Ice

Xander was thrown back into the monstrous grip of uncertainty. He was a lab rat, a guinea pig for the whimsical experiments of lunatic scientists. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, each beat echoing his growing anxiety.

"Just what is it that you want from me?" Xander's voice trembled but he held Doctor Vince's gaze, demanding an explanation.

Doctor Vince finally looked up from his notepad, pushing his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. "Understanding," he began in a calm and collected manner. "We want to understand the nature and limits of your newly discovered abilities."

"And why should I help you?" Xander challenged.

Ace shrugged again, a smug grin pulling at his lips. "Because you can become a hero, just like your dad."

Xander's blood was boiling, his veins throbbing with heat. Was it anger? Or was the fire about to consume him again?

"How can I trust you?" Xander retorts, still reeling from the fact that they had kidnapped him and now his father - the man he thought he knew - turned out to have supernatural abilities. But his father is no longer alive, leaving Xander without anyone to turn to for help.

Ace's smirk evaporated. "You can't," he said bluntly. "But we're the only ones who can train you to control your fire, to use it for good. You saw what those vampires can do. They're only the tip of the iceberg. There are far worse creatures out there, Xander."

Doctor Vince chimed in, setting his notepad aside and folding his arms, regarding Xander in a more serious light now. "Those creatures are growing bolder, stronger. We don't know why, but we need people like you to stand against them."

Their words hung in the air, heavy and wrought with implications—of danger, of sacrifice, of a world teetering on the edge of chaos.

"I need time.." Xander finally voiced out, feeling a whirlpool of emotions churning inside him.

Ace quickly retorted, crossing his arms defensively. "You don't have much left," he pointed out. "The danger is right around the corner, Xander. Your father's death has left a gaping hole in our organization, and we desperately need you to fill it."

Not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing his shock, Xander kept his face stony. "And what if I refuse?" he asked, meeting Ace's cold eyes with a defiant glare.

Ace locked gazes with him, the smirk returning to his face. "Then you'll be on your own, kid," he replied nonchalantly. "Good luck trying to control that fire of yours without burning everything down around you. Who knows what other abilities you might have."

Xander's eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on Ace. "Give me one week," he said through gritted teeth, "then I'll join your damn organization." In truth, Xander knew he had no choice. He needed time to process everything that had happened - the death of his father, the discovery of his own supernatural powers, and the existence of supernatural beings, all he could feel was anger and confusion.

Ace gave a nod of approval, his smirk evident. "One week. We'll be watching," he warned playfully, as if this was all some kind of twisted game to him.

Xander swallowed hard and turned to leave the alleyway. He could feel their eyes on him even as he moved away from the dim light into the shadows. He found himself walking aimlessly through the late-night streets, each step echoing his own thoughts. It was as if reality had taken a turn for the surreal, and he was caught in its vortex.

He had powers—abilities that went beyond human comprehension. The memory of fire spinning around him like a crimson cyclone was so vivid, it sent shivers down his spine. Xander clenched his fist, half expecting flames to lick his skin again.

"Control," he muttered to himself, remembering Ace's words. But how was he supposed to learn it on his own? He wasn't even aware of these powers until tonight. 

***

Xander found his way back to his grandparents house, it was an older house that sat on the older part of town.

Most of the paint on the decrepit wooden panels had peeled off, revealing the scars of time. The house was surrounded by a rusty wrought-iron fence that squeaked when he pushed it open. The place had always given him comfort with its familiarity, but now it felt different, quieter somehow.

Moonlight filtered through the cobweb-laden branches of an ancient willow tree, casting eerie shadows over the unkempt garden. He went up the creaky wooden steps to the front door and fumbled with his keys. In stepping into the dimly lit hallway, he breathed in deeply the scent of mothballs and old books - smells that normally comforted him - but tonight they did little to quell his unease.

He paused briefly in front of a cracked mirror hanging on the wall, taking in his disheveled appearance. The face staring back at him was covered in soot and streaked with sweat; his dark hair sticking out at odd angles. His green eyes, usually bright and full of life were now dull with confusion and fear. Fear of himself, fear for what lay ahead.

Xander's voice echoes through the old, worn kitchen as he walks towards it.

He halts at the doorway and notices a large manila envelope sitting on the table. "Grandma?" he calls out again, but the silence of the house is unsettling. His heart races as he approaches the table and sees the package. He flips it over to see his name written on it. With a lump in his throat, he opens it, expecting the worst. To his surprise, it's from his grandmother or someone pretending to be her. Inside is a letter explaining that she won a free week-long cruise and left that morning.

She mentions a kind young man who told her he was on a school trip, which explains why Xander hasn't been home for a few days. There is also money in the envelope for Xander to buy what he needs while she's away.

Xander couldn't help but think how convenient it all was. He had a strong suspicion that Ace was the reason his grandma had suddenly left.

As the realization of Ace's likely involvement sunk in, a raw surge of anger welled up inside Xander. He crushed the letter in his fist, feeling the edges dig into his palm. But no flame sprung from his hand this time. Was it because he willed it not to? Or because he wasn't angry enough?

He needed to test his capabilities, to know what triggered them. Tossing the crumpled letter onto the table, Xander left the house, walking purposefully towards the cobwebbed willow tree in the garden.

In the silvery moonlight, he stood before its gnarled majesty and extended his right hand towards its trunk. Closing his eyes, he tried to summon the fury he felt when Ace had provoked him earlier. The memory of his father's death, the injustice of his kidnapping, and now this — Ace meddling with his grandmother's life; each incident fueled his rage.

Xander felt a strange feeling gathering in his chest. It seemed to flow through his veins like hot liquid, reaching his fingertips in a matter of seconds. He quickly opened his eyes and was surprised to see frost forming on his fingertips instead of flames.