3 Monsters (1)

For as long as he could remember, they called him Salamander.

At first, he thought it was his name, that his parents had an awful sense for naming things since every other child had names along the lines of Lucy or Mark, Filomena or Xiao. The adults had said he had a powerful name – that he was named after a mythological animal that had the power over flames and healing. He had accepted this as the truth while growing up. Yet when his Talent had manifested when he turned nine, he realized that Salamander referred to his Talent and not him.

His body healed whenever it was wounded and he could summon flames with a single thought. But he couldn't control the flames or the rate of his healing. So the adults sent him to the Sanctuary – to learn from the best. He expected to get better at his Talent. He believed that the Sanctuary would turn him into a better Spell Caster. But hell was waiting for him on the other side. Ever since then, his only memories had been that of pain.

Once they were kind. The boy called Salamander remembered being taught how to write and how to speak. But the moment the flames decided to materialize themselves, his existence turned from human to a lab rat. Every day, they would take him out from his cell, strap him on to a machine. Then, they would prod him with the metal stick and electrocute him again and again while increasing the power of each shock. At the end of the day, the men in white would throw him back into his cell and chain him to the wall. If he was lucky, they would give him something to eat. Most of the time, he was not.

His body healed too fast and kept him alive. Unlike the other children who passed away on their beds, he couldn't die quickly. The adults also made sure that they did nothing to kill him. They only exposed him to constant pain and torture – just to see how much his Talent could heal and how fast his Talent could work.

He was used to the smell of his burnt flesh. He was used to sight of blood. But each day that passed only fueled the flames that burned inside of him. He memorized each white coated adult, he memorized each face. And once he was strong enough to break free, The golden-haired boy swore to drag the disgusting monsters to a fiery inferno even if it meant burning himself along with them.

Everyday, his nightmare continued. Today was no exception. He had been woken up with a bucket of cold water and dragged out of his cell. The experiments continued. The electricity surged through his body. The researchers watched him convulse and writhe in pain. Some even smiled in excitement.

Suddenly, the room became dark. The monotony he had memorized stopped for a moment. There was panic, cackles of lightning, and hoards of adults making their way out of the room in a hurry. The metal boxes and machinery had had gotten used to were pushed aside and shoved.

Metal corroded. Something exploded. The cycle was broken. The monotony had turned into chaos. He had been left in the middle of it. Even if he wanted to leave, to boy with blonde hair was still strapped to the machine. And the only thing he could do was stare at the scene and at a pair of dark but curious eyes that stared back at him.

An hour passed. The chaos had died down. A few researchers had come back for him and the other children, and proceeded to escort them out. They yanked him down from the machine and carried him to his cell. Strong hands threw him in with no regard for the rough concrete floor that scrapped against his skin. The white coats took his fetters and chained him to the wall. He was too weak to yell and he barely had any strength to prop himself up. But an odd smell wafted in the small dark space and the boy couldn't help but look up.

His stomach churned and gurgled as his eyes were automatically riveted to the bowl that another researcher was waving in front of his face. Saliva started filling his mouth. How many days was it since he last ate? He had lost count. There was a pungent smell coming from the bowl. The food was probably rotten and stale. But he still lunged for it like a hungry predator and completely forgot that he was still chained to the wall.

'Thud!'

The chains snagged and he flopped to the floor painfully. The men simply laughed as they watched him. The adults dunked the contents of the bowl to the ground. Salamander panicked, his hand automatically reaching for the foul smelling chunks on the floor and shoving them in his mouth. He ignored the jeers the white coats were giving him and the taste of dirt in his mouth.

He coughed. He gagged. His throat was dry and parched. The men who looked at him spat at the floor before flashing a canteen that was filled with water. One of the researchers cruelly waved the bottle around and chuckled as the boy's blue eyes followed the container's every movement.

"Do you want this?" One of the men said with mock sincerity. He took the canteen from his co-workers hands and opened the lid. Sky blue eyes widened as the man tilted the container allowing the liquid to flow to the floor.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" The boy screamed, hands clawing at the moisture that was seeping into the cracks of the concrete. The men simply chortled, faces twisting in ugly ways. When they were satisfied, they turned away. Their distant laughter echoed in the distant hallways.

Once they left, his cell had turned silent. At that time, the floor glowed a faint blue and the moisture floated up from the ground forming a light blue orb. The ball of water slowly floated towards the boy who could only stare at dumbly at the spectacle.

"Cup your hands tightly," a small voice instructed. He turned his head to the speaker, his eyes meeting a dark bottomless gaze that seemed to suck him in. There was a girl who appeared to be younger than him. The color of her hair reminded him of chocolates. Her feet were bare but she didn't seem to affected by the rough concrete floor. When he still didn't move, the little female took his chained hands and placed them together as the orb of liquid floated into his joined palms.

"Drink. Quickly," she urged. Her eyes shifted from his face to a place in the distance, her gaze turning serious. "Someone's coming."

He looked at the water and greedily drank the liquid in his hand. He savored how the water felt cold against his throbbing throat. He took multiple sips and gulped down the water as fast as he can as he heard the footsteps approach. The moment he finished, a woman wearing a white coat passed by his cell without sparing a glance. The golden-haired boy could only blink as he realized he was alone in his cell.

The girl with brown hair was gone.

***

Michael's eyes studied the little girl in front of him with a worried gaze. She had black circles under her eyes and an oddly lethargic look on her face. Aria yawned for the tenth time in the last hour and the young man couldn't stop himself from asking, "Had trouble sleeping?"

Tired black eyes peered at him from above a hardbound book. Yesterday, she was reading 'Arrays and Enchantments – A Theoretical Approach' behind the 'Basic Alchemy' workbook. Today, it was 'Talents – The Complete Compendium'.

The boy with light brown hair placed his head on his right hand. "How old are you, Aria?"

This time, the girl placed the book down on the table. Her eyes were still glued to the pages. Without looking at him, she showed him eight fingers. Michael Caelum's lips quirked into a small smile.

"A famous scientist once said that 'Quiet people have the loudest minds,'" Michael Caelum stated, his irregularly colored eyes glinting. His fingers drummed on the desk as he studied her expression. "You must be thinking of a lot of things, aren't you."

When she didn't look up and pretended not to hear him, Michael continued. "Still waters run deep. The more you stay quiet, the more I know you're contemplating something profound and interesting."

"So?," she replied with her eyes still staring at her book. It looked like she didn't want to waste her breath on saying something that had more than one syllable.

"Do you understand those books? They seem difficult for an eight-year-old."

The little female's gaze was blank as she stared up at him. If only her eyebrows weren't furrowed, then she would have looked pitiful and innocent. No words left her lips. But her gaze seemed to say, 'I wouldn't be reading it if I didn't understand.'

"I thought about it," he began with his voice oddly thoughtful, "-but an eight year old doesn't really read very complicated books and doesn't say complicated philosophical things about what a name could mean to other people."

"Then maybe I'm not an eight year old." she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him with her lips pursed in a thin line. However, she only looked irresistibly adorable in Michael's eyes and he had to resist the temptation to pinch her pink cheeks.

"You're really cranky when you're sleepy, aren't you?" He remarked, still smiling. The way she pouted at him and ignored him told Michael the answer was 'yes'.

Aria continued to read her book. The boy took a children's book from one of the classroom's shelves and read it in silence. As soon as the music ended, Michael took a glimpse at the girl and found that she had drifted off to sleep.

Her lips were slightly agape. Her shoulders were rising and falling with her every breath. The crease between her eyebrows had disappeared. Michael took a deep breath and lightly touched her cheek. His usually calm eyes turned worried. Although he was only sixteen years old, he was skilled enough to sense that the little girl had used a lot of energy. His senses were sharp and he had a feeling the female had done something. He just hoped it wasn't something as life threatening as what he was imagining.

"What exactly were you doing last night that you would be as tired as this?" He whispered. His voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the classroom. The male held his breath. The even stomps were approaching the room and were getting louder with each passing second. The lock on the door opened with an audible click.

One of Elisium's teachers went inside and scanned the room. The girl called 373 was sleeping. The phonograph was off. The only sound in the room was the sound of the little girl's breathing. In her hands was an open picture book. There were no signs of complicated books. There was no sign that an amber haired boy was once there.

The boy called Michael Caelum had disappeared and the music had disappeared with him.