Pilgrimage

A searing heat blossomed deep within me, igniting in a place I didn't know could burn. It wasn't my skin, my muscles, or my bones—it was something deeper, something I couldn't reach even if I clawed at my skin.

My very being writhed in the intensity, and though I had no form in this void, I felt every second of it.

The flames were blistering. They devoured me without consuming anything physical. There was no smoke, no ash—only fire and pain. I tried to scream, but I had no mouth, no voice.

The soundless agony stretched endlessly. Is this hell?

Or was this the pilgrimage Hestia mentioned?

The word echoed in my mind, drowned by the pained screams that never left my mouth. This wasn't a journey I could walk. It wasn't a path I could see. It was something far more profound—like something reshaping my soul itself.

I couldn't tell how long I drifted in that inferno, but eventually, the flames shifted.

The pain didn't lessen; it evolved. The burning turned sharper, more focused, as if something—or someone—was forging me into something new.

Memories began surfacing again, each one pulled from the depths of my consciousness.

The first was my earliest fear.

I was five, standing on the edge of a diving board, trembling as the water shimmered below. The cool breeze against my wet skin, the distant sound of laughter from other kids—it all felt so real.

My chest tightened, and just as I was about to step back, a hand shoved me forward.

I fell.

The memory broke, replaced by another. My first heartbreak. The crushing weight in my chest, the sting of tears that refused to fall, the bitter taste of regret.

Then, my breakup. The rawness of it. Her voice—calm, detached—telling me it was over.

The flames consumed each memory as they appeared, reducing them to embers. I felt myself letting go, piece by piece, until only the essence of who I was remained.

It wasn't just purely pain—it was purification.

The whisper from before returned, stronger now, reverberating through the blazing inferno:

"Shed what binds you. Embrace what lies beyond."

Each word was a hammer against my soul, striking with a force that echoed in every fragment of my being, like a stone clattering inside an empty well.

I wanted to resist. I wanted to scream that I didn't need this, that I was fine the way I was.

But deep down, I knew that wasn't true.

The fire, in better words, the 'blessing' was reshaping the parts of me I had buried or ignored. The anger, the fear, the sadness—they were being tempered into something else.

Something stronger.

I didn't understand why this was necessary, but I stopped fighting. There was no point. Whatever this pilgrimage was, it was beyond my comprehension.

And hence, I surrendered.

The fire roared one last time, engulfing me in a final, blinding surge of heat. I felt my soul fracture under the pressure, only to fuse back together, stronger than before.

And then... it was over.

The flames receded, leaving behind a heavy silence. I floated in the void, exhausted yet whole. There was a strange clarity now, a sharpness I hadn't noticed before.

The hum returned, softer this time, more rhythmic. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. My heartbeat.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I sensed movement. Not the weightless drifting from before, but real, tangible motion.

A sharp jolt shot through me.

I gasped, lungs filling with air. The sensation was foreign after the endless stillness, and it struck me like a punch to the chest. My heart thundered, blood rushing in my ears. My senses—numb for so long—awoke with a jarring clarity.

I opened my eyes.

The world around me blurred at first, shapes and colours blending into a hazy mess. I blinked several times, forcing my vision to focus. Slowly, the details sharpened.

I was in a… carriage?

The wooden walls creaked with each bump; the clatter of wheels annoyingly loud in the oddly clamped space. The scent of old leather and damp wood didn't lessen the splitting headache I was getting from the sensory overload.

My hands rested on a worn seat, fingers curling against its rough texture.

I flexed my fingers, almost marvelling at the sensation. I could feel again. My body—my real, tangible body—was here. Solid. Grounded.

I inhaled deeply, letting the air fill my lungs. Each breath anchored me further into this reality like the anchor of a ship would do, pushing away the lingering fog of the void.

Yet, something felt... off.

My soul still simmered, the remnants of the fire leaving an unshakable warmth in my chest. It wasn't painful, but it was there. I could sense the change, though I couldn't explain it. What was this odd sensation of flames constantly present at my fingertips?

I blinked again, a few times until the texture of the worn wood and my own hands became even more clear. "Where the hell am I?"