First Blood, First Flame

Pyrrhus knew he couldn't wait any longer. He gritted his teeth, a cold determination settling over him as he pushed the memories of fire's destruction aside.

With a gasp, he wove the unstable mana of fire into his wind spell. The air crackled with raw energy, the heat so intense it singed the edges of his hair. The cone in his hand glowed white-hot, a miniature sun burning with a fury that mirrored his own.

But this time, he didn't stop there. He drew upon the wind, compressing it beneath the fiery cone. The air grew heavy, a palpable pressure building in the space between his cupped hands.

A tiny spark of flame, a deafening boom, and the cone shot forward like a bullet from a gun. A straight line of fire seared through the air, leaving a trail of shimmering heat in its wake. The Ravager, its attention fixed on Bram, had no time to react.

The cone slammed into the Ravager's head with the force of a thunderbolt. A blinding flash of light engulfed the clearing, the deafening roar of the explosion momentarily silencing the battle. A wave of scorching air blasted outward, forcing the soldiers to shield their faces.

When the smoke cleared, the scene was one of utter devastation. The Ravager lay sprawled on the ground, its head a charred, smoking ruin. Its once fearsome form was now a grotesque mockery of its former self.

Bram, battered and bleeding, collapsed to his knees, his azure blade clattering to the ground. The clearing fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the dying flames and the ragged breathing of the stunned soldiers.

They stared at the Ravager's corpse, then at Pyrrhus, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"By the gods," one of them whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "What in the world was that?"

The echoing silence after the Ravager's fall was broken only by the crackle of dying embers and the soldiers' ragged breaths. Pyrrhus's eyes immediately flicked to the depths of the forest, where a formidable presence had remained stationary throughout the battle. It seemed the unseen entity had no interest in further testing them tonight.

A wave of exhaustion washed over Pyrrhus, and he swayed, collapsing into the charred earth. His vision blurred as he felt the familiar thrum of his mana dwindle, leaving him empty and aching. The reckless combination of four spells had drained him completely.

If the volatile combination of fire and wind had backfired, he would have been consumed in the explosion.

His gaze drifted to the charred corpse of the Ravager. How many times had he witnessed such scenes in his past life? Charred bodies, the stench of burning flesh, and the anguished cries of those left behind.

A wave of sadness washed over him, threatening to bring back the horrors he had desperately tried to bury.

A large, calloused hand reached down, cutting off the corpse. Pyrrhus blinked, his vision clearing to reveal Bram's weathered face, etched with concern despite his stoic mask.

The warrior's strong arms gently lifted him from the ground and enveloped him, a silent comfort that unexpectedly pierced through Pyrrhus's emotional armor.

Tears welled up in his eyes, a torrent of suppressed grief and trauma threatening to break free. He was an old soul in an infant body, and in that moment, so much of the pain he had held surged to the surface. But with a shuddering breath, he pushed the emotions down, swallowing hard. He wouldn't let his past control him. Not now, not when he had so much to protect in this new life.

"You did well," Bram rumbled, his voice surprisingly gentle.

"Well?" a nearby soldier exclaimed, breaking the spell. "Well?! That was incredible! We should bring the kid along on every patrol!"

Bram's stern gaze silenced the soldier instantly. "Apologies, Captain," the man mumbled, his face flushing with embarrassment.

A deep, rumbling voice echoed from the forest as they retreated from its edge. "One month," it said, the words hanging heavy in the air before the immense soul faded back into the darkness.

Pyrrhus felt a wave of relief wash over him, as if a sword had been lifted from his neck. But the respite was fleeting. The Ravager's attack was a stark reminder of the dangers lurking in the shadows. He clenched his tiny fists, a fierce determination hardening his resolve. He had to grow stronger, faster.

The villagers emerged from their hiding places, their faces etched with relief and awe. Anya and Darius rushed towards Bram and Pyrrhus, their eyes wide with fear. Anya scooped Pyrrhus into her arms, her voice trembling as she checked him for injuries.

"I'm alright," Pyrrhus mumbled into her shoulder, but Anya was not easily reassured. She turned her gaze on Bram, her eyes blazing with a fire that rivaled Pyrrhus's own.

"I expected better from you," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, handing Pyrrhus to Darius as she confronted the seasoned warrior. Despite only reaching his chest, her presence was commanding.

Bram met her angry stare with a calm gaze, unflinching.

'Uh-oh,' Pyrrhus thought.

"He's just a child, Bram! You can't keep putting him in danger." Anya's voice cracked with emotion, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I know you think he's special, but why does he have to be? Why can't he just be normal, live a quiet life? Being special is a curse, Bram. It draws danger, it never lets you rest. I don't want that for him. I just want him to be safe."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her body trembling as she fought to keep her composure.

Bram calmly stood before her, blood dripping from his wounds, and took all of her anger despite not being at any fault. He bowed to her. "I understand your fears, and I apologize. I will do better."

"You don't have to go that far," Darius said, stepping forward to support Bram.

Pyrrhus squirmed in Darius arms, a wave of defiance rising within him. "I'm not a child," he muttered, but his words were muffled against his father's chest.

Anya's gaze softened, but her voice remained firm. "Don't argue, Pyrrhus. You know you were wrong."

A wave of frustration washed over Pyrrhus. How could he explain the burden he carried, the memories of another life, the knowledge of dangers lurking just beyond their sight? He was an adult in a child's body, yet no one seemed to understand.

Anya held him close, her voice softening. "What do you say when you've done something wrong, Pyrrhus?"

He sighed, resigned to the inevitable apology. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, but his eyes remained fixed on the dark forest, a silent promise echoing in his heart.

That night, Anya nestled close to Pyrrhus, her sleep restless and filled with anxious dreams. He felt her warmth against his small body, the steady rise and fall of her chest a comforting rhythm. 

A pang of guilt twisted in his gut. He hadn't meant to worry her, but a primal instinct, born from the ashes of another life, drove him to protect those he cared for. There were threats out there, shadows lurking in the forest, and he wouldn't sit idly by while his new family remained vulnerable.

Under the cover of darkness, he carefully wriggled free from Anya's embrace. The tent flap whispered open, revealing a sliver of moonlit sky. He crept out, his tiny feet padding silently across the dewy grass.

The small crest overlooking the camp beckoned him, a beacon of solitude in the sleeping village. A lone figure stood there, silhouetted against the moonlit sky.

Bram. Always watching, always guarding.

Pyrrhus scrambled up the gentle slope, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He reached Bram's side, the warrior's gaze fixed on the horizon, his expression unreadable.

"I want to get stronger," Pyrrhus declared, his voice a mere whisper in the cool night air.

Bram turned, his eyes searching Pyrrhus's face. "That's not what your mother wishes," he said, his tone gentle but firm.

"I know," Pyrrhus replied, his gaze unwavering.

A long silence stretched between them, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind. Finally, Bram spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you sure?"

Pyrrhus nodded, his resolve unwavering. "Teach me how to unlock my Manalocks."

***

A/N:

Thanks for reading Chapter 11! I hope you're enjoying John's journey as Pyrrhus. Your comments and votes really motivate me to keep writing.

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