P41 - Entry Spark

Location: City of Flamma - Emberlight District:

The door creaked open with a low groan, revealing a dim apartment stained with heat and silence. Brant Pyra stepped in, quietly brushing soot from his jacket. The air was thick with burned oil and stale disappointment.

His mother didn't look up from the corner couch, just grunted, "You're late Branty."

"I was out working," Brant muttered, holding out a folded envelope. "I picked up some extra shifts... it's enough to cover rent this month."

Her eyes darted over with a sudden spark--not warmth, just hunger. She snatched the envelope, counted the money thrice, then gave a dry chuckle. "Huh. You're useful for something after all." as her eyes never left the envelope.

Brant said nothing as he had heard worse, but still, the words never stopped stinging. He walked into the other room, collapsed onto the thin mattress sitting on the ground, and let the sweat cool from his neck.

Sleep didn't last long.

Yelling, laughter, and the sharp crack of a beer bottle being opened.

Brant rushed out, shirt half-on, thinking something was wrong--but instead, he saw the table covered in half-eaten snacks, his mother dancing in a bathrobe to old pop music with an open bottle of Emberwine in her hand.

"Isn't this great, Branty?" she laughed. "Your hard work finally did something fun for once!!"

He just stared... Because she had spent all of it, everything he worked hard for the past few weeks, all for some snacks and a quick little drink.

Later that night, another knock. A guy in a leather coat showed up, she waved Brant toward the door. "You can find somewhere else to sleep tonight, right? Go live up to your father's name or whatever."

Brant turned and walked without a word, the cold Flamma wind rushing his face as the city lights danced in red and gold. His father's name. Brant Pyra, son of Jeral Pyra, the once-renowned frontline flame-bearer.

Gone on a dungeon raid years ago but never returned. But, Brant never accepted his death, as he believes he's just lost and needs a little help getting back, and that he'll soon return, he'll return and restore his family's name.

He wandered into the Flamma Public Archives, a quiet two-story library where embers glowed in lanterns and a scent of scorched parchment clung to the walls.

"Brant?" came a voice from behind the desk.

Orin Blazeward stepped out, tall and sturdy, a half-smile across his face. "Rough night?"

Behind him, Veltra Flare looked up from restacking fire-tuned scrolls. "Your hair's a mess. Looks like your hair caught fire, Branny."

Brant chuckled faintly. "Just needed somewhere quiet."

"Well, you're always welcome here," Orin said. "Especially now that you're officially one of us."

Veltra spun a spark quill and grinned. "Lottery-boy got into Flamme University. Not bad for someone who works three jobs."

Brant scratched the back of his head, sheepish. "Actually it's 2 now... I overslept last week and got fired the moment I arrived, and It's just beginner's placement, nothing too big."

"Doesn't matter bro, they picked you," Orin said firmly. "And you earned it buddy."

A few days later, Brant arrived at the red-gated dormitory towers of Flamme University. The heat here was palpable, like the air itself encouraged competition and rivalry. His assigned room was on the third floor--small, but clean. And his surprise roommate?

"Orin?" Brant laughed.

"Guess you're stuck with me, haha" Orin grinned, tossing a fire-proof blanket on his bed. "Don't snore and we're good."

Later that week, Brant found himself in the lecture amphitheater for Fire & Lightning Resonance Studies. It was there that he saw her.

Solira Kyne.

She leaned back in her seat, hair glowing faintly with static, red jacket tossed over one shoulder. Eyes scanning the room like she owned it--and maybe, here, she did, as the Genius of Flamma, with a wealthy family, smarts for days, and every boy, and some girls, at her side wanting to make her their connection to the City's assets.

"Isn't that the lottery kid?" she whispered to someone.

Brant heard it and tried to ignore it.

Class continued for a couple hours.

After class, when Brant and the other students were packing up their stuff, one of the junior mages in the corner misfired a prototype spark-surge spell.

The flame spiraled out--fast--aimed directly at Solira.

Before anyone could shout, Brant stepped forward, arm raised in defense. The fire struck him in the chest and burst--but fizzled on contact.

The room fell silent.

Brant exhaled smoke and gave a short nod.

Solira, stunned, blinked at him. A faint pink crept into her cheeks. "...T-thanks, idiot."

She turned sharply and stormed out.

Behind Brant, Veltra leaned in and nudged him hard with her elbow. "Well, well, well. You play the knight for one girl and she's already stammering, but not just any girl, but THE girl of everyone's dreams. You better write a love ballad about this and might as well ask her father for marriage."

Brant just smiled, with a faint burn mark on his shirt and pride in his chest. "It's not like that Vel, I just saw someone needing protecting and I stepped in, nothing more-nothing less."

Brant quickly packed his belongings and headed to his next class, while still thinking about what just happened.

For the first time in a long while, he felt something warming from within... and it wasn't just the flame.