Whispers in the flame

The tent flap whipped open, Anya rushing in, her heart pounding with alarm at the commotion she'd heard. Chaos reigned inside: blankets overturned, toys scattered, and Pyrrhus wailing at its center.

The boys, seeing Anya, paled visibly. Pyrrhus, noticing their sudden fear, felt a flicker of satisfaction. Good, he thought, they need to learn a lesson.

She scooped up Pyrrhus, his tiny body trembling in her arms, and checked him for injuries. "What happened here?" she demanded, her voice laced with anger and concern.

"It was Pyrrhus," Milo blurted out, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. "He used magic!"

"What nonsense," Elara uttered, entering the tent followed closely by Cora. She fixed her grandson Owen with a glare who quailed under the intensity. "What happened, child?"

Owen hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. "They were playing with Pyrrhus... tossing him around and ... he summoned the wind." His words trailed off, feeling the weight of his grandmother's judgment.

"No!" Milo protested, scrambling to his feet. "Owen dropped him! He was the one playing rough!"

The other boys chimed in, their voices echoing Milo's accusations.

Pyrrhus felt a surge of rage at such a blatant lie. 'These little...' he fumed silently. He cried out even louder, his tiny arms reaching toward Owen.

Anya, sensing his unspoken plea, gently placed Pyrrhus in Owen's arms. The baby immediately quieted, snuggling in the boy's embrace.

Elara's stern gaze swept over the other boys. "Lying as well, are we?" she chided, her voice laced with disappointment. Grabbing them by the collars, she marched them outside. "Let's have a word with your parents."

Anya watched them leave, her heart heavy with worry. She had never heard of a child using magic so young. What did it mean for Pyrrhus?

"Cora, Owen, can you watch over Pyrrhus for a moment?" Anya asked, her voice tinged with anxiety. "I need to speak with Jonathan."

Leaving Pyrrhus in their care, Anya hurried towards Jonathan's tent. She found him hunched over a parchment, a quill clutched in his gnarled hand. He looked up in surprise as she entered, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Anya, child, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice raspy.

Anya poured out the events of the morning, her words tumbling over each other in her haste to explain.

Internally, Jonathan was shocked. Could it be true? Had Pyrrhus already unlocked his magical potential? He maintained a calm facade as he listened, nodding occasionally.

"It's possible," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "that he absorbed some of the mana from Bram's exposure. In a moment of stress, it's not uncommon for young children to instinctively call upon their latent abilities."

He paused, then added, "It has happened before."

Anya's eyes widened. "But... is he safe? Will this hurt him?"

Jonathan reached out and placed a comforting hand on her arm. "Pyrrhus will be fine," he assured her.

Anya nodded, her heart still pounding with a mixture of fear and wonder. She thanked Jonathan for his reassurance and hurried back to her tent, her mind racing with questions about her son's future.

Unknown to her, Jonathan leaned back in his chair, a tremor running through his hands.

He had lied to Anya. He had never seen a child manifest magic at such a young age. It was unheard of. His mind raced, considering the implications.

Magic is a dangerous thing, especially in the hands of children, he thought grimly. Without control over their thoughts and emotions, they could cause irreparable damage.

He would have to keep a close eye on the child, guide him, protect him. Pyrrhus' potential was extraordinary, but it was also a double-edged sword.

For Pyrrhus, the day had been too short. It was the first time since his rebirth that he'd felt this way. The chaotic incident had inadvertently sparked a revelation. He finally understood what Bram meant by "lifeforce."

Focusing inward, he sensed a minuscule spark of mana at his core, surrounded by a ring of lifeforce—the energy that bound and controlled the raw magic. Excitement surged through him, a silent whoop of joy threatening to erupt from his tiny body. But a yawn overtook him.

"Time for sleep," Anya said softly, tucking him in.

Pyrrhus drifted off, unaware of the storm brewing in his dreams.

*****

The familiar scent of smoke and burning plastic filled his nostrils. The world warped and twisted, morphing into a scene of horrifying familiarity: the burning school.

He was back in the smoke-filled bathroom, the inferno raging beyond the door. Captain Davies was there, his face etched with desperation, a small child clinging to his back. But instead of moving towards the escape route they had created, they turned towards John, their eyes filled with a desperate plea.

The child reached out, his small hand trembling. "Flames... must... not... perish!" their lips formed the words, their voice barely a whisper amidst the roar of the fire.

John strained to hear, confusion warring with the rising panic in his chest. "What?" he cried, his voice swallowed by the inferno. "I can't hear you!"

Captain Davies's face contorted in anguish. He lunged forward, his hand outstretched, the child mirroring his movements. Their eyes, burning with an intensity that chilled John to the bone, locked onto his. "The flames... must... not... perish!" they repeated, their voices echoing in the smoke-filled room.

The flames danced closer, licking at the door frame, their heat scorching John's skin. Desperation clawed at his throat. "We have to go!" he screamed, but his words were lost in the deafening roar.

The world erupted in a blinding flash of white, a thunderous explosion tearing through the building. Pain engulfed him as he was thrown against the wall. Disoriented, he coughed, his eyes flickering open to witness a scene of pure horror.

The captain and the child, engulfed in flames, their screams echoing soundlessly in his mind. The fire, a monstrous entity, devoured them whole, a cruel mirror to the inferno that had consumed his previous life.

It threatened to drag the horrifying memory of his parent's death back from the coffin, but a comforting sensation – a gentle hand stroking his cheek – pulled him back. He gasped awake, tears streaming down his face, blurring the world into a kaleidoscope of colors. A soft voice, laced with concern, broke through the haze.

"It's alright," Anya whispered, her arms enveloping him in a warm embrace. "Did my firebrand have a nightmare?"

In that moment, overwhelmed by the emotional torrent of his dream, Pyrrhus surrendered. Tears streamed down his face as he burrowed into his mother's embrace, seeking solace in the only constant he knew in this strange new world – her love.

Deep within his mind, a place he couldn't yet access, voices stirred.

*****

"He can't hear us," a distinct male voice resonated, laced with a hint of frustration.

"We need to be patient," a calmer, female voice countered.

A beat of silence followed, thick with unspoken tension. "Yes, but it does not mean we have to be idle," the male voice insisted.

The female voice sighed, a sound that echoed with an unknown weariness. "Suit yourself," she conceded before an absolute silence descended.

Pyrrhus, oblivious to the internal battle raging within him, nestled deeper into Anya's embrace, the faint echo of the voices lost in the comfort of his mother's love.

***

A/N:

Thanks for reading Chapter 6! I hope you're enjoying John's journey as Pyrrhus. Your comments and votes really motivate me to keep writing.

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