Arson lay with all the other babies in the nursery. Though there were many cries, gargles and burbles from the infants around him, he himself remained silent. As a baby, yes he was consistently hungry, used the bathroom promptly after being fed, and slept much of his early life away, but still Arson wasn’t the type of baby to fuss or whale in discomfort. The nursery was warm enough that none of the infants needed blankets, and many of the older children within the orphanage catered to the abandoned babies of Maelstrom. So any needs Arson ever had were taken care of by teenaged youths that were either forced to babysit their fellow orphan sisters and brothers, or that volunteered to do so. One of those who volunteered, was Troy. The same multi colored eyes were often the first and last things that greeted Arson each day, with the exception being the beautiful orphan mother, Almarine. Who often admitted her love for children, not babies… “We gotta get you cleaned up today, little buddy. There are a lot of potential parents out there that would love a little monster like you, yes they would!” Arson giggled up at Troy while the young girl spoke to him. She was unaware of how Arson only interacted with certain orphans, but loved how he smiled and reached toward her face each time he saw her. Troy cleaned Arson, tickling his belly as he squirmed and giggled. She changed him into an outfit that Almarine prepared for the infants on adoption days, and Arson couldn’t help but fall asleep, comforted by the soft clothing and being lifted into Troy’s arms to be held. “I’m so excited for you, little guy, you are going to steal the heart of any young cultivator couple that sets their eyes on those pretty little eyes of yours,” said Troy. She then carried the baby boy into the orphanage's expansive entrance hall and lined up with many other teens that also held babies. Arson did his best to stay awake, fighting the warmth offered by being held by Troy; he wanted to see everything around, not having had been outside the nursery but a handful of times, but failed. Troy held the boy proudly. He was Arson, as any other boy was named Arson after being orphaned in the CityNation of Maelstrom was, without first being given a proper name, or link to their own heritage; but Troy hoped that today was the day he received both parents, and a home that would give him a title and rewarding future. Unfortunately for both Troy and Arson, it was Troy’s turn to be adopted. Though she had already lived 12 season cycles, this was not the age in which she was determined to be qualified to make decisions for herself. Thus, Arson and Troy’s trial separation would begin, regardless of either one of them wanted. “You will always have a friend in me, little buddy, even if you don’t remember, I got your back no matter who raises you, or where you live, I—“ the words of the girl were cut off by the two cathedral doors that led into the orphanage being opened by the large group of cultivators coming in to adopt. Her promise was only heard by a baby boy who didn’t know the value of the words spoken to him. Nor did the girl know the strength of the bond that had started to form since they’d met. So the feelings of dread that filled her every time the pair was approached left her heart twisted in foreign pain, and her mind confused with unknown feelings in regards to their potential distance from one another. “Hello young lady, may I ask what your name is,” asked a kind looking young woman flanked by a slightly older gentlemen. “Oh this little bundle of joy is named Arson, but if you see his eyes you’ll definitely—“ The gentleman decided to cut in then, under the understanding that Troy had misheard his wife. “No young lady, we would like to know your name,” said the man. “My name?” Troy was forced to give Arson to the orphan mother after the questions continued long enough. A tense feeling tightened her chest when Troy was taken from the Orphanage, and for the second time in Arson’s life, he cried. No one knew why he cried. Although the orphan mother had an idea, she didn’t share it with anyone, feeling mad at the absurdity of her own thoughts. After Troy had been adopted, no one paid as much attention to the boy with the dazzling eyes as she had. Arson began to sleep more than normal after she left, which allowed for fewer and fewer people to experience his most prominent characteristic, his eyes. The baby boy’s waking hours were spent either being fed, changed or staring up at the mural held within the orphanage’s nursery. The collective skies of the realm they lived in painted there in a lifelike replica. The image was painted as if someone had seen the entirety of the realm, all its planets, suns, and moons, stretched across the surface of the ceiling like a picture. A scene captured to fill a baby’s mind with wonder. As Arson’s baby eyes roved the sight from edge to edge, he learned while others slept. During certain nights within the orphanage, an alignment of moons would occur. The lunar energies would fill the planet they lived on with a certain type of illusionary and ethereal mana some cultivators would use to create masterpieces. Within the painting were runes that caused the painting to come to life. A once motionless painting showed the engine that was a realm. Planets spun within an intricacy of patterns made by beings with the ability to give structure to the systems of life itself. Though Arson was unaware of what he was being shown, his soul and link to Univers, were not. Though mana and life energy were the foundations to all of existence. Univers was the language that embodied the mixture of those energies; becoming the building blocks to all of creation itself, by giving Cultivators access to the keys of understanding. Where Univers was the spoken language of Godlings, Immortals, and Gods themselves; Runes were the equivalent to the written word. A language hoarded by the wealthy and powerful, and suppressed by the wise and resourceful. Arson as a baby fixated on three things whenever the image moved. The original sun of their realm, Imperial; a section of space known as the solar system of storms; and finally the karmic holes of creation and destruction. Arson reached toward the sections of space, his tiny fingers spread wide toward the lights projected toward all the babies. Yet only a few there were able to keep their eyes open for long underneath the pressure of what was being shown. The names of the planets and places being shown filled the few babies that managed to stay awake and look about the realm they lived within. Not in the common language that all cultivators and mortals spoke, but in the runic language of Univers. Held within the orphanage of Maelstrom were many secrets. Though the ones held within the nursery were minor compared to the other instances that could be found on the orphanage grounds, the mural above served as an unrivaled foundation for future cultivators. Even if they glimpsed a portion for a mere moment. So with each lunar alignment Arson learned more of his own realm. Incapable of physically speaking the names of the stars and moons around the planet he lived on, but fully aware of their exact location and paths taken throughout space. If he could count, he’d be able to show how many celestial bodies there were, and only one person knew of this potential. “What are we going to do with you, my little cultivator,” said Almarine when she entered the room to see Arson taking in the mural in all its majesty. She scooped the baby boy up, only willing to do so due to his calm nature and lack of crying. “You sleep when I need you awake, but are up and focused when I need you sleeping. How are we going to find you a family?” said the Orphan mother. Arson looked away from the mural at her words, and put a baby hand softly on her cheek. A gesture normal for any baby, but the intensity of his stare made Almarine feel otherwise. “What, do you want to be my family,” asked Almarine playfully. Only for Arson to smile up at the woman and extend his other hand toward her opposing cheek. She couldn’t help but return the smile, and thus began her nightly visits to speak to a baby that seemed to respond to her one kind gesture at a time. “Well I don’t know what is more important, child, there are many aspects to cultivation, anything can technically be cultivated through the systems use, or more primal understandings of Univers,” explained Almarine. She’d begun instructing him on everything she knew about the basics of cultivation the more responsive Arson became to her words. “Some cultivators only practice martial forms and the arts involved. Many who leave here in fact struggle down that path, as it is the least demanding path for a cultivator to rise, then you of course have Core scientist, which is seen as more complicated a subject than even rocket science,” said Almarine. By this point in Arson’s life only a half a season cycle had passed, but still Arson sat upright in the crib and made direct eye contact as she spoke. All his peers asleep, as he was taught things from a woman who didn’t know the value of her vast season cycles worth of raising children, and what she was forced to learn while in the position. “Me… I guess I enjoyed mana skills, but was never able to do what I wanted within the world of magic, but those stories are for another day child, it is time for bed,” commanded Almarine. Arson then immediately pointed a single finger toward a section of space Almarine hadn’t spoken to him about yet, and the woman frowned. “You know you are awfully demanding when it comes to answers, and I told you I can’t talk about that section of space until you are older, it's complicated, it may look pretty from a distance, but some things are just not for children,” stated Almarine, who picked him up and began to pace the room. Soft music then emanated throughout the hundred acre compound that was her orphanage, made by the mere soft hum Almarine performed for Arson to go to sleep. “I better put you down before the other children begin to think I have a favorite,” said Almarine, who did no such thing, but instead continued to sing until Arson drifted off. Days turned into seasons and before Almarine knew what had happened Arson turned one, and the thought of the baby boy leaving the orphanage now filled her with a dread far stronger than what had consumed Troy. A girl who had recently formed a core, and started to learn martial forms; still being plagued by a sensation of something being wrong in her life. A problem that would only grow as she grew more powerful. As Arson grew more powerful. For it was the power of the dormant Ikarus bloodline that ran through his veins which had connected them, in the same way his mother’s own blood linked her to all those within her own chosen family once upon a time. So while Troy grew distant and slightly unfocused under the stress of the magical bindings that connected them; Arson’s aggression grew. Not in a way that was visible at first, but as he grew older. All within the orphanage would learn of Arson within the season cycles to come for various reasons, but his anger, would stand out above all of them. “Don’t look at me like that, you are going to be a strong young man and deserve a good family,” said Almarine as she finished putting on a small black suit of poor quality on Arson in an attempt to make him as impressive as possible for those visiting the orphanage that day for adoption. The orphan mother was unaware of the scowl she wore each adoption day since Arson had been there. Nor was she aware of how she stared down any who approached her while she held him. “Let's just get this over with, child,” said Almarine. She stood in line with many other teenaged orphans she’d instructed to gather up the infants, and sulked. None of her children's normal antics able to distract or revitalize her from what she felt. It wasn’t until a beautiful young woman strode up to her alongside her husband and demanded that she be able to hold the beautiful eyed baby, that Almarine even found herself partially able to pull herself from the fog that had taken over her mind. “His name is Arson, and he is—“ “What an absolutely terrible name, some of our society’s customs are complete rubbish, we will name him something proper,” said the woman while she snatched Arson from Almarine’s arms. The orphan mother had to force down the instincts that had once led to her being given the title, the Orphan Mother. Those who knew her as a caretaker were unaware that the title came from how many orphans she made in wartimes throughout other realms, and Almarine had to do her best to keep it that way. Just breathe… “His name is Arson, he will not respond to you otherwise,” tried Almarine once more, but the woman didn’t listen. Her husband’s nervous smile may have been from the subtle hints of mana Almarine struggled to keep within her body as the woman bobbed with Arson in her arms, calling him an ever-growing list of terribly tasteless names, or the stern squint she lasered into his wife’s forehead. To Almarine's reward though, Arson acted before she could make a single objection. The handful of hair Arson wrapped around a clump of the woman’s long strands, was only the beginning of his refusal to be adopted by the woman. He was, yes, a single season cycle old, and shouldn’t have been able to hurt the adult woman, cultivator or not, but being the child of two of the SunSpire Realms, two most incredible individuals, made Arson the exception. He yanked and the woman screamed. Her eyes went wide when the clump of hair came free of her head, and he giggled before he grabbed another clump with the other hand, still holding a handful of long black strands. The woman dropped Arson, who was neatly caught by the collar of his tiny suit, and scooped back into Almarine’s arms before he could even feel the effects of gravity take hold. The man pulled his screaming wife away and Almarine couldn’t help but smile at their retreating figures. She looked around at the other shocked women and men gathered to adopt, before she looked back at the couple and spoke. “I guess you’ve changed your minds, don’t worry there are plenty more responsible cultivators with the strength to take care of little Arson here, sorry you weren’t the right fit.”
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