Butterfly

"Who's next?" Skipper asked.

Emile turned his head to look at his companions. He didn't mind going first, the ceremony seemed relatively simple, but he also didn't want to cut anyone off if they wanted to go instead.

As he observed his companions, so too did they observe him. It seemed everyone held the notion of checking before volunteering.

"I'll go," Blood spoke up.

Just like the fox, Blood closed his eyes and began to concentrate. Unlike the fox, whose essence manifested all over his body, Blood's remained within his palm.

Once enough had gathered, he raised his arm above the flames before him and waited. The flames grew and consumed his hand, obliterating the essence that was called forth.

Blood's turn quickly passed and it was now someone else's opportunity. Willow volunteered and mimicked her predecessors.

Her essence also manifested slightly differently, it was released from her chest. Sparks of white light formed around her shoulders, adorning her like an angel, before she directed it to her palm and sacrificed it to the flames.

So far, nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Emile remained vigilant, though, since the kindness the foxes showed didn't necessarily mean they could be trusted.

During each of the Ceremonies that have transpired, Emile strained his attention each time. He observed the fluctuations of essence, felt the flow of it, listened to its birth and its death.

He didn't know what he was looking for, but he was sure there was something. For one, it didn't make sense for the foxes to possess something as extraordinary as the Spirit Flames, assuming that really was what they were.

Roy went next. His essence reacted like Blood's, forming in his palm from the get go, but other than that nothing worth mentioning occurred.

Suddenly, everyone had participated but Emile. Feeling the awkward stares of his peers, Emile closed his eyes and called upon his soul core.

His essence stirred while he manifested it. At first, he felt his essence drain from his soul core, leaving his soul and appearing around him like his aura.

But then the sensation changed. Like artificial waves encased in a pool, his essence overflowed and poured out.

From each corner of his body, the essence bled through his skin, leaving his veins behind and coalescing in the air around him.

Before he directed his essence to his palms and raised them above the flames, his essence was already being siphoned. The radius of his essence far outpaced the reach of the others.

This additional reach crept into the flames, and like a hose, his essence poured into the flames without reserve.

One second passed. Then two. A minute. Five minutes.

Emile continued to sit perfectly still. His aura remained, somehow unphased while still attached to the flames. If someone had opened their eyes, they would have seen a raging fireplace.

Spirit Flames exploded from the coals, reaching as high as the ceiling. They not only grew in size, but in richness as well.

The transparent flames brightened. They produced a blinding white light, coating the room in an impossibly bright illumination that pierced the guests eyelids and struck their corneas.

At the sudden outburst of light, Skipper and the rest opened their eyes, but they were far from being able to see. The only person who could see, if you could call it that, was Roy.

Although the flames were bright, they didn't produce any heat, allowing Roy to see through them like they didn't exist in the first place. Looking at Spright, Roy saw his aura of essence and it had only grown larger.

As if two opposing forces were clashing over possession, Emile's essence clashed with the flames. The bustling and overflowing flames crowded the room, surrounding Emile like a cocoon.

Meanwhile, Emile's aura circulated around him. It freely flowed into the flames, further strengthening their entrapment of Emile.

Emile, unexpectedly, wasn't aware of any of this. Not the time that had passed or the massive growth of the flames. In fact, he didn't even know his essence was still being burned.

He had more pressing matters to take care of.

For example, the dark pink, magenta butterfly fluttering around him was one of them. He parted his lips, but words refused to fall from them.

He couldn't stand, raise his arms, not even turn his head left to right. All he could do was watch the butterfly. It circled his head and fluttered around the empty room aimlessly.

Then, the butterfly flew towards him. Emile didn't panic, he didn't feel the need to. For some reason unbeknownst to himself, he trusted the butterfly.

It carefully landed on his nose and instantly the world changed.

Emile's eyes burst open. His aura dispersed and the flames receded. Emile knelt over, his forehead mere inches away from the tiny flames that danced atop the canopy of coal.

But unlike the first time, the tingling sensation hadn't accompanied the closeness, although Emile was too preoccupied to notice.

He clutched his chest. His breath was ragged and he panted heavily, a thick coat of sweat covered his skin.

Once their eyes adjusted to the room and they could see again, everyone present was shocked at Emile's condition.

Willow reacted first, coddling him and placing the back of her palm against his forehead. Skipper responded next, he exploded from his seat and ran to deactivate the flames.

Something like this had never happened before.

It was just an ode to their savior.

An old practice to honor their ancestors.

It was supposed to be merely for show… right?

Willow tried talking to Emile, but his head was spinning and his ears were ringing. The only thing in his mind that he could think of clearly was the voice he heard the moment the butterfly touched him:

"It's nice to meet you, I'm…."