded in it. It brought tears to his eyes. He didn't know what she did, but he was proud of her. He was proud of both of them and relieved that they were safe and now together. 

In his momentary relief, he felt his body being moved and poked, and after a while of the men discussing things he couldn't comprehend, the burning intensified. No. It wasn't really burning this time. It was stinging, as if a thousand bees had attacked him or as if he had been poisoned. 

He screamed a sound that never left his lips because he couldn't move. Only tears streamed down his closed eyes.

It went on for what felt like forever before the pain slowly began to subside and numbness settled it. 

Where was everybody? Where was Corinna? Ravina? 

What was happening to him? Why this sudden pain? 

"Richard?" a voice suddenly filled the eerie silence surrounding him. 

He could hear the creaking of a chair. A long silence followed, and Richard wanted to ask who was there. 

"It is me. Malachi." 

Malachi. Was he alone here? Did he know he could hear him? 

Malachi took a deep breath. "I hope you wake up soon." The man told him, his voice tinged with pain. "You might not believe me but, it hurts to see you like this. I know things could have been different had I met you halfway through your efforts." A silence followed. 

"Since the day you came to us, I have been haunted by your visit. Your words… they resonated with me. You gave a little confidence to my insecurities. I began to believe peace was possible and so I began voicing my opinions." He took a deep breath. "I hated you later for it because, in my attempt for peace, I lost my sister. I took back my opinions. I thought I was stupid for trying, even as the nightmares of my actions haunted me."

Richard didn't have to see his face to know how pained he looked. How regretful he was and how much guilt he probably carried. He, of all people 

knew what regret looked like. 

Regret was a bitter poison, a slow-burning flame that seeped into every crevice of your being. It was a relentless echo that replayed your missteps over and over, punctuating every thought with a sharp pang of 'what if' and 'if only'. It was a reflection that never left, a mirror that only showed the choices you wished you hadn't made.

Regret was a phantom, an invisible weight that rested heavily on your shoulders, bending your posture and clouding your gaze. It was a specter that haunted your every step, whispering reminders of your failures into your ear, keeping you up at night, tossing and turning with the unyielding torment of remorse.

It was a river of sorrow, flowing through the veins, a constant reminder of roads not taken, words not spoken, actions not done. It was the taste of missed opportunities, the flavor of bitter loss lingering on the tongue, a constant companion in every waking moment and even in dreams.

Had Richard known, or anyone for that matter, that standing against the storm would be much easier than having regrets, then all of them would have found the courage to do the necessary. To do the right thing. 

Malachi sighed, his voice filled with the weight of his own regrets. "I was afraid, Richard. I didn't know how to face the reality of what I had done, and my sister finally gave me answers. You were wrong and I was right and everything I had done was justified. I don't know if you understand what I mean." 

Oh, he did. He understood very well what it was like to find a disguise, an escape, when the guilt and pain became too much. At that moment, it feels easier to hide, but one only creates more reasons to be regretful later. If he only knew. 

'If only' again. 

"I know I am late," Malachi voiced, a raw strain evident in his tone. "Am I too late?"

Richard wanted desperately to respond, to assure him, but he was trapped within his own body. He felt the words form in his mind, fervently wishing they could escape his lips. Malachi's presence alone was a testament to the fact that it wasn't too late. If he still had breath in his body, if his heart still beat, then it wasn't too late. 

Yet, when it came to his own prospects, Richard couldn't help but feel that he might be too late. His life could fade tomorrow, his actions forever cast in the unyielding stone of the past. The mistakes he had made would remain uncorrected, his misdeeds never addressed. There was a piercing sadness in this realization, a profound sense of loss. 

"I hope you can wake up soon. Your awakening will be the answer itself, that it is not too late." 

Richard's tears flowed again, wishing with every bone in his body that he could wake up, but his body remained a prison. 

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