The Mage

Fire does not discriminate. Good, evil, friend or foe—everything burned. It could raze villages, leaving innocents destitute, or cleanse the world of sin. Fire cared nothing for human squabbles, and so it ascended into myth. Prometheus had stolen it from gods. Hell burned with eternal torment. The Phoenix immolated itself for rebirth. Fire didn't judge—it simply was, the essence of life itself.

The mounds of troll-flesh erupted in crimson flame. Fire danced along ivory bone, reducing flesh to ash. I stood transfixed as the flames awakened buried memories:

A small boy showed his art project, smile wide and enthusiastic, displaying a chipped tooth. An older man ruffled his hair fondly.

A family dinner—mother, father, son. Breaded chicken moistened with Italian dressing. Steaming potatoes on a mint towel. Small words exchanged after long days. Shared smiles.

A woman alone in a disheveled kitchen, talking to empty air. Her screams pierced the night as she clawed at imagined insects. A knife flashed. Blood stained the counter while her son wept and her husband drank at a nearby bar.

Pain blossomed under pale skin as a boy huddled in the corner, powerless. A woman's manic laugh chilled the night. Fists thudded. A man sighed, broken.

"Cease." My voice broke the trance. The flames shattered like glass.

The woman turned, eyes fixed on mine.

"What are you?"

Keeper of a Scorched Soul. 

The words burned into my mind though her lips didn't move.

One eyebrow rose, amusement crossing her face. "You good, sugar?" Her North Country drawl carried rustic grace.

"Yeah... just need a moment."

"You don't look so good," Dan added.

The other woman approached as I struggled for composure. "I'm known as Asphodel."

"Odd name. Makes ya sound like one a' those richies," the redhead quipped.

"Well, I am a Noble now." I chuckled. "It's my middle name."

She grunted, extending her hand. "Norma Jean. Pleasure."

"Norma, stop playin' with the kid. He can't be more 'an twenty-five," the brunette called, closing the distance.

"Betsy." She pulled Norma's hand back, tracing orange runes—no, tribal tattoos ending in stylized suns, each containing a glowing crimson infinity symbol.

Dan smoothly took over. "Ladies. Glad you're safe. How are the kids?"

"Well as can be expected after having an army of ugly green bastards trying to kill their entire family," Betsy said.

They explained their failed escape—a dragon creating a canyon in their path, forcing retreat through goblin-filled streets. Now they needed somewhere safe.

We headed east, toward the outskirts where most survivors had gathered. Norma wanted to check houses along the way. Her tattoos intrigued me.

"Got 'em twenty years ago, hangin' out at biker bars," she cackled at my question.

"And the fire control?"

"Been a volunteer firefighter ten years now." She pressed her infinity symbol, revealing a blazing red screen:

Ideal of Courage. 

Fire Mage.

An Ideal and Job already—she must have faced hell these past days. Mages were rare even in Fantasy, requiring deep understanding of their element. Norma seemed to accept fire's dual nature, neither fearing nor worshipping it.

At the first house, Dan took point—safer, given my thirst issues. A shot cracked out, spraying dirt at his feet. The yellow duplex bristled with makeshift fortifications. A gun barrel peered from the attic.

"We're here to help!" Dan raised his hands. "Please don't shoot!"

"Halfway to the house. Drop your weapons!"

Dan planted Damocles' End in the ground, negotiating with practiced charm. I scanned our surroundings—open grass right, trees left. Movement caught my eye.

"DAN!" He half-turned. "DAN!" His head snapped around. "The tree line. Low in shadows. Twenty at least."

Before he could retrieve his sword, Norma stepped forward. Crimson light pulsed through her tattoos as she wove her hands in intricate patterns. The creatures' eyes tracked her measured approach.

She stopped. The glow steadied. "Conflagrate."

Flames erupted from the trees, banishing shadows. The creatures charged.