“Sparks,” cursed Arson. The single word was followed by a baby’s giggle that warmed the heart and soul. Khalif and Rob stared wide eyed at the baby they were only in charge of for a single afternoon, and both knew somehow that they would be blamed for Arson’s first word being… “You have got to be bloody kidding me, Khalif, we can’t cuss that much, can we?” asked Rob. The two stared at baby Arson who sat on the kitchen table. “Sparks, we’re going to hang for this one, buddy, you can be sure of that,” said Khalif without thought. Rob nodded at first, then realized his friends blunder and slapped the young man on the shoulder. “Why would you bring him here, Khalif, you know I don’t have a filter, man!" “Well why would you curse so much around an easily impressionable individual as myself, I love the lingo to the letter, baby,” said Khalif in an impression of Rob that made the older young man swat at him. “That was weirdly good, do you seriously practice an impression of me or something dude,” asked Rob curious. “No, just like the thought of being able to sound like anyone, or anything,” answered Khalif honestly. “Really, and you make fun of me for wanting to make food and recipes,” said Rob with a laugh. “Ram probably thought the same thing until I mimicked the sound of an explosion during a grapple earlier right next to his ear,” said Khalif with a serious look that overtook his face as he responded. “You're the one who beat up Ram like that? What did he do to you?” “Nothing, Lex paid me to,” said Khalif. He’d started to make money any way possible in an effort to save for schooling or training. Either was better than nothing, and everything was better than starving. Momma Almarine would only offer the bountiful food of the orphanage for as long as an orphan was under 21 season cycles or paid for their room and board while working for her. No other options were given. So many prepared any way and any how they could inside the orphanage walls, in an effort to not be caught off guard by what they all saw as the real world. Adulthood. A potential for bright futures, or a crushing defeat at attempting to live out their dreams, only to be shown a harsher reality. It wasn’t until Khalif looked around and didn’t see baby Arson on the table any longer that he began to doubt his own path toward immortality being a long one. “You know you’re better than beating up people for credits, Khalif, especially now that you have a core,” started Rob. A returned gesture, made Rob rub his arm before Khalif yelled in a panic. “Where the sparks is the baby!” … With the ability to crawl came many things for Arson. A larger understanding of habits, a grander opportunity to train his body, and a larger access to make connections with the outer world. Arson never missed two appointments during his days crawling through the orphanage. One was his new building sessions with Xani, and the other was his nightly conversation with the Orphan Mother. His adopted mother had left him with the silver haired boy, and the one who often fed Arson sweet treats when no one was looking, for something called an important meeting. Whatever that was Arson decided that if Almarine was willing to leave him behind for it, the task she had to complete must carry significant value, so he too would fill his own life with as many important meetings as he could. This understanding led to Arson often disappearing without a word. He’d actually fallen off the table completely to escape the two boys that had barely watched him. Not cried when he hit the ground, though he contemplated it, he was too consumed by his objective. Arson was able to traverse large sections of the orphanage in various ways to get where he needed to go. As a baby, many rushing about didn’t see him, and he’d grown wary of being trampled in the middle of any pathway, so he kept to the far sides of any hallway he went down. The stairs were an eye opening experience the first time he felt being high up on one of the landings that gave access to each floor in the orphanage. Then he figured out he could use the base of the railing, its widened foundation both an obstacle that prevented a fall down many flights of stairs, and the perfect slide to carry him down. Truthfully he figured this out by trying to scramble down the steps backward, taking them one at a time. Only for his flailing legs to angle him more toward the makeshift slide than his next step. The giggling, smiling baby that was seen sliding down the side of the stairs as he clapped in excitement, made onlookers nervous at first when his actions were seen from afar, but Arson was off before he could be stopped. The momentum of his slide enough to carry him both across the floor at the end of the steps and into another room entirely. Other areas more often than not required Arson to pull on the pants legs of the older orphans. A pointed baby arm in the direction of his travels enough to indicate where he wanted to go. The baby who never cried, decided to wail when lifted into the arms of someone who felt the need to carry him in the wrong direction. The tears and his vigorous points often the only things that could communicate to the youngsters of the orphanage his intentions. Though after a while of this occurring through the orphanage, many begun to know that crying meant, wrong direction, clapping and smiles meant please continue to carry him this way, and uncontrollable wriggling meant put him down. Furthermore, Arson became notorious for his trips around the orphanage. This led to many knowing where the baby wanted to go and when, a boon for the baby who would often fall asleep midway through his journey, tired out by the massive distances between each point. So when baby Arson woke up this time being held by Xani in the entertainment room, in front of the wall-screen that projected holograms of broadcasts and other various forms of filmed production he clapped and applauded along with those gathered. “Come on people, are we not betting on the Dungeon Ball game, or the Entry-Division matches,” asked a boy named Seven near to Xani. Arson never paid attention to Seven directly but, did pay attention to what happened around the young man. Often the facilitator of any and all betting pools within the orphanage, Seven was never without, for anything. So though Arson wasn’t drawn to interact with the young man, he was influenced by how people treated Seven. The young man’s ability to pick a winning team or fighter was unrivaled, and had made him more credits than poor orphans should ever have access to. A detail that didn’t miss Arson’s attention even as a baby as he watched people pay him or be paid by him. Arson didn’t understand the value of money just yet, but the transactions that made people smile or frown all around him, gave him an early sense for business, and even customer service. No one cheated Seven, because he could pay to have them beat up for the money owed, nor did Seven cheat anyone, as Seven’s own small losses often resulted in even more business. Baby Arson would one day be able to recognize a false loss being used to drive business toward the young man, and that a slight setback could often make the uncomfortable, feel relaxed and more relatable to the future loanshark that was, Seven. For now though, Arson relaxed and watched the dungeon ball game, not knowing that his own mother was once an Icon within the sport. A conglomeration of war-games and dodgeball for cultivators, made into one of the most cherished spectacles of all time by spilled blood, and loss of life. Things were no longer as dangerous as they once were within the sport. Deaths trickled down from hundreds or thousands, down to a few dozen each season cycle. The sport seen more and more as a family friendly activity, with the addition of more rules and regulations. Not that Arson was even there to watch the games. He was there for what came next. The entry division matches for young cultivators that had recently formed their cores, pre-teens fighting to be seen by talent scouts, and college sekts was baby Arson’s true focus. The dungeon ball game ended, and Arson witnessed many pay Seven. Arguments and discussions took place over the results of the match, and then the fights began. Most of the children fighting on the wall screen were unfamiliar to Arson, but halfway through the matches a brown haired girl with two different eye colors stepped into one of the many stages for the fights being projected into the room Xani and him sat in. “Hmm, do you want one of them to win, little buddy?” Arson clapped and stared down his first friend. Troy now stood across from a short blonde haired boy with pure black eyes. The children and teens around him cheered, but Arson grew more and more agitated. The match had begun and Troy wasn’t faring well at all. It seemed that all she could do with her abilities since she’d unlocked access to her core, was make her hands or feet glow brightly in a burst of light and particles of mana. While her opponent was able to extend his punches almost a yard in front of himself, which made it impossible for Troy to land a blow during the majority of their exchanges. Arson started to fuss in Xani’s lap to the point that she lifted him into the air after she came to her feet and tried to soothe him with a subtle sway. Nothing worked, and after a while, the baby boy started to swing his arms through the air almost as if he was in the fight himself. Xani didn’t know what to do and continued to bob in place, not wanting to miss the fights, when Arson spoke up for the first time in her presence. “Sparks, sparks, sparks,” cursed Arson. Many people around Xani froze and looked at her and then the baby that they all knew the Orphan Mother had a special connection with. “There he is, I found him Rob, he’s over here with Xani,” screamed Khalif as he rushed into the entertainment room. Xani still didn’t know what to say, holding Arson as he swung his arms in the air furiously. “There you are, little demon, you almost scared me half to death. Thanks for looking after him Xani. Almarine would have killed me if—“ “Almarine would have killed you if what exactly?” said the Orphan Mother. She walked in the room, her long legged strides carrying her right passed Rob who’d only just managed to catch up and then Khalif. “Nothing, I just had to use the bathroom and wanted to be back with Arson before you got back, didn’t want you to think I was slacking off again Momma, that’s all,” spat Khalif in a rush to explain himself. “Hmm no worries, child, we all use the bathroom,” said Almarine. Xani had finally managed to wipe the shock off her face at the baby who cursed with more confidence than herself, and lifted him toward Almarine even while Arson continued to swing violently at the open air toward the hologram of Troy’s opponent. The young man managed to beat Troy into submission so quickly, Almarine hadn’t managed to see the girl fight on screen at all, but what she had seen, was Arson’s intensity while watching new Cultivators fight. Maybe I should… No those days are behind me… right? Arson continued to visit the entertainment room. He never missed any of Troy’s fights especially those broadcasted for the local community. Troy didn’t fight often, but Arson had no way of knowing her schedule, or anything that could give him an indication of when she’d be fighting. So everyday at the same time in hopes to see his friend, Arson came and watched. The fights were one of the most exciting parts of Arson’s life, and without knowing it he quickly gained the eye of a woman who mistook his loyalty, for personal passion. Almarine planned, and before Arson knew it, he had a fourth appointment at the start of every day. “You can do it child, just keep your balance,” said Almarine. The upright and walking baby in front of her now able to follow her slowly as she walked the halls of the orphanage; a life changing decision being made by his guardian with every wobbly step he took. The young boy's smile and laughter as he walked filled Almarine with a joy that she hadn’t felt since the last baby she let into her life in a way that could touch her heart. She’d separated herself from the youngest of her charges, knowing that if she lost them to their own power, or the dangerous life of a cultivator, that she wouldn’t be able to push on as an immortal any longer. Yet she found herself headed toward a dojo that she hadn’t used in almost 3 centuries, and patted baby Arson at her side on the head before they walked in to a place made to give power to the weak. She wouldn’t be able to ignore the feeling of responsibility that filled her chest any longer. She felt a love for the starry-eyed child next to her, and ignoring that love felt worse than even all the previous loss she’d experienced. The loss she now let drill holes in her core and soul. Almarine may be immortal, but if she continued to let the tragedies that she’d lived through cut into her the way that left her feeling less than herself, she would eventually embody exactly that. A being less than immortal. Not a being on the verge of godhood as she now was, but someone without a path to Endless. Rather than become a woman that was as mortal as the baby she now protected, Almarine would adapt as life forced all to do, and become something better. She looked down and smiled at Arson when he looked up at her, a baby’s hand extended to her that filled her with a passion for teaching and guidance that she hadn’t felt in more seasons than she could remember. She took his hand, and the two walked in. A new journey beginning for them both. “Come child, we have much to do, and we must be done before your brothers and sisters wake.”
Please log in to leave a comment.