The Aagran tribe was about 300 in number and lived in the north-eastern mountains, around the region of Mizoram.  They had a strange affliction, that caused some of their children to be born in the shape of human’s but not inhabiting the spirit. And such children could never be coached in the ways of the living world.  It was best to keep a look out for the signs, and when they arise, to eliminate them early,

Such children were called Makdis in their local language, which translated as Moths. Generally, by the age of two, their hair would develop strands the colour of fire, and their eyes would follow.

If allowed to grow, the Makdis would slowly show their tendencies, with heinous ways of inflcting harm, starting from torturing their siblings to death, drowning them in bathtubs, or just burning down the house at night. It was always considered important to kill the Makdis at the earliest, but some parents could not bear to murder these beautiful children, and would just carry the child afar, and abandon them in the dark of the forest.
 
If they survived, by wit or grit or luck, they knew that it was best to keep as much a distance from their own kind as possible, who would sometimes kill just on sight. Unable to bear the hunger, some Makdis returned to their families, shapeshifting as crows and ravens.  Their family would have no clue, even though it was part of the lore.
 
Others would gang up and form vague social structures, mostly out of loneliness. But they were unable to resist their tendency to bully, gang up, or kill the weakest. A tendency to chaos that disrupted all forms of structure. Destruction gave the Makdis something equal to a dopamine kick, and it was the same whether it was a younger sibling, or someone in a position of power. There was one position of power that the fire-children hated, yet bowed down to, and this was the fire-goddess Anala, who controlled them with food and punishment. Her posits stated that destruction was a way of cleansing and detachment, encouraging the Makdis to love for the explicit purpose of winning salvation. Which was in the destruction of those that you loved, explicitly those that you loved the most.
 
Naomi was a strange one, that way. A fire breather, one of the things that caused her to be the butt of jokes was the way she arranged her matchsticks. Her mate was Javed, who was the counter of boiling heavenly bodies that studded the sky. She loved how he woke up every night to count the stars. It was a task he did for Anala, and hence a reprehensible one, but it gave him food which he shared with Naomi.  Very few Makdis ever managed to do tasks for Anala, hating all labour, which they believed was against their very nature. Many would rather die than work for food, or burn themselves in fire.  But Javed sucked it up, and did his due, awakening from slumber or inebriation to count the stars. Naomi loved this about him. Sometimes when Naomi was alone, the noises of the forest suddenly disappeared, the movements stilled, and she felt like she was a mere flame in absolute darkness. It was a terribly lonely feeling, as if this fire she embodied was an eternal torment. Then Javed woke up to count his stars, and she felt that her flame was lit for some purpose. For someone. It made her feel alive, and far less scared.
 
They had tried to keep it casual. But soon Javed was trying to convince Naomi to move in with him. This was not unheard of, such an arrangement, but everyone knew that it was dangerous. By their very nature, love was a rare occurrence among Makdis, and for this very reason, it was their biggest addiction. Some went to great extremes to fall in love, spending time and effort to nurture the emotion for the explicit purpose of killing their loved ones. Of course, sometimes they struggled and fell prey to the emotion, and then, the weakest in love would inadvertently be the one to be killed. And this fact only excited the Makdis, and the scent of romance spread like wildfire. Makdis began approaching in large numbers and setting camp in the vicinity to witness the outcome.

But Javed and Naomi were only more attracted to each other, like moths to fire. Naomi’s night terrors were worsening, and finally Javed found an abandoned cave. Every passing day turned precious, their proximity moulding their love like copper in the forge. In no time, a year had passed. And they had become inspeparable, and the desire to consummate their relationship was mounting. Every sexual experience had one of them choking the other, strangling the other, biting off the neck, burning their skins with the fire of their breath. They tried to stay away from each other, but their bloods boiled for each other, and the madness was overtaking. Many a time, they narrowly missed burning the other with the fire of their breath. Naomi wondered what was the point in such an existence. But to control oneself was blasphemous. Even her confidante Supriya encouraged her to incinerate Javed, dismissing Naomi’s sentimentality as folly.  This is the way of our world, girl. Do not be so silly.  Do not get carried away. The images Supirya invoked in Naomi’s mind only excited her into an unreasonable frenzy.

Javed’s circle was also relentless, jeering, judging him for his weakness, bullying and targeting him for not giving in, asking him to man up. But there were other Makdis that thought that he was in for a long game, the sweet pleasure of slow torment to death, watching life slip away, the light in her eyes slowly dying.

When Naomi was not fantasizing Javed’s death, she was dreaming of ending it for herself. But this thought was blasphemous, for any Makdi that kills itself would only be reborn a Makdi. They would be an eternally un-extinguished fire and this was not a fate any Makdi cared for.

Naomi made a decision. She convinced Javed to relieve both of them of the burden of love. He must kill her. She had no desire to live in such a world. Without Javed, her world would only be more difficult. The other Makdis would only sense her helplessness, and close in for the fun. She did not have that kind of courage. She was an oddity, and he would be freeing her from the consequences, she begged him. With tears in his eyes, Javed agreed.

When the full moon hit the sky, Naomi and Javed rowed towards the Narcondam, the volcanic island. On the lava rocks they lay entwined, drinking in each other’s existence, swimming the boiling waters, Javed pushing and tossing her into the steaming geyser, but Naomi escaping and laughing. She was not going to make it easy for him, she laughed, as he dragged her over the jagged rocks. They would make even her death count. Pain seared through her body, but her heart laughed as it drunk in his delicious smell of smoky embers, hungry for the sweet end. Struggling and wounded, they still raced to the mountain’s summit, their cries mingling with a tumult of emotions—pleasure, agony, love, and hate.

At the crater’s peak, Naomi lay on her back, panting, when Javed suddenly pounced upon her like a leopard. In a reflexive motion, she raised her limbs, causing Javed to land awkwardly. With a sudden backward movement, she flung him away, their bodies mere inches from the crater’s gaping mouth. They grinned at each other, as if daring one another to act, whether to kill or maim. Their eyes locked, Naomi discerning the weakness in Javed’s gaze mingled with a desire for harm. With a swift kick of her legs, he reflexively lunged, causing her to lose her balance. As he crashed to the ground, the force propelled her over the edge, and she plummeted into the abyss

She heard Javed scream. Responding from her heart, she fell long through the crater’s rim, steam enveloping her body as strongly as the sulfur smell, ashes choking her lungs until she submerged into the pool of burning gold.

The flame within her was no longer alone. She was now the molten river of Narcondam.