I found the journal on a rainy afternoon, hidden in the far corner of the attic. I wasn’t looking for it—just rifling through the old boxes that had been collecting dust for as long as I could remember. My mother’s things, remnants of a past she’d never really shared. The journal was tucked beneath a stack of yellowed papers; its leather cover was cracked and worn. I hesitated before picking it up, something deep inside me resisting the pull to open it. But then again, curiosity had always been my curse.

I flipped it open to the first page, and there it was—June 5, 1982, in my grandfather’s neat, slanted handwriting. I hadn’t even known it existed. He died before I was born, but I’d heard about him my whole life. Or, at least, I’d heard enough to know he was someone I was never supposed to ask about. His name was a ghost in our house, a shadow that clung to the walls and whispered through the cracks in the silence.

The first entry was a revelation. My mother had always told me that the Phoenix Order—the cult my grandfather had been part of—was evil, something to fear. She never went into details, but I grew up knowing they were the reason she kept us moving and hiding. It was why we never had a permanent home, why she never let me get close to anyone. The Order was a monster in the dark, always just a step behind us.

But as I read my grandfather’s words, I saw something different. He wrote with such passion, such conviction. He said the Phoenix Order wasn’t an evil force but a sanctuary. It is a place for people who want to improve the world and cleanse it of the corruption that has taken root. It was about rebirth, about rising from the ashes stronger, purer. The way he described it made so much sense. The world was broken. Full of lies and suffering. Maybe the Order was right—maybe the world did need to be torn down and rebuilt.

As I kept reading, I agreed, nodding to his words. And then, just as quickly, I’d stop and remember my mother’s warnings, her fear. She never wanted me to know about this, and now I was beginning to understand why. This wasn’t just some abstract ideology; it was something that had nearly destroyed her, destroyed our family.

But the more I read, the more I wanted to understand. Not just the Order but my grandfather himself. What had driven him to believe so strongly in something that everyone else seemed to fear? How had he become convinced that destruction was the only path to salvation?

I didn’t have any answers, and the more I read, the more questions I had. My grandfather’s words started to change, the tone becoming darker and more desperate. He wrote about the sacrifices that had to be made, the blood that needed to be spilled, and the fire that had to burn hotter and higher until it consumed everything in its path. It was no longer just about rebirth; it was about destruction.

That realization hit me hard, like a punch to the gut. I slammed the journal shut, my heart racing and my hands trembling. What the hell was I doing? How had I let myself get sucked into this madness? My mother had been right all along. My grandfather was a monster, and the Order was nothing more than a group of fanatics willing to do anything—sacrifice anyone—to achieve their twisted vision.

And yet… I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story. Something I was missing, something that didn’t fit. I needed to know the truth, all of it. I needed to understand why he had done what he did and been willing to sacrifice everything, even his family, for the Order.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I couldn’t walk away now, not after everything I’d read. I had to finish what I started.

I opened the journal again, flipping to the final entries. The handwriting was messier now as if he had been writing in a frenzy, desperate to get the words out before it was too late. He wrote about the final days of the Order, the plans they had made, the actions they had taken. He wrote about the night everything fell apart—when my mother had finally escaped, taking me with her, leaving him behind to burn in the flames he had ignited.

And then, in the very last entry, he wrote about me.

I stared at the page, my breath catching in my throat. He mentioned me by name, something he hadn’t done before. He wrote about how he had known, even then, that I would come looking for answers one day. I would want to see the truth about where I came from, about who I was. He wrote about how he hoped I would understand, how he hoped I would see the world the way he did, and how he hoped I would continue the work he had started.

I slammed the journal shut again, my hands trembling. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t let myself get drawn into his madness. But as much as I tried to convince myself, I couldn’t stop the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, he had been right. Maybe the world was broken and needed to be torn down and rebuilt.

“Ren?” The voice startled me, and I jumped, nearly knocking over the boxes beside me. I turned to see my best friend, Leo, standing in the doorway, concern etched across his face. “You okay? I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied, shoving the journal back into the box and pushing it aside. “Just… lost in thought, I guess.”

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied my face. “You don’t look fine. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, too quickly. I could see the skepticism in his eyes, and I knew I wasn’t fooling him. Leo had known me since we were kids. He could always tell when something was bothering me.

“You’re lying,” he said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s going on?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I didn’t want to drag him into this, but I knew I couldn’t keep it to myself. I needed to talk to someone, and Leo was the only person I trusted. “I found something,” I admitted reluctantly. “Something about my grandfather.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your grandfather? The one who was in that cult?”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at the box where I had hidden the journal. “It’s… complicated. But I think he might have been right about some things. About the world, about what needs to be done.”

Leo’s eyes widened in surprise, and a frown creased his forehead. “Ren, you can’t seriously be considering… Your mom always said that he was… well, you know.”

“A monster?” I finished for him, my voice bitter. “Yeah, I know. But what if she was wrong? What if there was more to it?”

Leo was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. “Ren, you have to be careful. This kind of thinking… it’s dangerous. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I knew he was right, but I couldn’t help how I felt. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something I was meant to do, something bigger than myself. “I just need to figure it out,” I said quietly. “I need to know the truth.”

Leo’s expression softened, and he reached to place a hand on my shoulder. “Okay. But promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t do anything reckless.”

“_I promise_,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I wasn’t sure if I meant them.

Later that night, I sat alone in my room, the journal open on my lap. I read and reread the final entry, my grandfather’s words echoing. He believed in me. He thought that I was the key to finishing what he couldn’t. And as much as I wanted to reject that, to walk away, I couldn’t. Because deep down, I knew that he was right.

The fire was inside me, burning hotter and brighter with each passing moment. I didn’t know where it would lead me, didn’t know what it would make me, but I knew I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t pretend I was who I had been before I found the journal.

I could hear my mother’s voice in my head, warning me and begging me to walk away. But I wasn’t going to listen. Not this time. I had to see this through and find out where this path would take me. Because maybe, just maybe, it would lead me to the truth.

The truth about my grandfather. The truth about the Phoenix Order. The truth about _myself_.

And I wasn’t afraid anymore. I was ready to face whatever came next, even if it meant walking into the flames.