Pyrokinesis

He found himself in a field, although where he wasn't sure. The city should be half an hour away, if one was driving...this could've been the area when he realized, only months ago...

Months? Wasn't it only weeks? Since the renegades did what they did? He held his head in his hands: time was lost to him once again.

He let his thoughts wander, trying to make sense of the past few days...weeks, months. Since a day or so after his son was born. Dragon-kin, renegades to their own kind, saw the boy-his perfect balance of force and energy-as a tool to keep Lou at bay. They had tried, several times, to negotiate with him, insisting that he did not need a child, and they needed what seemed to be the instrument of keeping peace.

Each and every single time had been met with open defiance, and the dragons were not pleased with his constant refusals: they stalked the house, terrorized his sleep...all in the hopes of breaking him down and stealing the baby away. When they realized that wouldn't work, they stole him from the circle instead. Warped his mind, locked his memories and heart away, and threw him back into the city to steal the child in their name. This mission failed as well, and the renegades no longer cared for face: he knew they wanted him dead, and he knew they wouldn't stop until he was.

The first few days were peaceful, happy; he swore to never again take his wife and child for granted, to enjoy the blessings he was given without needing to unnecessary "play the hero". It was a slow start, their final attempt: sleep disappeared, nightmares of his loved ones dying before his eyes waited should he dare to try and keep them closed. The longer he found he couldn't sleep, the more he started wondering if what the nightmares were telling him were truth; his memories only sweet white lies to keep him from going insane...

The more he couldn't sleep, the more he realized his talents were starting to get sloppy; any attempt to try and protect himself at night failed: the little scroll of the Star of Dreams apologizing over and over again for not being able to serve the diviner. The elements began turning against him, even if it wasn't their intention: his focus slipped, the balance of emotions destroyed as depression settled in. How hard it was to smile! How easily his laugh turned dark, bitter, hollow, cold...

Voices, singing and chanting, screaming and raving, were recent additions, compared to the nightmares and depression...accompanied by visions that left him sweating and panting, dazed and confused. Had his own shadow tried to strangle and suffocate him, when it was the only aspect of darkness that supported him? Did fire, already seeing him weak for being patient, see this loss of focus and decide he was no longer worth listening to at all?

He held his hands before him, and to his surprise, a small ball of fire appeared. The flames flickered and danced, as he tried to recall what he had done to conjure the thing, and thus call the Star of Fire to the sky. The last time he attempted this, things didn't go well; not wanting a repeat of the disaster, he pressed his hands together...

Or attempted to...the fire burned through the gloves, through his skin, and he pulled them backwards with a start.

Fire shall forever be your foe,
Your ignorance in this will be your downfall!

It was the same...thing that had sung to him before, as his own shadow play turned against him; this time, however, it wasn't cheery and bright. Rage and fury echoed loud and clear as the fire grew in size and shape...another wall of flames touched the grass, turning it into ash as it circled around him.

The fire was far too fast, but it felt all too real; the heat was too intense, the vegetation, field, grasses, trees...all was being destroyed around him. Smoke lingered in his eyes, his throat: it hurt to see, to speak, if he could get anything other than the intense cough that just wouldn't stop.

A desperate attempt to hide shield his face with his coat; even if water could assist him, the heat and smoke only helped strengthen his lack of focus. There was nothing he could do, not in his current state; it would only be a matter of time before the fire closed in, burning him as it burned everything around him...

His hands, still seething from the burns from before, reached for a chain around his neck, for a cross of medium length that hung on it. The necklace had been an impulse buy, after seeing it two days after his shadow's attack, but he knew he had restored lost faith in the hierarchy of gods; the nightmares hadn't been touching those memories. He kept it as a symbol of his previous attachments as a Roman Catholic, having grown up with the Vatican all but in his backyard.

He would not be sure why he reached for it, sterling gold, spelled with the divine protection of ice and wind: tribute to other gods he now swore obedience to...but what else could he do, as the fire grew closer and closer, as the heat started to make him sway where he now knelt? Perhaps the others could see the disaster, and rush on their way, but it was far too late; he knew he couldn't be saved. In his fear, he let words escape in a soft chant, no matter how much it hurt: "Padre nostro che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome; venga il tuo regno; sia fatta la tua volontà, come in cielo così in terra..."

It had been years since he had turned to this prayer, the one of the Lord Himself, but if God couldn't save him, who could? Over and over he let himself repeat the Lord's Prayer, in the vain hope that someone up there could see him, could take pity on his plight, could save him...

--

Meru had been the one to sense trouble; the team Riki sent to find him, led by Shooting Star leader herself, found Orion on his knees, eyes closed and hands clasped in prayer, chanting in his native language.

For a brief moment, Joc didn't want to break the chant; it was almost a song in its own right, no matter the fear that clung desperately to his voice. From what little she understood of Italian, she had a feeling what prayer he was repeating; what could he be seeing, that would scare him so? Would he not believe that everything was alright, that there was nothing going on? But soon she went to his side, and threw her arms around him: when he finally realized someone else was there, the prayer was broken, her embrace returned.

It would take an hour, of staying close, not letting go, of firm resolution, before getting him to understand that there was no fire: there was nothing but the field, and the others, and the two of them. That it was only vision and fantasy, trying to scare him. That everything was alright.