A Rift in the Ranks

Pyrrhus and the rest were back in the camp and now faced by an angry crowd.

The confrontation escalated within moments. Finn's anguished screams ripped through the tense air, and his mother, a gaunt woman with eyes like flint, pushed through the crowd, her face twisted in rage.

"You little monster!" she shrieked, lunging towards Pyrrhus, who was being protectively held by Anya. "You'll pay for this!"

Other parents, fueled by their own simmering frustrations and the sight of Finn's bloodied ear, joined in the chorus of condemnation. Accusations and threats flew like poisoned arrows.

The soldiers formed a barrier between the enraged parents and the accused, but the tension crackled like wildfire, threatening to consume them all.

Jonathan and Elara stood their ground, their faces etched with sorrow and regret. Anya tried to apologize, her voice trembling as she pleaded for calm, but her words were drowned out by the deafening roar of the mob.

Owen and Cora cowered behind Anya, their eyes wide with fear. But Pyrrhus, held tight in his mother's arms, met their glares with his own unwavering defiance. He wasn't sorry. Not one bit.

A woman with anger twisting her features lashed out, her hand aimed at one of the soldiers' faces. The soldier, trained for combat, easily caught her wrist, but the sheer audacity of the attack sent a ripple of shock through the crowd.

"We've lost everything because of you!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with despair. "Our homes, our families... You failed to protect us then, and you're failing us now!"

Her words struck a chord with the others. The insults and accusations poured forth like a torrential downpour, each word a venomous barb aimed at the soldiers and Jonathan.

"Cowards!"

"Incompetents!"

"May your souls rot in the abyss!"

The curses rained down, their venomous words fueled by years of pent-up grief and frustration. Pyrrhus watched the scene unfold, a familiar ache stirring within him.

He remembered the fire that had taken his parents, how he had blamed Captain Davies, the man who had risked his life to save him. He had joined the fire service, driven by a need to prove he wasn't a failure like the captain he'd blamed.

But it was only when he had donned the heavy gear and faced the inferno himself that he truly understood the courage and selflessness of those who ran towards danger while others fled. The sacrifices they made, the lives they risked, all for the sake of strangers.

Pyrrhus saw the same pattern here. The soldiers, like Captain Davies, were risking their lives to protect this community, yet all they received in return was scorn and blame.

These people were blind to the sacrifices made on their behalf. They took the soldiers' protection for granted, hurling insults and curses instead of gratitude. It was sickening.

"Enough!" a booming voice cut through the chaos. Senton, Milo's father, stepped forward, his imposing figure silencing the crowd. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the scene, taking in the fear and anger.

"This child is a danger to us all," he declared, his voice heavy with authority. "If he cannot control his magic, he will be banished from this camp."

Darius stepped forward, his face flushed with anger. "Banish a child for defending his elders?" he challenged. "That's madness!"

Senton's lips curled into a sneer.

"He attacked another child unprovoked. Who's to say he won't do the same to us when his temper flares?"

"That's ridiculous!" Anya cried, her voice filled with desperation. "Pyrrhus would never harm anyone without reason!"

"Reason?" Senton scoffed. "Your son's 'reason' nearly cost Finn his ear! What kind of twisted logic is that?" He turned to the crowd, his voice booming with righteous indignation. "Are we going to wait for him to hurt someone else before we take action? We cannot allow this danger to remain among us!"

The crowd murmured in agreement, their fear and anger reignited.

"This is not a debate," Darius snarled, stepping between Senton and his family. "Pyrrhus stays. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with me."

The tension reached a fever pitch, the two men locked in a silent battle of wills. The air crackled with unspoken threats, the promise of violence hanging heavy over the clearing.

But before the situation could escalate further, Bram's calm voice cut through the tension. "That will not happen," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Senton's eyes narrowed. "Do you wish to create a rift in our community, Captain?" he asked, his voice dripping with venom.

Bram simply nodded. "If that's what it takes."

The crowd gasped, their anger replaced by a stunned silence. Senton, after a tense moment, gave a curt nod. "Very well," he said, his voice low and threatening. "But remember these words, Bram. This will not be forgotten."

He turned and led the angry mob away, their grumbling voices fading into the night.

Pyrrhus watched them go silently. He had ignited a firestorm, and he knew the consequences would be severe. But he did not regret his actions. He had held himself back for so long, but everyone else took advantage of his patience.

As the last echoes of Senton's threats faded into the dusk, a heavy silence descended upon the clearing. The soldiers, their faces etched with a mixture of relief and unease, slowly dispersed, leaving Pyrrhus's family and Bram facing the aftermath of the confrontation.

Darius turned to Pyrrhus, his face flushed with anger. "What were you thinking?" he thundered, his voice echoing through the now-empty clearing. "I expected better from you! Magic isn't a plaything, Pyrrhus. It's a dangerous weapon, and you used it recklessly!"

Anya hugged Pyrrhus tighter, her heart aching for her son. "Darius, please," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "He's just a child."

"A child who just maimed another child!" Darius retorted, his voice rising. "I can't stay calm when my son goes around beating other kids up! Especially not with something as dangerous as magic, messing around with things he doesn't understand."

Pyrrhus pulled back from Anya's embrace, his eyes blazing with defiance. "I knew exactly what I was doing," he said, his voice surprisingly firm for a five-year-old. "They insulted my family, my friends. I wouldn't let them get away with it."

Darius's anger flared even hotter, but before he could unleash another torrent of words, Jonathan's voice cut through the tension. "Enough," he said, his tone firm and unwavering. "Magic is a tool, Pyrrhus. It's meant to protect what you care about, not to be used as a means to show off your strength."

Pyrrhus met Jonathan's gaze, his chin held high. "That's exactly what I did," he retorted, his words echoing Jonathan's own earlier lesson. "I defended what I care about."

The adults exchanged stunned glances. This was not the response they had expected from a five-year-old. A tense silence hung in the air as they struggled to find the right words to counter his unexpected maturity.

Elara, ever the voice of reason, stepped forward, her weathered hand resting gently on Pyrrhus's shoulder. "Let's all calm down," she said, her voice soothing. "We can discuss this later, when tempers have cooled."

Her words were a balm to the raw emotions that had filled the clearing. The tension gradually subsided, replaced by a weary acceptance of the days events.

*****

Days later, Pyrrhus sat alone on a grassy knoll overlooking the camp, a safe distance from the prying eyes and well-meaning lectures of his family. The sun beat down on his back, but the warmth did little to thaw the frustration that gnawed at his core.

He was tired of being treated like a child. Tired of Anya's gentle admonishments, Jonathan's lectures on the "responsibilities" of magic, and Cora's wide-eyed pleas for him to be "good."

He knew what he had done wasn't wrong. Finn and Erik had deserved a taste of their own medicine, and Pyrrhus wasn't about to apologize for defending Jonathan.

He conjured a small rock in his hand, the smooth stone a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it skipping across the ground, the sound echoing his growing frustration.

"Damn it!" he muttered under his breath, kicking at a clump of dirt. He hated this. Hated being trapped in a child's body. Everyone knew he was right but also believed they knew better than him.

He summoned more rocks, a dozen of them swirling around him in a chaotic dance. His other frustration stemmed from his inability to master a new spell he'd been working on. Something that would give him a lot more leverage in fights and confrontations.

*****

A/N:

I've set up the seeds of conflict. They will sprout soon enough. Also, I know I've neglected the system but it will show more of its functions in the following chapter.

Thanks for reading Chapter 15! I hope you're enjoying John's journey as Pyrrhus. Your comments and votes really motivate me to keep writing.

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