Trazad was a city on the north-eastern edge of a massive, sea-like lake, with a clear view of the western mountains. Sandy beaches gave way to rocky shores, which in turn rose up to a vaunted 750ft cliffside, creating a perch for the sprawling multi-tiered gardens that separated the Imperial palace from a sheer vertical drop. It was the capitol city of Sargon, one of the last two nations on Hadira that hadn’t yet been joined to a union of nations titled the Hadiran Accord.

  Right up until the moment it wasn’t.

  Prince Iresha, a boy of barely-16 years, started to feel queasy and hot. He tried to dismiss it as a transient fever brought on by a sudden late-evening spell of anxiety, but when frosty-cold water and an icepack around the back of his neck hadn’t helped cool him down, he made his way down from the residential loft of the palace to get some air instead.

  The royal family of Sargon was known for two stylistic choices; one, the national colors of black and pale gold, and two, the plated faux-armor that adorned their Imperial vestments. The long robes and ornamental sashes that clung to the Prince’s frame billowed loosely in his wake as he came down the long, curved staircase from the upper levels to the lower. His hand, where it came out from under a decorative vambrace, had developed an odd pink hue to it, completely unnatural to his normal champagne complexion. He was certain he could see steam rising from it as well, but he shook his head and dismissed the thought as a fever-dream.

  He couldn’t ignore it anymore when his boots slid-out from under him and he tumbled down the last four wide steps into the main atrium. Guards were alerted to his presence by the clattering sound of his stumble, and one spotted the unusual sight of black footprints – followed by the wide streaks of a slip – that trailed behind their sovereign; his boots were melting right off the bottoms of his feet.

  “Get away from me!” The teen pleaded, long spikes of black hair starting to smoke at their tips like sticks of incense, “Something’s wrong! Please…!” Normally-pale eyes were suddenly faintly glowing, and those same guards who had initially come to his aid had suddenly panicked and fled, leaving him alone in that cold hall.

  Iresha curled around, pain in his ribs making him wince, and pulled both boots off. His socks were stuck to the soles of his feet by whatever cobbler’s-glue had been used to fuse it to the inside of the boots, and he saw the terrifying sight of his hands actually starting to smoke. Socks then started to burn, and he peeled them off in haste, throwing them aside before scrambling back to his feet. One hand clutched to his pained side, and he reached for the doorhandles to the open ballroom just ahead.

  One more room, he thought anxiously, One more room and I’m outside…!

  More guards were starting to appear, but they all kept a terrified distance as Iresha pushed into the huge party-hall. Sticky smoking footprints followed him as he made it into the center. The only person to break through the mounting dread was another royal; a man who looked like an older version of the Prince. He shoved his way through the throng, and rushed into that wide berth, “Iresha! What’s going on!?”

  “Uncle Aamin, you have to stay away!”

  There was no time for the older Prince to react. Fire burst out from under the younger like a swirling storm, until it exploded out from him in every direction. Tongues of yellow and orange whipped around the room, scorching everything they touched, roaring loudly as curtains and furniture caught the blaze. Iresha was stuck in the middle of that ballroom, fallen to his knees, body slouched and limp, with a ring of black streaks in the marble tile beneath him.

  Guards dragged the downed Prince away, writhing and screaming in pain as he was, where his left arm had been badly burned. Those eyes couldn’t look away from the sight of the teen though, as Iresha finally lifted his head, and auroras of golden light began to leak from his bright eyes. Iresha seemed half in a daze, not noticing – or reacting to – the fact that the blaze at his hands and wrists had started to climb his arms, burning away the black material until slithering over the pointed pauldrons at his shoulders. The braided cape that hung from them began to singe, and soon, that fire rose so high that his hair went alight with it.

  People in the city were starting to notice the confusing sight of smoke billowing from the palace. Flying emergency-vehicles with bright red lights and loud sirens began to rush overhead, flying directly out and over the water as they ascended the cliffs. Soon after came the news crews, and before long, every channel in Sargon was playing footage of the burning conflagration.

  It didn’t take much longer after that for the videos to come out in neighboring nations as well, and the imagery of it played before a particular pair of dubious eyes. It was displayed on the main screen of a small skiff, and a man’s words were spoken aloud, “Xanarken, you there?”

  “What is it, Gabriel?” A disembodied voice answered.

  “…Check the news. The Sargonian Imperial palace is on fire.”

  “…We’re just hearing now that the entire northern wing – the residence and diplomatic sections – are all caught-up in the fire.” A broadcaster’s voice spoke, as cameras tried to zoon-in on the sight; the smoke was easy to spot in that evening sky, set like a haunting black silhouette against a red backdrop, “There’s no word yet from the royal family, so we cannot confirm if they’re safe.”

  “What should we do?” Gabriel wondered. Long yellow hair tipped with red spilled over his shoulders and framed his face, matching a blue eye paired with its red neighbor. He bore a worried look on his face, “…Just let this happen?”

  “There’s nothing we can do.” Xanarken explained, “We’re just mediators. We don’t have the power to put out…fires.”

  “…Xanarken?” Gabriel’s tone shifted, “You good?”

  “Someone at the palace just hit the ‘oh shit’ button. Go, go go!”

  “The ‘oh shit’ button?” Gabriel said in confusion. It took a second, but then eyes went wide, and he grabbed for the piloting-stick between his knees, “Oh! Shit…!” He echoed, and quickly pulled back on the stick to swing the skiff around towards the south, “Is this really happening right now!?”

  “Don’t freak out when your uniform-jacket falls apart after you cross the border. You will not have access to the World Cloud once you leave our territory.”

  “Will it really just dissolve like that?”

  “Yes, and because of it, I won’t be able to help you either.” Xanarken said simply, “This one’s all on you, Gabe. We haven’t been inside Sargon for twenty years. You’ll be the first Knight of the Council they’ve seen since the regime changed. Remember what you represent.”

  “Got it.”

  The north-wing of the palace was starting to collapse, and dozens of guards, staffers, and keepers watched in horror as their home gave way to the fire. The whole blaze roared and creaked, embers floating off into the sky as emergency responders desperately tried to contain it. One tenacious pilot got her ship right up against a third-floor window, and its side-doors opened, revealing a fireman with heavy gear and a big crowbar. The window was smashed, and smoke billowed out, ash and cinders groaning through the shattered glass. A metal board was tossed between the skiff and the third floor, creating a walkway that the fireman could traverse, and he quickly rushed in with three cohorts.

  The roar within the residence was intense, but it hadn’t quite made it to the study yet. Doors were broken down, and the group pushed through, finding their Emperor and Empress with their backs to the bookcase on the far wall.

  Iresha had clawed his way out onto the back terrace, but the flames had followed him. Every step he took left a mark in that polished stone, plants had been burnt to char, and tears like melted iron fell from his cheeks. The glow from his eyes had only intensified, threads of miasma growing into full tails that waved into the air before fading at the tips.

  “This can’t be happening… This can’t be happening…” The Prince whimpered to himself, looking at his hands as yet more tears fell; they burned his palms on contact, and he collapsed in fear against the long, curved stone banister. Overlooking the lake, all he could do was wish to be down there, even if it meant jumping…and he started to clamper over the ledge. Exhaustion had seeped into every inch of him, and he collapsed over the wall like a sack of heavy rocks, landing onto the grass a few feet below. It was all he could do to drag himself forward.

  A scream in the air could barely be heard over the rumble and crackle of the fire behind him, but he couldn’t miss the rush of wind as something large barreled past…and stopped. The characteristic hiss of an airborne vessel sounded loudly from that distance, and Iresha lifted his head, spotting a strange-looking skiff directly ahead, hovering over one of the lower terraces.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Red - and oddly shaped like a bovine skull - the smooth face of it had no window for the windshield, but a solid metal cover instead. Off the top of the roof came the typical blades of wings, but instead of going straight out to the sides, they curved around like horns until meeting under the nose. Bright light followed behind those wing-blades, and a door beneath it on the port-side suddenly opened.

  Grass around the Prince had already caught fire and spread outward quickly, turning the ground beneath him to charred death, stopped only by the stone edging where one terrace gave way to the one below it. Those terrified eyes looked up to spot a man step off the skiff – it was like slow-motion to his sights. It was hard to see clearly, but he could make out the dark-grey color and silver trim where the thin, form-fitting jacket closed at the front, and split like a T at the neck, going around the collar. Hands bearing fingerless gloves reached out to him in a ‘stay calm’ kind of gesture, and the figure – long blonde hair tipped with red – knelt slowly around ten feet ahead of him, “You…you can’t be here! It’s too dangerous! You have to leave!”

  “It can’t hurt you if you don’t let it!” Gabriel explained, trying to be heard over the collapsing household in the background. They could both smell a distinct scent in the air – smoky with a wet edge – as somewhere, on the other side of the property, water was starting to put the blaze out.

  Iresha felt paralyzed where he’d stopped. Skin was red and mottled where the sleeves of that royal regalia had been burned away, and he looked at his hands and bare arms with trepidation. Molten tears fell indiscriminately, but the ash where they landed could no longer spark anew. Miasma spilled out around him completely uncontrolled, and whipping flame engulfed everything from brow to back and across both scorched pauldrons; hair had been completely replaced by the blaze, rising blue from his scalp, and faded to yellow and orange further above, “I don’t know what happened…” He sobbed, “Everything just…exploded…”

  “It comes without warning.” Gabriel empathized, keeping a careful distance, “But you don’t have the luxury of time to understand it. You have to focus now.”

  “This can’t be happening… My family, my home…it’s all in cinders now…” Iresha’s hands went flat to the charcoal grass, arms trembling at his sides, “It’s all my fault… I’ve destroyed everything…”

  “Never mind that for now. The fire has to be contained.” Gabriel continued, only to see the Prince turn around to look at the palace, “Ignore it! You can’t do anything about it now. Bring your attention close to yourself. You have to think of the flame as something you can control…something small, harmless… It’s just a candle.”

  “…A…candle…”

  “Just take in a breath…and blow it out…”

  Iresha felt his breath catch in his throat as he hiccupped against the pain.

  “Breathe in…” Gabriel said again, and the Prince tried, “And out…”

  He stayed that way for a little while, guiding those breaths until the fire gave-way to the natural roots of the Prince’s black hair, and the flame calmed. Soon, it was just smoke on his shoulders, and the last of it burnt-out at the tips of those black spikes. Gabriel carefully scooted closer, and reached his hand out.

  “Come with me, so the fire-guys can finish putting it out.” He said, “I saw you trying to get to the water. I’ll take you there.”

  “…Wh-who…a-are you…?” Iresha asked, voice skipping from that sorrow and shame.

  “I’m a friend. Name’s Gabriel.” He answered, “Your family called for me. They know I’m here, and the services told me where to find you.”

  “They’re…they’re okay…?”

  “The word okay is doing a lot of heavy lifting, but…they’re alive. C’mon.” Gabriel bobbed his hand, and the Prince carefully took it.

  The skiff took them a good distance away, until the palace was beyond sight, and the wafting plumes of smoke disappeared into the night. It hovered just inches above the placid waters, and Iresha sat at the edge of the open side-door, feet dipped into that cool expanse.

  Gabriel sat nearby on the inside, back to the wall, and looked over his shoulder at the teen, “Feeling better?”

  Iresha nodded pitifully.

  “If it’s not already obvious, you’ve been touched by the Limitless.” He explained carefully, left arm perched on his upturned knee, “It’ll take time to learn how to control it, but…I know you can do it.”

  Those pale gold eyes lifted finally, and Iresha turned to get his first true look at the man who’d come for him. With just the grey outfit, he didn’t initially realize what he was looking at, but when he spotted those bicolored eyes – blue on the right and red on the left – and that red-tipped blonde hair, his brow crinkled with recognition, “…I…I know you…”

  Gabriel gave a lazy two-fingered salute, “Gabriel Lugios, High Negotiator of the Fourth Wing of the Luminary Council. And also a guy suffering from the same affliction you just came down with. Just…not that flavor, with the fire.” He gestured that same hand out with a few random twirls, in the direction they’d come from, “That’s all yours.”

  “You’re…the Luminary Knight w-who…was born with the affliction…” Iresha spoke his true thought, “Taken from Kitez’s Exclusion Zone by the Council as a child, and raised by an E-Eidolon…”

  “Ah, yeah…well, I guess that’s also true. Never could escape the obvious tells that give me away.” Gabriel lightly flicked at the red tips in his bangs, “Xanarken is the Eidolon of the Fourth, and as near to a father as I’ve ever known. He was the one who told me to answer the call when it came to him. Since the border-barrier prevents our nanotech from coming into Sargon, he couldn’t come himself. I’m also fairly naked, since my jacket blew apart as soon as I got here.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on anymore.” The teen snuffled, and pulled a blanket around his shoulders a little closer around himself, “I thought I was coming down with a fever… That I was having an anxiety-attack or something…then everything burst into flames… Now y-you’re here…”

  “The affliction hits people in mid-adolescence, and there’s no way to know if or whether it’ll happen to anyone.” Gabriel explained, “It’s maybe a one in a million chance. You struck it big in a strange lottery.”

  “I don’t want this… My family could be ruined… My f-father could disown me…”

  “It’s not all bad. Plenty of afflicted people get by without ever using it. With enough self-discipline, you can go your whole life without it ever coming out again.” The mediator explained, “But it will take work. The ‘blow it out like a candle’ trick might help keep you grounded if it comes out unbidden later. Extremes of emotion, getting startled…thinking about it too hard… These are all triggers. You might discover some unique ones of your own to manage. One thing to recognize is that your own affliction can’t hurt you if you keep it well in-hand. You’re gonna blister and peel pretty good for a couple weeks, but…you have an innate instinct for it. You only burned in places you could look at and be worried about.”

  “What do you mean…?”

  Gabriel nudged his face towards the teen’s head, “Your hair. It was completely replaced by the fire, but your scalp is untouched, and your hair went back to normal after you subdued it. That means you only got hurt elsewhere because you overthought it. …It’s probably time to head back now, though. Wouldn’t want your pops thinking I kidnapped you right after saying I could come over.”

  -Two Years Later-

  A storm raged outside, pelting that little red skiff relentlessly as it hovered high above the ground.

  “You honestly cannot be serious,” Gabriel complained, sitting in the pilot’s seat. His gaze looked on impatiently at the image of a man – dark purple hair and goatee framing bright purple eyes and pale skin – on the main screen, “How in the actual, literal Hell did Captain Tarrock ‘I can’t stand that guy’ Gallifey get pulled into this?”

  Xanarken took a deep breath, fingertips together, and he tilted his hands towards the screen as he finally spoke, “I know you and him don’t get along, but apparently the Empress called an Inquisition on her kid, and since you were dealing with him before already, it’s only practical that you continue to do so.”

  “But it’s an Inquisition. Why don’t you just ask Rylen to deal with it? It’s First Wing stuff. This is out of our jurisdiction anyway.”

  “I’ve already tried that. Rylen’s busy with something and told me to deal with it…so that’s why you’re dealing with it.”

  Gabriel smacked his head back against the head-rest, “What a drag… You can’t just tell them to let the kid go?”

  A woman’s voice chimed in from the side, “Sir, when an Inquisition is happening, the whole SkyFortress goes on lockdown. Lord Xanarken can’t reach them, nor form a mantle on-board, until the lockdown is lifted.”

  “And thus, why you’re going yourself,” Xanarken added, only to vanish from the screen entirely. A few seconds later, the telltale sound of disturbed sand filled the interior of the skiff, and from that ‘sand’ formed the body of the man who had just been on the screen a moment before, “It’ll be good experience for you and Dame Ren.”

  Feeling the weight of an elbow coming to rest above his head, Gabriel looked up, and spied those vivid purple eyes looking back down on him from behind the seat. His gaze narrowed in annoyance, “Fine. But just so it’s on the record, everyone here knows Captain Gallifey is one of my biggest haters, and if shit hits the ceiling again, it’ll be because of him, just like last time.”

  “He doesn’t hate you, Gabe. He just…”

  “Loathes and detests the fact of my existence, and views me as nothing but a villain waiting for an opportunity?”

  Xanarken shrugged helplessly and smiled, “Some people just have wrong opinions and you can’t do much about it.”

  Listening but anxious, Ren busied herself with locating the aforementioned Captain’s SkyFortress. From experience, she already knew it was the Bulwark, so there was no need for guesswork.

  Gabriel crossed his arms, “Guess we’ll just have to deal with the punches as they come. If there’s no way to get hold of the ship ahead of time, then it’s going to be a surprise for everyone.”

  “Make sure you take Ren.”

  “She’s physically already present here.”

  “I mean on the mission, not just to the mission.” Xanarken sarcastically clarified, “She’s skilled in ways that you may find particularly helpful.”

  “Mhm.” Gabriel mumbled, and began activating the ship’s piloting interface.

  The Eidolon cast his eyes towards the largely-quiet cadet, “He still hasn’t read your file, has he?”

  Ren made a face and shook her head with an inhale, “Sorry, sir…I don’t think so. I’d probably know if he had.”

  “Yeah, probably.” Xanarken turned and abruptly knocked on the ‘mediator’s’ head, “Read her file.”

  “Let me get started on this mission, dad!” The blonde protested, flailing his hands up as the Eidolon’s mantle dissolved all around him. He sputtered and doubled-down, “I hate it when he gets on me like that.”

  “You’re being particularly cranky today, sir.” Ren noted carefully, “You okay?”

  “…I’m fine. Let’s just get this over-with. I’m sure the Princeling is causing those people a whole bunch of grief as it is.”