The Fields of Fire

Chapter 2: Arthus Adana

Arty sat down on a rock and took a pouting position. He was angry. Angry at everything. Angry at his mom for making him run and hide, angry at the Atherians for starting the war, angry at the war for taking his sister, angry at the government men for making his mom afraid. He felt so powerless.

He could feel the anger pulsating through his veins as he stood up from the rock. He turned to one of the few trees still standing and pulled up his arms. He cocked back his arm as if winding up to throw a ball. The anger in his veins turned to fire, burning so hot that it felt like it was going to melt right out of him. He forced his arm forward with his palm open and he screamed at the top of his lungs, half just from being mad and half from the pain in his body.

He felt the fire inside his blood rush into his right hand. His hand burst into flames as he arced it through the air. The flames seemed to sap off of his hand and formed into a dense yellow ball of energy. After his swing was complete the yellow ball left his palm and smashed into the tree. The resulting explosion nocked Arty back onto the ground. When he got back up he saw only a small blackened stump where the tree had once been. Arty smiled, this was his favorite thing to do. It made him feel strong.

He turned to another tree and did the same thing, this time with his left hand. The explosion wasn't as big this time, but Arty didn't really care. Arty knew what it was, why he could do what he did, it was magic. He thought about whether or not his mom would be afraid of him if she knew what he could do. The people on the radio were always afraid, they said that magic was evil, that the people who can use it are monsters and abominations of nature.

He wondered how that could be, how could a thing be inherently evil? Normal people aren't born evil, so why was he supposed to be any different? Then he realized that people can be born evil, people like the elves and the dwarves and all the other lesser races that had resisted the Zytrians. Arthus shook his head, he wasn't a dwarf or an elf, he was human. Maybe not a normal human, but he still bled just as red as anyone else, so why should he be treated any different?

Arty continued to play with his powers, pretending that the trees were Atherians for him to kill. He imagined himself, clad in red body armor, storming the beaches in the east. His Sister was a hero, he wanted to be a hero too. And beyond that, He wanted nothing more than to make those Atherians pay for what they did. When he heard on the radio about the attack in Arland, at first he didn't believe it, an entire city burned to the ground by dragons in one night. But then, that night, it started snowing ash. When he saw the ash falling, he realized it wasn't just the ash of trees and grass, it was the ash from the homes people lived in, the ash from churches and schools, from the toy dolls little girls clung too while they slept, and to the little girls sleeping themselves.

Arty wanted nothing more than to fight back, to make them pay for what they did, but he was just a kid and no one expects a kid to fight. He held a fireball, flickering in his hand, and he questioned what it really meant to be just a kid. He stared at the blackened stumps of the trees in the clearing. How many kids can do this? He thought. He wound up and threw another fireball, this time it missed the tree and hit the ground, launching dirt and rocks into the air.

"Arty?"

Arthus froze, his feet locked, unable to move. Everything inside of him told him to run, as fast as he could, to just sprint away and never look back. Instead, he turned to face her, fear blazing in his eyes, shoes shaking against the ground.

"Mom..." He said timidly.

The look on his mom's face was something he hoped he'd never have to see, absolute terror. She looked horrified as she gazed at her son, like she was staring into the eyes of a monster. She seemed as if she wanted to run, or to hide, or to wake up from this terrible nightmare she only just now realized she was living in. Eventually, his mother spoke, her words broken by fear. "I just, I came to... Arthus, we need to go home."