The Everburn Mage

16. The Coldfire Sorcerer

From the moment he first came into this cruel world, death and tragedy had constantly surrounded him.

It mattered not that he was only a boy when invaders from the north ransacked his village and left him to die in the arms of a red corpse he once called "Mother". Nobody spared a fleeting glance at the homeless orphan attempting to keep himself warm during the stinging nights of winter, using only what little amount of magical energy he possessed to increase his body's temperature. 

Time kept flowing and the world kept on spinning. He often wondered what his life would have been if Gala hadn't bestowed the gift to use magic. Where would he be if the Gyrakian military saw no use for him or his skills?

Dead in a ditch, he reckoned. Though, through ingenuity or by sheer luck, he'd survived. A battle started and he survived. A civil war brought about by poverty and injustice erupted and he survived. He was a fighter as much as he was a survivor. 

Fighting to keep on living. Fighting to achieve happiness. He'd lived through it, endured it for many years until finally, it was over. He could return to his wife and two kids to spend what time he'd left reveling in their presence.

It was a bright and joyous dream that lasted just a day. Once again, someone had slit the throat of Gyrak and infiltrated its undisturbed system. Another war had begun, the likes of which he'd never seen. And it was during its infant days did he have to bury the bodies of the only people who loved him. 

The only ones who didn't see him as a tool or a weapon. They had taken them from him. That pain gnawing at his heart never faded. When the war finally came to an end, the peace treaty was signed, and the sulking zombies the nation considered to be soldiers trotted home in defeat, a single thought crossed his mind.

Much like the pain of losing his family, that thought never disappeared. It stayed with him. Rooted itself into the very fabric of his being. He probably wasn't the same man he was at the beginning of his story. 

What had prevailed instead was a soulless entity longing for the justice he and others like him so rightfully deserved. In this land responsible for firing the first bullet this creature would unquestionably enact his revenge on the monsters continuously feigning ignorance. 

Any and all who stood in his path he'd erase without a second thought and continue to move forward towards his destiny. Rune Ransford, the fire mage of the Esteran military was by no means an exception.

The plumes of crimson and silver he released into the air sputtered into shimmering specs carried by spiraling currents of wind. Pellets of rain soaked him, causing his set of unkempt black hair to droop and stick to his forehead like a tangled mop. 

Never once did he remove his piercing, golden glare at his opponent, the orange flames engulfing the mage's fists reflecting in his eyes. "Let me get this straight, you came here because you think I killed your family, is that it?" Trevor shouted over the loud sound of water pounding onto the ground. "Honestly, kid, aren't you being a bit unfair? I mean, how do you expect a soldier like me to remember every face I send off to meet your Ryas, huh? And it happened so long ago too. I suppose it doesn't help much my memory's not what it used to be."

"You'd better remember like your life depends on it!" Rune roared, animosity radiating off of every word he spat. "Kieth Acosta! Terence Acosta! Lori Ransford! Nine years ago they perished in a mysterious fire that destroyed my house! A fire caused by a mage! I need to know if you were the one responsible! So quit playing stupid and answer me already!"

"Afraid this isn't ringing any bells," Trevor casually replied, tapping his fuzzy chin. "But if it turns out I really am the guy you're looking for, what then? Are you gonna kill me?"