The Warmth of the Hearth
Emergence

The ground shakes as loud thuds can be heard over the distance. Luke recognizes the familiar thuds of Tyrone, the treant. He approaches the epicenter of the noises and finds Tyrone fending off multiple masked men while Souyer hung onto his back. Binds made of varying elements grounded Tyrone and rendered him immobile. The treant bellowed as he fell onto the ground, clutching the old man onto his chest to avoid any damage onto Souyer.

Seven. Luke spots seven enemies all over the place, seemingly unaware of his presence in the area. He decides to pick them off one by one, avoiding any direct conflict as much as possible. His eyes catch a familiar glow in the distance as an explosion occurs, garnering the attention of the men binding Tyrone as well. Uncle Olin? He recognizes Olin’s manna and as swiftly as it appeared, it was replaced by a more violent and erratic nature of magic.

Most of the men around the area flee the scene and head towards the center of the event, leaving only three to finish the binding around Tyrone while one subdued Souyer. “Seal the treant and prepare to move to assist the first group after. I’ll take care of the old man.” The one with a different mask speaks, a more powerful aura surrounding him than the others. The three nod and proceed to pour their manna into the binds as the one who gave the orders disappear along with Souyer.

“This treant is more stubborn than we thought. Pour more manna on you---” The man doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Luke wraps his neck into a chokehold and snaps the man’s neck in swift motions. They do not deserve mercy. The other two don’t get a chance to react as Tyrone gets an arm free, smashing one of them into the ground with a crack as Luke pierces the other with a flaming spear, reflecting on the now lifeless man’s face.

Luke felt no remorse as he eyes the three inanimate bodies around him. Since when have I become a murderer? Killing other people was never an act he imagined he would find himself doing. Now, he was eradicating his enemies one after another with almost no hesitation. All he felt was anger, at the mess that the entirety of Ezicion was in. Anger towards those who knock over the powerless and abuse their so called superiority over others. They deserved to die.

Uncertainty loomed over Luke’s chest as he watches Tyrone stand up. The treant’s eyes were filled with worry as he eyes the direction in which the masked man took Souyer. Luke nods, knowing that he had to move fast if he wanted to make sure the old man was alright. However, he was also worried about the explosion a while ago and wanted to check on whether or not his uncle was really present.

Luke decides that it would be best to regroup with his uncle rather than go and move on his own. He could not overlook the possibility that Noah could have been informed of his presence within the capital and it would be dangerous if he stumbled upon Skye all of a sudden.

He tells Tyrone his plan to ensure that they get as much help as they can and sends him back to send Nieko a message. “If I know Essie, I know that she’s planning on relocating the evacuees as soon as possible.” Luke speaks as he finishes healing Tyrone’s wounds. “So I need you to tell Nieko that I will come back with his grandpa soon, and that I need him to leave trails for me to follow. He’ll know what I mean.” He pats the treant’s leg and watches Tyrone set off.

“Get out of my head!” Carson roars as the entire surrounding shakes, smoke moving in erratic movements around him. You need me Carson Blaise! “I do not!” Carson slams his fist into the wall, leaving a huge crater in its wake. Carson’s eyes widen as he watches his once crimson flames now being contaminated by darkness, a pitch black fire now swirling around his arm. You will be my vessel, and you will do my bidding. The black flames now sway with glee around the entirety of Carson’s body as they seep into his skin, his consciousness now tucked at the back of the vessel of a body that was no longer his.

A smile emerges from his face, malice and bloodthirst hidden behind it. “Yes, a suitable vessel indeed...” Carson, now the once feared Megon, walks over to look at his own reflection in a nearby puddle of water. He can’t help but let a giggle escape at the thought of once again flooding Ezicion in darkness. However, Megon acknowledges that he must remain patient, for he has not mustered nearly enough of his strength to do so. “It will come.” He says to the listening Carson, terrified of what Megon was about to do in his stead. “And you will see what true suffering is.”

On the other side of the citadel, Luke finally stumbles upon the exhausted Olin, gently carrying the unconscious Xylia in his arms. “Uncle!” He rushes to greet him, relief washing over his senses as he finds joy at the fact that Olin was okay. “Are you alright?” Luke asks, catching Olin as he fumbles his way upon the ground.

“Luke...” Olin sputters, barely able to say a word as he suffers a fit of coughing and wheezing, his body quivering at the struggle of keeping Ifrit at bay. “I need you to listen to me!” He manages to say with urgency, his vision now blurry. “I don’t have much time.”

“Uncle Olin, what’s wrong?!” Luke panics as he holds the shaking Olin in his arms.

“Take this...” He hands Luke an old journal, one that he had prepared for an event that would leave him no choice but to abandon himself. “I am sorry young Luke, but I’m afraid I must leave you on your own...” Olin whispers, his eyes now brimming with tears as he feels his hold on Ifrit give out. “I have and will always be proud of each spark you light up, little one.” He pauses, a warm smile now on his pained face. “I am sure your father would be too.”

With a sudden jolt, he pushes Luke away as the entirety of his body bursts into a raging pillar of flame, emanating waves of heat that torch the debris around it. Olin screams in agony as his form no longer remains human. Anguish has turned into rage as his scream turns into a roar, causing the earth to shake. “PERSISTENT-” Ifrit’s voice slips as Olin’s burning body leaps beyond the buildings, taking him in the outskirts of the citadel. “YOU WILL NOT GET RID OF ME HUMAN!” Ifrit shouts, attempting to subdue the last of Olin’s consciousness.

They reach the innermost parts of the forest beyond the citadel’s walls, where Olin had dragged his own body against its will. “I know, but I will make sure you stay put with me as well!” With a flash of bright red, Olin binds his soul with Ifrit’s manna, now transforming into chains that bind Ifrit’s body onto the ground and solidifying into solid rock, concealing what once was Olin, out of sight.

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