First Flight

Six months old, and Pyrrhus was already sick of being a baby. His chubby limbs ached with the frustration of crawling instead of running, of gurgling instead of speaking. He was trapped in a prison of soft flesh and uncoordinated movements.

Only the constant hum of mana offered a glimmer of hope. He could feel it, a whisper of power dancing just out of reach. It surged through him, strengthening his tiny muscles, yet remained frustratingly elusive.

But even magic couldn't quell the gnawing hunger in his belly. With each meager meal, he felt the weight of their desperate situation. They were always on the move, skirting the edges of the sprawling forest, a silent threat looming over their ragtag camp.

Refugees, he realized. Fleeing from what, he didn't know, but the fear in the eyes of his people spoke volumes. The laughter had faded, replaced by grim determination and unspoken anxieties.

Something was wrong, and it was getting worse. The forest loomed ever closer, a predator biding its time. Pyrrhus, despite his infant helplessness, felt a growing urgency. He had to do something. But what could a baby possibly do?

Just then, a flash of golden hair and bright blue eyes appeared at the tent flap. Cora. A wave of relief washed over Pyrrhus. At least some things remained the same.

"Cora!" Anya exclaimed, a warm smile blooming on her face. "You're here early, come on in!"

The little girl, barely three, scurried inside and plopped down beside Pyrrhus. He, in turn, launched himself forward with a gleeful squeal, waving his chubby arms in her direction.

"He's so excited to see you, Cora," Darius chuckled, a hint of mock jealousy in his voice. "Doesn't give his old man that much enthusiasm."

Pyrrhus, for his part, simply beamed. Sure, Darius and Anya were great, but so was Cora.

Now that he was a little older, Anya allowed the older children to help care for him, and Cora was his absolute favorite. Unlike the roughhousing boys, she was gentle and attentive, treating him like a precious doll.

"Can I feed him?" Cora chirped, her eyes wide with anticipation.

Anya reached for the spoon. "Of course, sweetie," she said, handing it over with a smile. "But shouldn't you be helping Elara today? I thought you were on herb-collecting duty."

Pyrrhus's smile, if a baby could truly be said to have one, instantly evaporated. Herb-collecting duty meant one thing: the other children, the "brothers" Anya so fondly referred to would take care of him.

And while he endured their clumsy attempts at play, their rough handling often left him feeling more like a ragdoll than a playmate. In short, they were a menace, and the day had officially taken a turn for the worse.

"I wanted to see Pyrrhus first," Cora mumbled, carefully scooping food onto the spoon. Her small hands were a bit clumsy, resulting in a few splatters around his mouth, but Pyrrhus didn't mind. In fact, he found it rather amusing.

As soon as the feeding session was complete, Cora stood up, her face etched with a hint of regret.

Pyrrhus, however, wasn't ready to see her go. He mustered all his baby might and let out a loud, disgruntled cry, hoping to melt her heart and extend her visit. After all, after months of enduring the indignities of being a helpless infant, he felt he deserved some of their preferential treatment.

Cora hesitated, casting a hopeful glance towards Anya and Darius. Her big blue eyes held a touch of pleading. "Can I stay?" she asked, her voice small.

Anya chuckled, bouncing Pyrrhus gently in her arms. "Didn't you promise Elara you'd help her?" she reminded.

Cora's face fell, and she nodded reluctantly. "Okay," she mumbled, turning towards the tent flap. "But I'll come see you in the evening, Pyrrhus!"

With a final wave and a shy smile, Cora disappeared, leaving Pyrrhus in Anya's arms.

"You really like playing with your sister, don't you?" Anya cooed, gently rocking him back and forth. "You should try getting along with your brothers too, you know."

Pyrrhus, however, remained unconvinced. 'If only they had half a brain,' he thought grumpily. But for now, all he could do was grumble silently and hope for a better tomorrow.

Milo, a whirlwind of energy for a six-year-old, burst into the tent, barely reaching Anya's knees.

"Be careful," Anya said, with a worried glance at Pyrrhus, handed him over, and left with Darius.

Silence fell for a beat, then the tent flap rustled again. Milo's friends crept in, their muffled giggles a prelude to chaos. To Pyrrhus' surprise, even Owen, the quiet one, joined the group.

The air crackled with chaotic energy as the other boys, all a few years older than Pyrrhus, launched into a boisterous game. Owen, however, remained on the fringes, a silent observer huddled in the corner.

Ignoring them he focused on gathering mana and barely registered being lifted into the air. His eyes snapped open, a jolt of fear shooting through him.

"Who says I can't do it?" Milo declared, a triumphant grin plastered on his face.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Owen mumbled, his voice laced with concern.

Milo, however, was in his own world, deaf to Owen's reservations. He sent Pyrrhus soaring through the air. Terror flooded Pyrrhus – a sickening feeling of weightlessness followed by the terrifying rush of wind against his face. Thankfully, another pair of hands snatched him.

Pyrrhus let out a wail of protest, but the boys were caught up in their own amusement. Soon, Pyrrhus was being tossed high in the air, his heart pounding with terror each time he was caught.

"Higher!" Finn shouted.

"I can do better!" Milo countered, throwing Pyrrhus even higher. The throw was too high, too wild and Milo missed.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as he hurtled towards the unforgiving ground. John's heart hammered against his ribs, a drumbeat of terror. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to remember Bram's teachings. Lifeforce... mana...

And then, something incredible happened.

The air around him thickened, swirling into a vortex of invisible energy. He felt a warmth bloom in his chest, a tingling sensation that spread through his limbs. A spark ignited deep within him.

With a gasp, John reached out, his tiny fingers grasping at the air as if trying to catch hold of the unseen force. And then, it answered his call.

A gust of wind erupted from his body, a miniature cyclone that whipped around him. It buffeted against the canvas walls, sending ripples through the tent. The force of it knocked Milo off balance, and John tumbled safely into a pile of blankets.

Silence descended upon the tent, broken only by the ragged breaths of the stunned boys. John lay there, heart pounding, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and wonder. Had he done that?

"Did... did you see that?" Finn whispered, his voice barely audible.

"He... he made the wind blow," Owen stammered, his eyes fixed on John.

Pyrrhus blinked, his own surprise mirroring theirs. Had he... done that? A thrill of excitement mixed with uncertainty washed over him. Had he finally tapped into the magic that surrounded him?

John blinked, the adrenaline slowly fading. A warmth spread through him, a feeling of accomplishment mingled with awe. He had tapped into something incredible, something beyond his wildest dreams.

This was just the beginning, he realized. The fire within him had awakened, and it was hungry for more.

***

A/N:

Thanks for reading Chapter 5! I hope you're enjoying John's journey as Pyrrhus. Your comments and votes really motivate me to keep writing.

If you like the story, please show your support with Power Stones and Golden Tickets. Your encouragement means a lot!