Prologue Vol 1

"DAD!" a boy yelled, trying to keep himself up in the rain. "Where are we going!" The boy was in a light poncho, trying his best to not be blown away by the strong winds. 

"We're going up to the hills overlooking the city!" the father replied. "Look! You can see all of Chicago from up here!"

"I can't see anything through all this rain!" the boy exclaimed. "Why can't we evacuate the city like everyone else?"

"This is a great learning opportunity!" the father replied. "Your fire powers have yet to be tested properly!"

"You expect me to light a flame in this weather?" the boy questioned loudly. "HOW?"

"Watch!" the father said, turning around to face the boy. The father let out is hand, creating a small flame in his hand. "See?"

"Woah…" the boy said in awe. "That's insane!" The boy stumbled closer to get a better look at the beating flame. The small flame was a bright red color, with a vibrant yellow center. 

"We're almost there," the father, said, facing forward. "Don't fall!"

"I'll try!" the boy squeaked. As the boy got closer to the top, his attention was grabbed by a large tree resting atop.

"What's the tree doing here?" the boy asked.

"During the third world war, Chicago was destroyed completely by bombing raids and magic wielding supremacists." the father started. "The sight you see before you didn't exist twenty years ago. The entire world itself was vastly different."

"Aaaaand?" the boy asked. "What's this got to do with the tree?"

"This tree was a tree I planted years ago for a school project." the father stated. "I was given the task of taking care of it. When I went to serve during the war, I thought my tree would perish in the bombing raids, but it lived."

"Why are you telling me all this?" the boy asked. "Is there some grand life lesson you're trying to show me?"

"This tree isn't part of any lesson." the father stated. "This was just something cool I wanted to show you. Your lesson is going to revolve around trying to find your way back home from here."

"But all the roads home have flooded!" the boy stated. "How am I supposed to get home?"

"Figure it out," the father laughed. "You will have to use your fire to progress through the flooded landscape. I'll be close by incase you get yourself in serious danger." The father crossed his arms, focusing on the general location of their house.

"It's so far!" the boy exclaimed. "Can we just go home!"

"That's what you're doing!" the father replied. "Just go home if you want to so badly." The father's smile was as wide as could be.

"Fiiiiiine!" the boy groaned. "I'll try." The boy rolled up his sleves and pants. The boy focused his mind, slowly igniting his arms in a dull red color. As the boy strained himself further, his flames began to burn brighter until shining a bright red color.

"Woah!" the boy exclaimed. "It worked! It's so much brighter than before!" Before long, the flames died out leaving behind scarred tissue from where the flames were. "Awww."

"Put more energy into it," the father stated. "Unilke water, earth, and lightning users, fire users have the most natural disadvantages, meaning you'll almost never have the upperhand in any conflict, whether it be rain or space."

"Is this what you're trying to teach me?" the boy questioned, out of breath from the flames.

"Precisely," the father stated. "You will almost never have the advantage in life, whether it be in school, work, or elsewhere. You will more likely than not be the underdog."

"Okay!" the boy said with a smile. "Let's try this again!" The boy once again strained himself, creating bright red flames. "Aaaaalllllllriiiiiiiiight!" the boy cheered.

"Concentrate on the flames!" the father stated. "Or else they'll burn out!"

"I will!" the boy replied. "See ya!" The boy jumped down the ledge, beginning his pursuit to his home.

"I know you will," the father said to himself with a smile. "See you at home." The father lit his arms and legs, burning flames with bright white colors. The father looked forward to see a bright red color speeding through the storm, with a trail of steam behind it.

"Go Asher, my son." the father said.