Embers of a New Life

A/N: Dialogues in asterisk are words that the MC does not understand.

***

John's vision slowly cleared, the blinding light of the fire replaced by the soft glow of a new world. Blurry shapes sharpened into a woman's face, etched with exhaustion yet softened by a warmth that calmed his primal fear. He reached out, a whimper escaping his throat, tiny fingers brushing cool skin.

A bearded man, young despite the coarse brown hair framing his face, knelt beside them. A silent exchange passed between him and the woman, then he gently gathered them both into a strong embrace. The night sky, a tapestry of unfamiliar stars, stretched above, cool air a balm against John's skin.

"*Darius!*" the woman gasped, her voice laced with panic.

The man, Darius, didn't reply. He gently peeled back the cloth covering John, revealing a jagged red mark on the baby's tiny shoulder.

It pulsed faintly, an angry ember against his pale skin. The woman's fingers trembled as she traced the outline, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"*Look*," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the growing murmurs of the crowd gathering around them.

Darius leaned closer, his brow furrowing. "*Never seen anything like it*," he muttered, his voice laced with concern. He met her panicked gaze. "*What do you think it means?*"

The woman's hand tightened around the swaddled infant, her knuckles white. A tremor ran through her as she scanned the faces around her, searching for reassurance but finding only a reflection of her own fear.

A towering warrior, his face etched with the scars of countless battles, shouldered his way through the crowd.

A hush fell as his hand tightened around the pommel of a sword. It hummed with an azure energy that crackled like embers. "*The child*," he rumbled, his eyes glowing with excitement, "*is born of fire.*"

The crowd murmured, a wave of unease washing over them. Anya's heart pounded in her chest. She saw only a brand that set her child apart, a target for fear and suspicion.

Darius's hand found hers, warm and reassuring. "*We'll protect him*," he vowed, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainty.

Anya nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "*We will*," she whispered, her voice gaining strength. "*We will protect him.*"

He turned to the warrior, a question hanging in the air. "*Do you know what it means Bram?*"

Bram shook his head. "*Only stories and whispers, passed down through generations. The mark, they say, is a protection. The fire itself will shield him from harm.*"

A flicker of relief washed over Anya's face, battling the lingering fear. A shield – that was all she wanted for her child, for their child.

Darius, his voice firm yet gentle knelt down closer to John. "*A name*," he said, his gaze fixed on Anya. "*What will you call him?*"

The tears spilled over Anya's eyes, landing on John's head. "*Since the fire will protect him*," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "*let it be his shield. We will name him Pyrrhus.*"

John's mind reeled. Fire, screams, blinding white… too much for his newborn senses. Panic gnawed at him, but his tiny body refused to cooperate. Only a strangled whimper escaped as exhaustion claimed him.

"*So active*," Anya smiled, gently rocking him.

He tried to convey something but only even that tiny exertion left him drained, his eyelids drooping like curtains over lead weights. The world blurred, the desperate fight for consciousness a losing battle against an overwhelming tide of sleep.

*****

A few days passed since his rebirth and John had calmed down but also hated every minute of it.

Nature, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor when it came to newborns. John, with all the grace of a drunken hippo, had zero control over his… bodily functions. The indignity!

The first time a surprise attack erupted from his nether regions, he seriously considered using his chubby fists for a more permanent solution. Self-strangulation seemed far more dignified than this current predicament.

But not even that could compare against the more mortifying ordeal.

Here he was, strapped to Anya's chest, a vision of youthful beauty with eyes that shimmered like molten gold. Despite the dark circles under her eyes and pallid face, the beauty still shone through.

She cradled him close, beautiful face framed by black hair. "*There, there, little one. It's alright. You're safe now.*"

John twisted his head, wanting to adjust into a more comfortable position.

Unfortunately, it translated to a wobbly head bob that ended with him smacking his cheek against Anya's soft chest. He flushed – well, at least his new body did – a phantom embarrassment heating his tiny cheeks.

"*Oh, you poor thing*," Anya chuckled, brushing away a stray tear that escaped his tightly shut eyes. "*Is it that time again?*"

Anya, ever the doting mother, began unfastening her tunic to breastfeed him.

Ugh, not again. John squeezed his eyes shut, willing his face to stay cool.

But it did not matter. John, master firefighter, reduced to a drool-monster. He tried picturing his firefighting days, the control, the power... nope, just the indignity of another feeding session.

"*Stubborn little firebrand*," she giggled, nudging his head towards the buffet.

At that moment, he wished Anya would trip, sending him flying.

A quick, messy demise seemed preferable to another round of "Mama's magic milk." It was the most desperate wish he'd ever had.

The tent flap snapped open, framing a stooped figure weighed down by firewood. "*Extra kindling, dear*," Elara rasped, her voice laced with age. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as they landed on John. "*Look at the little tyke go! He's a strong one, that's for sure!*"

"*Elara!*" Anya exclaimed, relief flooding her face. "*You shouldn't have brought so much. You know Jonathan's knees act up in the cold.*"

Elara waved a dismissive hand. "*Nonsense! He'll be fine grumbling by the fire anyway. Besides, a growing boy needs his fuel.*" She knelt beside them, her gaze softening as she poked John's cheek playfully.

Anya reached for a waterskin hanging by the entrance, offering it to Elara. "*Here, you must be parched after that walk.*"

Elara shook her head with a smile. "*Not a chance, dear. The Fenbeasts won't wait for their breakfast. Besides, a little sweat never hurt anyone.*"

Anya hesitated, concern flickering in her eyes. "*But Elara, you shouldn't be exerting yourself so much. You know Jonathan worries about you, especially with the cold setting in.*"

Elara scoffed, waving her hand. "*He worries about a squirrel crossing the road, bless his soul. These old bones still have plenty of work left in them.*"

Seeing the determination in Elara's eyes, Anya knew arguing would be futile. With a small smile, she said, "*Alright, but let me help you carry something at least.*"

Elara hesitated, her gaze lingering on Anya's still pale face. "*Very well. But only a small bucket. You still need your rest.*"

Anya beamed, relief washing over her features. She expertly tied John to her back, wrapping him in an extra layer of fur for warmth against the crisp morning air. This was the second time John had a chance to see the world outside the tent. The first, as a newborn overwhelmed with panic, had offered little in the way of details.

***

A/N:

Thanks for reading Chapter 2! I hope you're enjoying John's journey as Pyrrhus. Your comments and votes really motivate me to keep writing.

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