Blood and Flames

He looked up, his gaze locking onto a boy standing just a few feet away, a disgusting sneer twisting his features.

The boy was about Ezra's age, but there was something unnerving about him. His hair was the color of blood, dark crimson strands falling messily over his forehead, and his eyes matched, gleaming with a predatory, almost feral intensity.

He was dressed in the same Blackspire uniform as everyone else, but his was different—badges and medals adorned his chest, glinting under the dim lights, a clear sign of status and accomplishment. The way he stood, shoulders squared, chin raised—it was obvious he was used to being in control.

"So, you're the new kid everyone's talking about," the boy sneered, his voice loud enough to carry across the silent dining hall.

Ezra felt the weight of every gaze settle even heavier on him, but he didn't flinch. He set his fork down, meeting the boy's gaze with an unreadable expression.

"What?" Ezra replied, his voice calm but laced with annoyance. "You need something?"

" You're sitting at my desk," the boy said, his sneer deepening as he leaned forward slightly, his tone dripping with arrogance.

Two of his lackeys flanked him, their faces twisted in mock amusement. They snickered and whispered, tossing taunts under their breath just loud enough for Ezra to hear.

"Didn't know they let street rats in here."

"Maybe he doesn't know how to read."

Ezra's jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin.

He glanced down at the table, then back up at the boy with a cool, unimpressed expression.

"I don't see your name on it," he shot back, his voice calm but edged with growing irritation.

The boy's sneer faded just slightly, replaced by a flicker of surprise at Ezra's defiance. But it quickly morphed back into a smug grin, as if he welcomed the challenge.

Ezra, on the other hand, felt the annoyance simmering in his chest.

'Is this supposed to be some kind of power play?'

Ezra raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in his chair, unfazed by the boy's posturing.

"What are you, five?" he drawled, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Getting mad because someone sat at your favorite desk?"

A few snickers echoed from nearby tables, students who couldn't quite hide their amusement at Ezra's boldness.

The boy's eyes darkened, the smug grin faltering just enough for Ezra to catch it—a subtle shift, but it was there. His lackeys stiffened beside him, their mocking expressions quickly replaced with something sharper, more cautious.

It was clear now—this boy wasn't used to defiance.

Without a word, the boy raised his hand to his mouth, his crimson eyes never leaving Ezra's. He pressed a finger between his teeth, biting down hard enough that Ezra could hear the faint crunch of skin breaking.

A thin trickle of blood welled up from the wound, sliding down his finger. But it didn't stop there.

The blood began to float, pulling away from his skin, hovering in the air like liquid mercury. It twisted and coiled unnaturally, condensing into a sharp, dart-like shape that pulsed with a faint, ominous glow.

Before Ezra could fully process what was happening, the blood projectile shot forward, zooming straight at him with lethal speed.

Just as the condensed blood darted toward him, a sudden blast of heat surged through the air.

Out of nowhere, a ball of fire—red, orange, and blisteringly hot—erupted between Ezra and the oncoming attack, engulfing the blood projectile mid-air.

The blood hissed and sizzled as it collided with the flames, evaporating on contact, leaving behind nothing but a faint, acrid smoke curling in the space where it had been.

The heat from the fire radiated outward, causing a few nearby students to flinch back, shielding their faces from the sudden blaze.

Ezra blinked, his heart pounding, as he turned to see where the fire had come from.

Someone had intervened.