It was the warmest night of the year and the Detlefs held their annual summer celebrations. 

Both twins had just turned six a while ago and were dressed up in matching outfits for the occasion.

Beauregard never really liked these types of events. There were too many grown-ups with too many false opinions and he was not allowed to correct them. Which is why the twins had slipped away soon after making their appearances, leaving the bustling crowd behind. They were sitting cross-legged on the balcony railing above the garden, a half-eaten plate of candied apples between them.

A dozen paper lanterns hung between the trees, their warm glow trembling in the summer breeze and making the garden shimmer like something straight out of a storybook. Moths fluttered through the air, bumping gently against the lanterns, leaving faint, powdery outlines where their wings touched the paper.

“Look at that one,” Isabeau said, pointing to a big fluffy gray moth fluttering near the railing. “It’s so big it shakes the whole lantern! And it just keeps on bumping into it anyway!”

“Because it’s stupid,” Beauregard said around a mouthful of sugar, flipping through a few of their mother’s notes on transmutation spells. “It thinks the lantern’s the moon.”

“Not true,” Isabeau countered, quick and certain. “They use the moon to find their way, yeah. But we just put up all these unnatural lights and that’s how we confuse them. It’s our fault, really.”

Momentarily stunned, Beauregard looked up from the passage he was reading. He already knew that, had read it in the same book she probably stole it from, but somehow she had still turned it into a point to counter him. She looked far too pleased with herself and Beauregard needed a way to diffuse the situation. He couldn’t let her get away with that easy of a victory.

He glanced at the lanterns, then turned back towards her, giving his twin a mischievous smile. “Do you think we could attract even more?”

She blinked, curiosity piqued. “How?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Beauregard said, grinning as he fiddled with the edge of their mother’s notes resting on his lap. “Maybe we can make the flame brighter … you know, just a little.”

Isabeau’s eyes went wide. “Mama said we’re not supposed to—”

“She said not around other people,” he cut in quickly, nodding toward the ballroom across the garden. “They’re all inside. No one will notice.”

Isabeau hesitated. The golden lanterns swayed between them, tiny flames trapped behind thin sheets of paper.

He felt like some encouragement was in order, so he reached toward one of the lanterns. The flame flickered, brightened, dimmed, then flared up again. Some moths drifted closer, drawn to the sudden increase in light.

He lowered his hand and smiled confidently. “See? Simple as that.”

Isabeau leaned forward, snatching the notes from his lap. “I want to try!”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she raised her hand. The glow within the lantern pulsed, soft at first, then stronger, golden light licking the paper’s edges. The moths spiralled faster, their wings reflecting the glow like tiny sparks. She was always better at making things work than he was. Theory came alive in her hands and he felt a flicker of both admiration and envy as he watched her flame dance more elegantly than his.

However, all of his jealousy vanished when he looked at Isabeau’s face and saw his own passion and never-ending curiosity for the magic they both shared reflected right back at him. She wore a small, content smile and Beauregard couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Try to control the flame in the other lantern too,” he said, demonstrating the gesture. “You should be able to do that, according to Mama’s notes.”

She mirrored his movement and the second lantern came to life as well. Both siblings’ faces brightened with awe.

Then some movement at the ballroom window across from them caught Beauregard’s eye and his stomach dropped.

A guest had wandered to one of the tall windows, a man holding a glass of wine. He frowned, peering through the glass toward the garden. His gaze landed on the brightly lit lanterns first before shifting to the twins on the balcony.

“Isa—” His voice came out small and breathless, his heart was racing. “Stop.”

Isabeau looked up,  following her brother's gaze, and froze.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, reaching for her sleeve, trying to reassure her, to stop her, to do anything. “Just—stop. Isa, quit it!”

But it was already too late. Isabeau was trembling, fear written all over her face. She pulled her arm away like the flame itself had burned her. Instead of dimming, the flames expanded, shifting in hue, eating away at their confinement. Beauregard felt all the air get sucked out of his surroundings.

At this moment he learned the true extent of the destructive potential magic could hold.

The explosion was louder than anything he had ever heard.

When Beauregard came to, the air hit him first. Hot, choking and sharp enough to sting his throat. The garden was gone. All that remained was a storm of flames. The paper lanterns had become tiny suns, each one bursting and spilling light into the darkness. Flames raced along the trees and ivy, crawling up the stone walls like angry vines, while embers and ash fell like snow. The night was filled with the hiss of burning silk, the splintering of wood and the distant, panicked cries of the guests inside the ballroom.

Beauregard’s head throbbed. In a state of complete shock, he briefly couldn’t remember where he was or why everything was burning. He sat up too fast and coughed, lungs constricting as smoke began filling them. Somewhere nearby, glass shattered as the ballroom’s tall windows gave way to the heat. Beyond that, he heard someone shouting his name or maybe Isabeau’s?

Isabeau.

Beauregard’s head whipped around, his vision blurring. She was only a few feet away, sprawled across the hallway. Both of them had been thrown inside by the explosion. Her eyes were fixed on the inferno.

He staggered to his feet, scrambling toward his twin and dragging her up as best he could. Her head snapped up and her eyes went wide with anger.

“Beau, look at what—what have you done?!”

He froze. “I—what?”

“You told me it was safe!” she yelled, her voice breaking as the heat shimmered around them. “You said no one would see!”

Beauregard flinched. He wanted to argue, to tell her she had it all wrong, that it wasn’t his fault, that he had tried to stop her.

But in front of them, the balcony groaned and collapsed, sending a shower of sparks into the night. The shockwave of heat hit them hard, forcing both of them further into the hallway. Beauregard shielded Isabeau as best he could, wrapping his arm around her and forcing them to move.

“This is your fault!” she kept shouting, even as he pulled her toward the stairs. “You made me do it!”

“I didn’t make you do anything!” he yelled back, voice raw.

Her face went blank for a second, all the anger draining from her body, leaving nothing but despair. Thick tears started pouring out of her, streaking her soot covered cheeks, and Beauregard felt his own beginning to well up.

“I don’t want to go with you!” she cried, weakly yanking at his arm. “You always make me do things! You always think you’re so smart, but look what happened!”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The fire had spread too far. He could feel the ground beneath radiate heat through his shoes. Another explosion, maybe the oil lamps from his father’s study.

“Come on” he gasped, coughing so hard his chest hurt. “We have to move.”

He grabbed his sister’s wrist as tight as he could. She was crying too hard to fight her brother, stumbling after him as he dragged her down the stairs. He didn’t know where he was going. He wanted to know. He wanted to be the smart one right now.

The next hall was filled with flames. Most of the doors were blocked by parts of the ceiling. Everywhere he looked, the fire kept growing towards them like it wanted to swallow them whole. How could such a simple cantrip cause that much destruction?

Isabeau tugged on his sleeve, her voice tiny and cracked. “Beau … I can’t… breathe.”

He couldn’t either. His chest felt too tight. His throat burned. The tears on his face felt hot.

“We just have to find Mama and Papa!” he lied, voice wobbling. “Just—just stick close to me, okay? And don’t let go.”

“I’m scared, Beau.”

He wanted to tell her it was okay, that he would fix it, that he would find a way out, that he really was smart, but the truth was, he couldn’t even think beyond the heat that surrounded them.

He was supposed to know what to do. Everyone always said he was clever, that he could figure anything out. But he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t stop the fire or make Isabeau stop crying.

The moments that followed were only filled with Beauregard’s frantic attempts to pull his sister toward safety. Until, somewhere in the chaos, a member of the house staff found the twins and carried them out of the burning ruin.

The next thing he remembered was the crisp night air. Both siblings were wrapped tightly in their mother’s embrace, her body trembling as she tried to soothe them. 

All around, servants and guests shouted while flames devoured everything they loved. Their home, the only world they had ever known, burned against the dark sky as their life as they knew it came to an end.