The Warmth of the Hearth

There is a ringing in Luke’s ears as he struggles to comprehend the event that has just unfolded in front of his eyes. His uncle, the one and only family this forsaken world has left of him, bursting into nothingness as he does not know what it is that he should feel. Anger, regret, sadness, all welling up and entangling themselves into the confusion that he, himself, cannot seem to understand.

Xylia does not stir, still recovering from the event that she had just suffered with her encounter with Ifrit, lying still in Luke’s gentle, but shaking hands.

“What...” Luke barely coughs out a word, tears streaming down his widened eyes as he refuses to move from the place he stands. He falls on his knees, the dust beneath him now fluttering in the wind, surrounding him in a mist of scattered dirt as he is engulfed in a silence, dead as one can be. “Why me?” There is resentment in his heart, one that turns quickly into a ravaging anger. Anger at circumstance, at chance, for what it has brought to him and his family. He screams, bloodcurdling as the quiet of the broken citadel shatters, a newfound realization forms within his troubled mind. Luke eyes the worn-out journal in his hand, the symbol of House Laisren now faded in the ancient leather, its spine showing signs of years of use. In an instant, Luke Laisren is now truly alone.

“What is it that we, mortals, long for?” Noah Skye mutters, barely able to reach the ears of the sleeping Varsha on his bed. “Some say it is freedom, others power.” He caresses her head as she puts in on his bare chest. “However, I would like to hear what your answer is.”

Varsha smiles, feigning thought as she pulls her body closer to his. “I desire a place in this world you have chosen to create.” She pauses, now wondering if that was sufficient enough to satisfy the question asked of her. “So, that means I desire your company. I long to be enough for you.” Her hand travels up to Noah’s cheek, pulling his face closer as she presses her lips against his. “What about you?”

Noah doesn’t answer, a moment of comfortable silence passes before he is able to give her his thoughts. “If I were to say...” He pauses, his eyes fixated on the ceiling above them. “Control. I want to seize control, always.”

“I believe that suits you.” Varsha answers, falling into slumber once again.

A moment has passed before Luke finally decides to pick himself up. His mind blank from shock and the sudden loss of his uncle. There is nothing more important to him right now than to punish the ones behind all of the suffering they had to go through. “You’re all dead...”

Xylia dissipates into manna as Luke calls for her, now a white flame surging into Luke’s body.

Luke, no longer acknowledging any form of reason, chooses to pursue Souyer’s kidnappers. Mercy is to be forgotten as the ones who have come to like the suffering, they themselves, have chosen to cast upon them.

He focuses his senses, tracking the traces of the faint manna the captors have left, a faded tinge of colors leading into the broken castle. Noah Skye is there. There was a thirst for vengeance, a side of him he never even knew existed. He will make them pay.

Night falls as Luke finally reaches the courtyard of the Capitol. There were more than a few of Noah’s men standing guard. “Five... Seven...” Luke mutters as he tries to find a hole in their defenses. His eyes spot the faint manna of Souyer, located somewhere underground along with many others. An intense flickering clump of Terra is spotted at the center of the broken courtyard. Luke senses intense malice as he leaps from the shadow where he laid hidden, or so he thought. Humungous roots emerge from the concrete of where he just was as more emerge from the rubble to pursue him. I’ve been spotted. He senses the manna sprint towards him, followed by the rest of the people posted to guard him. There was no way out as he braces himself for a fight.

“Aye! What’s a little mouse like ya doing round here?” The gruff voice of Rolan Alder booms from the shadows as he emerges to face Luke. “Oi, you’re the Laisren young’un that’s supposed to be offed! How the bloody hell are ya here?!”

Luke doesn’t retaliate, sensing four men surrounding him up on the nearby buildings. This is bad! He claws at his mind to think of anything that could be of help, debating whether or not he should take the risk of fighting a house head. If it were the others, it would have been doable, but the unexpected variable of Alder turns the tide strongly against him.

“Not much of a talker, are ya? No biggie, I’ll just make sure ya die like you were supposed to, this time for good!” He swipes at the air with his mace, as dozens of tree roots drill their way from the buildings, quickly making their way towards the young Laisren.

Luke swiftly evades one after another as a sudden jolt of pain sears up in his right leg. He throws his own attack at the mage above, killing him instantly as the bolt of flame explodes at his masked face. More attacks make their way towards Luke as he leaps and weaves his way between each, his outfit torn from the near misses his attackers have managed. He cannot afford to drag this out as he feels the exhaustion set in. He focuses, gathering the manna around him, as he summons a blade of brilliant white flame around him, a chain dangling from its hilt. “You’ll regret everything, and I’ll stand over you as you writhe in pain.” With a loud cry, he dashes in, using his flames to propel him into a speed their eyes could barely follow. In an instant, he was behind two of the lurking mages, swinging his blade as their heads roll swiftly onto the ground with a thud, a splash of red now smeared across Luke’s person. There is no place for mercy here. “You’ll see what it’s like to burn.”