Chapter Text
"I don't wanna go to sleep!" The clearly cranky child cried as she clung by her fingertips to the doorframe of her bedroom. Ozzy had a careful grip around his sister's middle, he had tried to carry her to bed using the ‘Super Isa’ tactic, but, ever since Nan announced that bedtime was approaching Isa had, out of nowhere, decided to be difficult about it. Which is weird. For years, bedtime meant storytime, it was the most exciting time of day. Isabel had said so many times before.
“Why not? Aren’t you ready for storytime?” He eased up on his tugging, basically just holding his sister as she still clung to the doorframe. “I got a really good one tonight. Featuring Marshmallow~” He nodded to her bed where her favorite stuffed rabbit waited. It used to be Ozzy’s but he gave it up when Isa began taking a liking to the rabbit, of course, or ‘shared’ it as their parents would claim.
Isabel looked at her bed first then at Ozzy, her pretty, dark brown eyes were glossy in her conflict, her bottom lip quivered. Then she used her brother’s loose grip to her advantage, pulling herself closer to the entrance of her room to escape into the hall with a shout, “No! You can’t make me!”
Ozzy sighed frustratedly, turning his gaze to the ceiling. He didn’t have to tighten his hold, she wasn’t exactly getting far, only tugging him along at best in his attempt to keep her from accidentally hurting herself. What could possibly make her so unhappy with going to bed? Did she wet the bed again and was too embarrassed to tell anyone? Or did she think someone would get mad at her for it? Her room didn’t smell like pee, so maybe not.
“Pequeña princesita,” he tugged her back, managing to unhook her fingertips before pulling her to his chest. “What’s wrong, Isa? Come on, tell me.” She struggled and squirmed against him, pushing at his chest still trying to get away. Her stubborn whines intermittently disrupted by sniffles. Ozzy frowned with concern.
“Aye,” Both children paused with surprise, looking up to their grandmother standing near the stairs. “What are you two doing? I thought you would be telling your stories by now.”
Thanks to the distraction Isabel took her chance to break out of Ozzy’s grasp, she immediately dove behind the adult’s legs, clinging to Nan’s flowy floral patterned skirt. Nan’s expression changed from confusion to affectionate as she pet Isabel’s hair, soothing the unhappy child.
“Sorry, Nan,” Ozzy sighed, leaning on the hallway wall. “Isa doesn’t want to go to bed yet.”
“And why is that?” Nan kneeled down to look at her granddaughter more clearly. “Did something happen, preciosa? I could hear you all the way downstairs." She welcomed Isabel into a sideways hug, rubbing the girl’s back, she pressed a kiss to her head.
Isabel gave a quiet sniffle as she curled into the embrace. "I don't wanna sleep." She echoed her earlier cries softly. Ozzy crept his way towards them, kneeling on the floor nearby.
"Why is that, Isa?" Nan asked gently, brushing away a thin lock of hair and tucking it behind the girl's ear. "Sleep is good for a little one like you. Sleep helps you grow and gives you energy for the next day." She leaned her ear down in her usual way to literally ‘lend an ear’ in case Isabel didn’t want to share her problems too loudly. When Isabel stayed quiet, only giving a few sniffles and a bit of rattling as she played with Nan’s necklaces, Nan hummed thoughtfully.
“You were rather unhappy today, and still very tired this morning,” she spoke her passing observations while resting her cheek atop Isabel’s head. “Did you not sleep well last night?”
Isabel shook her head, her mouth kept tightly shut.
“I see,” Nan gave the girl a comforting squeeze. “Did something wake you? Or did you have a bad dream?”
That got more of a reaction out of her, her adorable little face scrunching up into a frown as she finally looked up at her grandmother. “Big girls don’t have bad dreams.” She stated that as if it were written in stone. “It was Marshmallow,” she added as she tucked herself back under Nan’s chin. “Monsters were trying to eat her.”
Nan hummed thoughtfully again though her face showed amusement. Ozzy felt a sympathetic smile spread over his face, he understood well the fear of monsters.
“Oh, poor Marshmallow,” Nan cooed, “I suppose she asked you to watch over her and keep the monsters away. Such a good friend you are.” She chuckled softly as Isabel nodded, pressing another kiss to her head.
“I have an idea then,” Nan pulled back a bit to look at her, the younger looking up curiously. “How about you go get Marshmallow and we will have storytime in my room. How does that sound?”
“Your room?” Isabel asked. Nan nodded. “But won’t Paps be upset?”
The old woman chuckled more mischievously this time, her voice becoming hushed, “It will be our little secret.” She winked, making Isabel giggle a bit. Then she nudged the girl towards the bedroom. “Now go on. No bunny left behind.” Isabel nodded happily before running past Ozzy into her bedroom.
“And that’s how it’s done, niño.” Nan told Ozzy with a twinkle in her eye.
The boy raised his hands in surrender as he stood up. “You’re the master, Nan.”
Isabel returned to the hall, the faded pink rabbit held tightly in her arms, more than happily letting Ozzy pick her up and carry her down the hall following Nan to hers and Paps’s bedroom.
It had been a few years since Ozzy had set foot in the room himself, for reasons similar to his little sister’s, bad dreams and no parents nearby to lend a comforting presence. It didn’t change much since his last visit; the same warm brown wall paper with thin lines of a darker brown segmenting the walls, a few of the lines had hand painted leaves sprouting from them at varying heights, the same deep soil-like brownish-black plush carpet that spread across the room only stopping dead at the open doorway to the ensuite master bathroom. Two large bookcases standing proudly side by side, one a light oak and the other a stained mahogany, on the right most side of the room opposite to the bathroom, nearby a pleather chaise lounge chair sat invitingly with a soft-looking white throw blanket laid folded atop its cushions. Paps’s secondary - actually thirdly - work desk pressed against the wall across from the two bookcases, a few different photographs hung on the wall above, Paps’s computer screen was blackened and the keyboard hidden away in its special drawer. On the left most side of the room, closer to the bathroom, was Nan’s dark oak vanity table, a few of her favorite pieces of jewelry left out on display; the shut shuttered doors to their shared walk-in closet, and the circular bed that was the size equivalent to a california king covered with a celestial themed bedspread and decorated with many thick, down feather stuffed pillows encased within deep red pillowcases.
Isabel immediately jumped out of Ozzy’s arms and ran for the bed, jumping up onto the mattress and landing with a few fading bounces. Nan chuckled at her, making her way to the closet and stepping inside. Ozzy grinned, taking a running start before jumping, belly flopping beside his sister and making her squeal happily as she bounced again. Rolling onto his side he grabbed her and pulled her down too, pulling her close then ruffling her hair. She laughed and tried to crawl away to escape, Ozzy laughed with her.
"Aye, now," they looked up as Nan reappeared, having changed out of her day clothes into what Ozzy was sure was one of Paps's casual shirts and a pair of sweats. She had her hands on her hips as she approached the bed but her smile did not help her look very authoritative. "No roughhousing, you're supposed to be calming down for bed."
"Sorry, Nan," the children replied together, then dissolving into another round of laughter. Their grandmother clicked her tongue at them.
Ozzy let go of Isabel, letting her sit up. "Will you tell a story Nan?" The girl asked sweetly.
"Me?" Nan questioned as she sat on the edge of the mattress, Ozzy scooted back to give her extra room. "Isn't Ozzy your favorite storyteller?"
Isabel nodded quickly, "Yea, but you tell stories too, right? When Ozzy and Nicky were little?"
"Oh yea," Ozzy agreed as he vaguely recalled sitting on one side of the living room sofa because Nan separated him and Nicholas from another fight and she would tell them weird stories with hidden morals. It was probably how Ozzy learned to be a storyteller for Isabel when she came into the picture. "I remember some of those. It's been a while since you told a story."
"That's because all of my listeners grew up," Nan laughed, "or they became a storymaker too." She smirked pointedly at Ozzy who grinned back. "It was also the only way to get you and your cousin to stop fighting for a little while."
"He starts it." Ozzy said a little more defensively than he meant to.
"Will you though?" Isabel redirected the topic, batting her big eyes at one of two people who were weakest to her. "Please?"
She didn't even pretend to put up a fight against the youngest grandchild, a faked sigh escaping her mouth. "Of course, precious. Let me think," Nan stood up from the bed and wandered over to the bookcases. "I believe I have one you might like." Ozzy and his sister watched as their grandmother's finger skimmed over many different spines until she found whichever one she was looking for.
"Your stories got published?" Ozzy asked as she came back to the bed.
Nan settled herself against the biggest mound of pillows, Ozzy sitting on her right and Isabel tucking herself under her left arm. "Some," she answered Ozzy's question. "My sister, Mari, overheard one and asked if she could use it in a children's book. It didn't sell well unfortunately, parents claimed that the material was inappropriate."
Ozzy scoffed his disagreement. Everyone was a critic, but a lot of them are too harsh on a niche subject. "What's this one?" He asked instead.
She held the book up to show them the front cover, it was a pretty watercolor style of a campfire and in front of it was a stringed instrument. In the fire itself, in a slightly lighter tone of yellow were two shaped dots, Ozzy thought they looked like eyes, and the curls of smoke above the fire were shaped in an almost humanoid form. The title read as “The Smoke and The Flame.”
“This one was your favorite,” Nan said, tipping her head on top of the boy’s. She flipped it open to the first page, a single phrase from the writer of dedication.
“For my sister, the biggest worrywort and strongest heart, and roundhouse kick.
– Mariposa”
Nan turned the page, Ozzy noted the endearing smile on her face, before she cleared her throat and began reading, “Back when the world was young and the gods still meddled; the Sun fell in love with the Moon. For many eons he watched her dance around the world, adoring her many faces but found himself too afraid to speak when she twirled near. He never realized that she could see him too,” the illustrations across the pages showed the blazing sun, in a humanized form, then there was Mercury, Mars, and Venus respectively, as well as Earth, shown as youthful children, then there was the moon, depicted in a new attire and different pose to match the different phases.
Then she flipped to the next page, a personified comet had pushed Moon and Sun was leaping to catch her, Nan’s pointer finger following the printed words. “Then one day, a shooting star pushed the Moon into the Sun’s arms.” Her hand moved to the next page, it was mainly colors. A tinted white to show Moon covered one half of the page, an orange-ish yellow to mean Sun, and towards the bottom were two small shapes in different colors, almost reflecting one another. They vaguely looked like babies, though the flow of the artstyle gave them a semi-shapeless look, one looked more like fire and one looked like a shadow. “And from their embrace came children,” Nan continued, “Twins: the elder Eternal Flame and the younger Dancing Shadows. These two young gods were so small that Sun and Moon feared they would not last among the older deities of the universe.”
The page was turned, now showing the inside of a darkened temple, a statue of Sun standing behind a large bowl of a large fire. There were eyes in the bowl of fire. “So the two were placed upon our world. The elder twin allowed a home in his father’s greatest temple while the younger twin received freedom to roam wherever his father’s light did not touch.
“Eternal Flame did not leave his father’s temple, for he knew that if he did he would cast fire over the city within a few steps, and then the world in a few sprints. So he stayed within the temple walls, keeping the fires lit. For a long time his only companion was his brother.” Nan pointed out another set of eyes in one of the shadowed corners of the temple before turning the page.
Eternal Flame was shown staring up at the temple’s ceiling where the skylight showed Sun and Moon, “For many years the Flame watched his parents dance in their forever change of day to night and night to day. He watched the temple keepers go about their duties tending to the fires and sweeping the floors, and he watched visitors come and go with their prayers and tributes.”
Another page turned, Flame was staring at a group of people at the entrance of the temple, “One night, while his mother had turned her gaze away from the world, a group of mortals disrupted the quiet temple. Heavily they were drinking and loudly they sang, pushing and pulling one another along.”
Flame now watched the temple keepers yelling at the intruders, looking just as upset as them. One of the mortals had fallen out of the group. “The priests were angry, scolding the mortals and pushing them away back to where they had entered. One man fell out of the group and into the shadows, unseen by the others.”
The page was turned; Flame had left the large bowl and hovered over the mortal that was left behind, the view was from behind Flame’s head, the mortal looking up at him bleary eyed. He looked weirdly like Ozzy’s dad, but it might be a coincidence. “Once the mortals were gone and the temple keepers had returned to their beds, the Flame stepped out of the main fire. He crept carefully towards the one that had fallen. He watched over the mortal until he woke.
“The mortal looked up at the Flame confused. “Are you real?” He asked.”
The next page showed from the mortal's perspective, staring up at the semi-human face with blazing yellow eyes staring back. His face was familiar too. ""I am as real as you," replied the Flame.
""Am I real?" The man asked tiredly." Nan's finger skimmed over to the next page where it showed Flame kneeling over the human, so close but still far away.
""As real as the priests sleeping in this temple," the Flame replied again. "As real as the men you came here with."" Nan turned the page again.
"The mortal yawned, his mouth opening wide. "You are warm, it makes me tired," he told the Flame.
""Then sleep if you wish," said the Flame.
""I do not wish to be alone," the mortal confessed, "Will you stay with me?"
""I will stay with you," answered the Flame, "But only until my father's light rises at the horizon."”
The next page showed the pair at a distance, the mortal laid out on the ground, Flame sitting quietly next to his head, his gaze facing away from his companion, and straying just beyond Flame’s glow was a particularly dark shadow with lightened eyes. “The Flame kept his promise, staying by the sleeping mortal’s side, even as his younger brother came to visit. The Shadows did not find fondness in himself for the intruder but he did not insult his brother’s kindness. Together they stayed and spoke in soft voices until their father’s face began to shine through the temple halls, forcing the Shadows away. The Flame knew as well that he must return to the fire before the temple keepers rouse from their beds.”
Flame was climbing into his bowl, one hand on the edge as he was stepping in and the other in the air. “He and his brother bid each other farewell and they hurriedly parted. Returning to his seat in the main fire, the Flame turned his eyes to the mortal he had kept company, watching as he began to stir in the early morning chill.”
Nan paused at the sound of a quiet snore, the sudden tension in her shoulder jarred Ozzy from his light dozing. They both turned to look at little Isabel peacefully sleeping against Nan’s breast, Marshmallow staring blankly ahead in her loose grip.
“Well then,” Nan chuckled softly, cuddling the young girl. “Perhaps we can finish the story another time.”
“I’m still listening,” Ozzy protested as she began moving to sit up, yawning right away after. “I’m starting to remember this one.” He heard her chuckle again, and felt a kiss be pressed awkwardly to his temple.
“Alright,” Nan relented, relaxing back into the cushy pillows. “For you, mi chispa.” Ozzy hummed sleepily, tucking himself into her side. His eyelids felt too heavy to admire the pictures anymore so he supposed he could settle for listening and imagining.
“The mortal woke on the cold stone of the temple, hearing the twittering of songbirds welcoming the great sun and the crackling of the torches around him. He sat up and looked around him, confused by his surroundings. Beside where he slept he noticed the stone was blackened with soot.
“The Flame watched in silence as the mortal examined the soot before sinking into the warm fire, the burnt embers shifting below him into a soft bed. He could hear the priests beginning to leave their bedchambers as they greeted each other and set out to their duties. One of the elder priests discovered the mortal that had spent the night.
“”We chased you and yours away,” spat the priest, “Why have you returned?”
“”Forgive me, elder, please,” the mortal pleaded, “I have only woken here, I do not recall coming.”
“”So you say,” the priest snarled. He did not believe the words he spoke. “Do not take me for a fool. Leave, and do not return unless you wish to face the wrath of mighty Sun.”
“”Elder, please,” the mortal tried again, “May I warm myself by the fire, the stone I woke upon is very cold.”
“”My mercy is already limited for fools like you,” the priest hissed. “Go warm yourself in the Sun’s new light and be gone from here!”
“Anger struck the Flame’s core, making him rise from his bed to see the elderly priest and the sorrowful mortal. How dare he , the Flame thought, to assume Father’s wrath as his own. He scowled at the priest, the torches surrounding them flared at his whim. Gasps and startled cries could be heard throughout the temple, even the pair still in the main chamber cowered. The Flame allowed the torches to settle again to their normal flickering.
“”Go, go now,” the priest insisted, now more fearful. He began pushing the mortal towards the entrance. “Do not return if you value your health.”
“”Elder! I beg you to listen,” said the mortal as he was pushed away. “The fire, I had seen a vision in the fire!”
“”Impossible!” the priest argued. “Now go! Shoo!”
“”I know what I saw,” the mortal argued back, “I will return!”
“”You will be welcomed with spears then, fool!”
“The Flame stayed in his bowl, seething over the rude priest and how he treated his guest, how he presumed the Sun’s thoughts. But he could do no more, if he were to act again his father would become unhappy with his meddling. Though that priest could not be allowed to threaten others…” Ozzy vaguely registered the way Nan’s voice trailed off ominously after the sentence, he just couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and examine the page.
“Time continued to pass, visitors continued to come and go, the temple priests went about feeding the fires and advising their guests. The Flame did not see the mortal again that morning nor that afternoon, or that evening. It wasn’t until his mother made her way into the sky that the mortal returned as he had promised, alone and singing quietly as he walked.
“First he approached the spot where he had woken and sighed once he saw that the soot had been swept away. He did not see the Flame watching him curiously from the great fire. He may have declared his return but he did not say what for.
“”You came back,” the Flame spoke, startling him.
“”Who speaks?” The mortal demanded looking around the chamber hastily. Perhaps he was expecting the priests with their spears , the Flame thought with amusement. “Show yourself!”
“”Do not be afraid, mortal,” said the Flame calmly. “I will not harm you. Approach my fire.”
“Slow, the mortal did as he was told, creeping towards the great bowl of fire. Once he was close enough, the Flame leaned out of the fire and smiled, making the mortal gasp.
“”You are real!” he exclaimed, stepping back.
“”As real as you are,” the Flame replied. “That old priest will no longer stop you from visiting.”
“”Why is that?” The mortal asked.
“”Why have you returned?” The Flame asked in return
“”I thought you were a dream,” the mortal answered shyly, “But I wanted to be sure.”
“The Flame laughed kindly at him, “I am my father’s son, a piece of his gifts is mine to wield, though it was by my generosity that you were kept warm while you slept.”
“”I thank you for your comforts,” the mortal smiled, stepping closer to the Flame’s warmth. “If I can repay your kindness, I would.”
“”Do you travel, mortal?” The Flame asked curiously.
“”I am called Ooni, god,” the mortal explained, “And yes, I do travel often, with my friends.”
"The young God's head tilted, amused by the mortal. "Very well, Ooni ," he said. "Take with you one of my torches on your journey, let it light your campfires but do not smother it."
"Ooni looked around the temple chamber, eyeing the fires so small in comparison to the human-like being's blaze. "Will it not go out if left alone?" He questioned.
""I am named the Eternal Flame with reason," he answered. "The fire of those torches is the fire of my own flesh, it will stay lit for as long as it is not put out. Be careful should you travel through woodland.”
“”How would one put it out?” Ooni asked cautiously. “And what would happen if it was put out?”
“The Flame narrowed his eyes at his companion as he thought over the mortal’s questions carefully. “Too much water or smother it with soil, like most fires, will kill my torch,” he did answer after a moment. “Once it is out I will no longer be able to see through it.”” Falling further into sleep, Nan’s voice followed into Ozzy’s subconscious, narrating the scenes behind his eyelids.
“Can you not travel the lands yourself?” Ooni continued his questions, one of his hands waving to the grand stone entrance standing distantly behind him.
“I mustn't!” Flame exclaimed, the blazing fires of his eyes widened as though the idea appalled him. “My brother was gifted that freedom amidst his shadows, I would scorch and burn whatever I touched.” He reached out a hand slowly, with deliberation, towards the human. One of his fingers just grazed Ooni’s nose, making him flinch with surprise, and leaving behind a small burn and a lingering heat. “Which is why you will bear my torch.”
Ooni blinked at the burning god as the request sunk in. “That is all you wish for, my god? For travel?”
“For adventure,” Flame corrected, “Is it so wrong to desire to see the lands I have been hidden from for so long?”
“How long?” Ooni asked.
“Too long,” Flame answered as he receded back into the fire. “Now go, before another priest hears you, and remember, do not smother my torch.”
Ooni stared into the great blaze, his eyes trying to find a slight difference in the fire that he might be able to identify the god who commanded him. He found no such sign. With a sigh, the human turned away from the welcoming warmth and approached one of the tall pillars. He reached up and grabbed the heavy torch from its perch. For a moment he stared into the smaller flame, as if expecting a face to appear. Then he left the Sun’s temple with the torch in his hand, and returned to his friends.
Ooni took the torch with him to many different places; cities great and small, old ruins, grand cliffsides. He lit many campfires, exchanging tales and songs with his companions and others they met along their journeys, and before they put out the fire he would take back his torch, careful to keep his promise. When Ooni thought his friends were deep in their dreams he would talk to the fire and he would see eyes blazing just a bit brighter than the fire itself, listening though never answering. Finally, one of his friends was curious enough to ask about it.
“Why is it that you keep that torch lit?” His friend asked. “Seems odd in the daytime.”
“It was a promise I made to the guardian of that temple we visited,” Ooni answered. “I am to keep his torch for his hospitality.”
“But that was days ago!” Another of his friend’s exclaimed.
“How has it not gone out?” The first questioned. “Isn’t that the same wood?”
“Didn’t he use that torch to light our fires?” A third asked a fourth.
“I never said that the guardian was human,” Ooni laughed at the bunch. “He was a being made of fire in the temple.” He grinned at his friends' aghast faces.
“How are you not sure it wasn’t a demon?” The second asked.
Ooni laughed again, “I am still alive, am I not?" His companions spoke in hushed voices to each other. Often the topic of Ooni's torch returned as his friends would drunkenly brag about him finding favor with the immortal fires. Many times he was asked to recount the tale and many times his companions argued against his version, trying to replace it with theirs. He did not mind the changes but he always made sure to tell the true story whenever he was asked for it. He slayed no monster, he explained to the children as he helped light their family’s hearth. He tricked no god, he told the young men and women who were eager for an exciting tale. And he seduced no spirit, he answered to the old men after a particularly salacious telling, and disappointing them. Everytime he told the story it was only the truth, and when he was alone, in the deepest hours of the night, he would tell the newest version of their story to the fire, laughing at how the flames would flare and dance with its own amusement.
Eventually the story grew old and tired, the more they traveled the more people wanted their newer stories, and soon enough Ooni and his friends returned to the city where he first received his torch. He was glad to have returned, eager to see his torch’s true form again. His visit would have to wait though as he and his friends were invited to the house of a respected warrior, known for his great feats in combat against men and monster alike. It was quite the honor. Certainly a night of revelry and boastful exchanges to look forward to.
They were welcomed to the warrior’s grand house warmly with cheers and sloshing drinks from the warrior’s own companions.
“Welcome, friends!” Ooni and his friends were ushered to soft cushions around a warm fire, the smell of cooked meats and roasted vegetables permeating the air. They were all given beautifully made cups filled to their brims.
“May I add my torch to the fire?” Ooni asked their host. “My arm has grown tired.”
“Of course, of course!” The warrior exclaimed gleefully. “It would be an honor to have your little friend in our fire.”
Ooni thanked him, smiling as he laid the familiar wood near the edge of the cooking fire. He watched as the blaze gave a startling burst and grew in height, he saw eyes in the flames licking at the ceiling, he could almost make out the form of a body. Those eyes squinted at him with merriment, a silent welcome back. Their company gasped as they stared in awe, Ooni wondered if they could see like he did. He was very beautiful.
“So it is true,” their host spoke, his voice hushed by his awe. “The torch blessed with eternal fire…” He raised his cup in cheers, his men followed suit as well as his guests. They all drank and began to share their stories. The more they drank the quicker their stories became songs, and their songs followed by whooping and laughter. Hands slapping backs and knocking cups from grasps only to be picked up and filled again. Their host began demonstrating one of his proud battles, a cup sloshing in one hand and a sword swinging about in his other, a mounted head on the wall was forced to be the beast. A thrilling tale for sure.
The night dragged on, Moon cast a side-eye glance over the city as stray revelers sought out shelter to rest until their stupors wore off. Ooni, his friends, and their hosts were winding down as well, lapping up the final drops from their cups, giggling at each other’s giggling over nothing. Their fire still burned bright when long ago it should have settled to warm embers. Ooni sleepily sang, the words themselves garbled and incoherent as they spilled from his mouth but the melody was still sweet. He laid fearlessly by the fire, staring into the dancing blaze as if it showed him the most beautiful dream. Silent, burning eyes gazed back, a flickering silhouette laying beside him on the bed of coals. Eventually his eyes fell shut, a final note leaving his lips as his breathing deepened.
When he woke again it was to a strangled gasp. Ooni sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Looking around he gave a shout, unable to believe his eyes. His friends that he had known for so long all laid out before him, their throats cut open. Their blood pooled together into a great and horrifying puddle and in it stood the warriors that had invited them, each with a sword in his hand.
“Ah, good,” the leader spoke pleasantly, casually wiping off his blade. “He awakens.”
“What have you done!” Ooni demanded. His eyes snapped to each of his friends’ pallor faces, their blank eyes staring out in different directions. “Why did you do this! What have we done to you!”
The warrior strode toward him, splashing about in the pool of blood as if it were only rain water, his sword’s tip barely grazing its surface as it hung at his side. Ooni pushed himself away from the man until he felt his back begin to burn from the fire’s heat. The sword was raised at him, scratching his chin.
“I am a warrior, I fight to protect my people, my city, from monsters and those to aid them in their attempts to hurt us.”
“We side with no monster! He has no intention of harming anyone!” Ooni declared angrily. “You killed my friends for nothing, you murderer!”
“Douse the fire.” He ordered his men. They each moved quickly to the readied pails. Ooni lunged for his torch, not caring if the warrior’s blade cut him. The main fire went out with long angry hisses, the embers attempting to spit back to life.
The torch flared warningly as the warrior and his men cornered Ooni. The loner winced at its burning warmth.
“You are making a mistake,” he insisted. “Please, do not misunderstand his kindness.”
Each man’s blade glinted dangerously in the firelight, their leader’s eyes glowing with deadly promises. Ooni’s eyes widened as a final pail was tossed up, cold water splashing over him and briefly cooling his burning skin. He cried out in dismay.
Another cry followed his, heard across the city and from the furthest reaches. A terrorized, ear splitting scream of pain, of loss, many citizens awoke frightened by the sound in the early dawn light. And following the echoing cry, was the roar of fire. Dying cooking fires and soothed hearths all alike erupted skyward, a thick, black smog choking out the cloudy morn, filling the lungs of young and old that tried to escape their burning campsites and homes. The surrounding forests went up quickly, adding more smog to the sky, and soon the farmlands followed. Chaos and fear took over the city. A ball of true fire streaked through the streets, anyone and anything unfortunate enough to be caught in its path burned into little more than pitiful piles of ash, all could hear one thing as it raced through.
“MURDERER”
The house of the warriors became circled within a tall wall of flame. The warriors held themselves together shoulder-to-shoulder as they watched in horror as their water pails dried up in an instant, their food shriveling in the great heat, and their hearth relit with a fury. They all watched as the drowned torch came alive, just beyond the reach of the crumpled body, and they cowered away as much as they could when a humanoid form rose from the burnt piece of wood.
The leader raised his sword again, despite how badly he trembled. His men crowded at his back.
The Eternal Flame said nothing to the group of mortals, he did not cast his gaze upon the bodies shriveling behind them or himself. He lifted one hand and pressed it to the nearest wall. It took but a moment before the wall and everything attached blew up into a torturous blaze, spreading to the other walls and rooms and even jumping onto the slain bodies. The men huddled together though the heat surrounding them was suffocating. Their leader dropped his blade.
“Stop it,” he begged, panting what little air he could. “Please.”
Flame did not answer, and did not relent. Enraged by the plea, his fire completely engulfed the house, and soon enough the city. Citizens escaped to where they could with what little left they had, all crying and all confused and frightened. The gods had punished them and they knew not why.
Sun glimpsed over his son’s wrath with curiosity. Moon turned more to the fiery scene, seeing the sorrow in her eldest’s actions. Her husband called for Rain to control and calm the burning lands. It took the whole day for the flames to die down, leaving behind ash and ruin. As the sun touched the horizon Sun approached the charred mounds of ashes that once was a building, mindful of his steps on the earth. Flame knelt among the bed of ash shaking, his unsheltered fire weakened from the rain, as he wept.
“Child,” his voice, despite being gentle, was a mountain trembling rumble, edged with the twinkling jingle of stars cast about the nighttime skies. “Why have you done this? For what reason has my city called for your wrath?”
Flame did not respond at first, digging his hands into a mound of damp ash and scooping out the sum that fit, listening to it hiss in his palms. “A mortal.” He answered finally, his voice a sorrow filled whimper. “He was mine. I gave him warmth and he returned it with sights I could only dream of. I looked after him and his people, I kept them warm. I listened to their stories and heard their songs. They called me a guardian of your temple, Father, they called me a blessing. And then those warriors invited them to drink, and killed them. They killed his people and dared to call me a monster. Then they drowned my torch… and killed him. He was mine but they took him from me.”
Sun stood back, watching his son mourn with a sympathetic expression. He was no fool and he was far too old to be naive, the god had overseen the world’s growth, watched the mortals rise and fall from one cause or another. He had seen kings betrayed and the forsaken given glory. Just as he had seen this one leave his temple with a piece of his son in his hands. The young god did not know his fortune to have known such a mortal.
He looked around at the mounds of wet ash, not a trace of recognizable being or building could be seen. There was little he could do to help his grieving son, but there might be something, so long as the mortal was willing. Sun stepped in beside Flame, his heat stoking the younger god’s fire, and grabbed a handful of the ash, ignoring how the moisture in it hissed and snapped in his touch, then offered the handful to the winds. The dried dust blew from his palm, drifting and swirling around them. Flame looked up curiously at the spiraling soot watching as it began to take on a withered shape. Sun took Flame’s hands and made him toss his handfuls into the air, the dust raining down on them before joining the shape.
“Spirits, by the Winds you are given new breath and by the ashes you are given a new form. Live by their sway and be the smoke in the sky that warns of dangerous fires and burning land and walk among the ruins that one day give way to new life. Take this gift I offer, not of godhood but of another chance for you and yours. Companions to the flame."
The wind picked up, gathering together more and more of the soot and ash into a darkening tornado. It lasted only a few moments and when it finally dispersed all that was left was a new form, humanoid but changing with every direction that the breeze blew, many tiny pieces flying away but its shape never faded away or disappeared. More forms joined beside the first, gathered together by the wind, each of their bodies sifting and shifting without losing shape.
The new beings looked around at their surroundings, awe and confusion in their ashened expressions. They looked at each other and then at themselves, seeing their new bodies. The one once called Ooni turned away from his friends to face the two gods. A joyous grin spread over his features as he approached them.
Flame gasped with delight. He ran to the other, his arms spread to finally be able to embrace him. Unfortunately, however, the young god only ran through Ooni’s form, his ash body dissipating for a moment and reforming again behind him. Ooni laughed at the surprise on his face, reaching out with one hand. Flame extended his hand as well, and their palms touched, ash and fire intermingling.
Ozzy woke with a start, a loud snore in his ear. A weight pinned down his arms making him unable to move as he blearily opened his eyes. Isabel was laying on top of him, her hair spread out over the both of them, most of it stuck to Ozzy’s neck by sweat and starting to itch. Another snore just about burst his eardrum, making him turn his head to his right to be greeted by the sight of Paps’ open-mouthed sleeping face.
The teenager mentally groaned as the old man’s morning breath washed over him, unable to get away from it.