Phoenix Force

Raising a kid was one thing. Raising a kid who might just be a walking miracle—or a ticking time bomb—was another.

Auzra was... different.

I had known it from the moment I found him in that alleyway, but at first, I told myself it was just luck. Maybe he was just a strangely quiet baby. Maybe he was just tough. He barely cried, never got sick, and there was something off—something I couldn't quite put into words.

It wasn't just that he was warm. It wasn't just that he clung to life when any other kid in his situation would've been dead. It was something else, something deeper—something in him. I felt it every time I held him, like standing near a fire that never burned, a steady heat pressing against my bones, easing wounds I hadn't even realized I had.

But I ignored it. I told myself it was nothing.

Until the day I saw his wounds heal right before my eyes.

At first, it was subtle. A scratch here, a bruise there—normal things for a kid learning to crawl, to stumble, to explore the world with clumsy hands and wide eyes.

Except they never lasted.

One moment, there'd be a tiny scrape on his knee, the next, smooth, unbroken skin. I told myself I was imagining it, that maybe I hadn't been paying close enough attention. But the more I watched, the more I realized—I wasn't wrong.

So, I tested it. Nothing cruel, nothing drastic. Just small things—letting him play with objects that might leave little marks. A wooden block that could pinch a finger, the rough fabric of an old blanket that might leave a scratch.

Every single time, the injuries faded before my eyes.

Victor was the first to really take notice of it—not just in passing, but with that sharp, calculating look of his, the one that meant he was already running a hundred different theories in his head.

"You do realize that's not normal, right?" he asked, adjusting his glasses as he leaned forward, eyes locked on Auzra, who was happily playing with a few old machine parts scattered across the floor. His tiny fingers wrapped around a metal gear, twisting it curiously, completely unaware of the scrutiny he was under.

I exhaled a slow stream of smoke, lounging back in my chair with practiced indifference. "Maybe he's just built different," I muttered, rolling my cigarette between my fingers.

Victor shot me a flat look. "Joker. Normal kids don't just shrug off injuries like they're nothing. I've seen him fall, scrape his hands, and the next second? Nothing. No blood, no bruises, not even a scab. That's not just built different—that's something else entirely."

I shrugged again, though I knew damn well he was right. I'd seen it too. Hell, I'd tested it. But what was I supposed to do? Sit Auzra down and demand he explain how his tiny body worked? He was barely past the stage of babbling nonsense and throwing things at my head.

"Look," I said finally, flicking ash onto the floor. "He's alive. He's healthy. And he's not turning into some flesh-eating monster in the middle of the night, so I don't see the problem."

Victor sighed, rubbing his temples. "The problem is, you don't ask enough questions."

I smirked. "And you ask too many."

Victor let out a long, drawn-out sigh, the kind that spoke of exhaustion—not the physical kind, but the mental strain of dealing with me.

"Joker," he said, his voice edged with frustration, "I know you love pretending things aren't your problem, but this? This is serious. If someone finds out—"

"No one's gonna find out," I interrupted smoothly, exhaling smoke as I flicked my cigarette into the ashtray. "Because we're not telling anyone."

Victor's mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but then he hesitated, his brows knitting together in barely restrained exasperation. He muttered something under his breath—probably something about me being reckless, irresponsible, or just a general pain in his ass—but, surprisingly, he didn't push it further.

For now.

I knew him well enough to recognize that look in his eyes. He wasn't letting this go. He was just waiting for the right moment to bring it up again, probably with more evidence, more reasons, more of his relentless scientific curiosity.

But that was a problem for another day.

...

Auzra was around five years old when things stopped being just strange and became outright unnerving.

It was an ordinary night—or at least as ordinary as life could get when you spent most of your time dodging enemies, hiding in safe houses, and dealing with the unpredictable chaos of the underworld. The latest safe house was nothing special—just another abandoned building tucked away in the shadows of the city, far from the reach of prying eyes. The air inside was stale, thick with dust, and the faint scent of rust and old wood lingered in the corners.

Auzra had already settled in for the night, curled up on a pile of blankets we had scavenged, his breathing slow and steady. He had always been an easy sleeper, drifting off almost as soon as his head hit the fabric. I, on the other hand, was still awake, running on the lingering adrenaline of another job well done. Nothing too dangerous this time—just some intel gathering, sneaking in and out of places I wasn't supposed to be, the usual. But the long hours and the constant tension had taken their toll, leaving a dull ache settling deep in my shoulder, a reminder of the night's work.

I leaned back against the wall, exhaling as I rotated my arm, testing the stiffness in my muscles. It wasn't bad—just the kind of soreness that came with a life like mine. Still, exhaustion was creeping in, wrapping around my limbs like a heavy weight, pulling at me. My body was demanding rest, but my mind hadn't quite caught up yet.

And then, suddenly, everything shifted.

The ache in my muscles faded—not gradually, not like the natural process of rest easing tension, but all at once, like someone had flipped a switch. The weight of exhaustion lifted, the stiffness in my shoulder unraveled, and for the first time in what felt like hours, I felt… light.

It was unnatural.

I frowned, sitting up straighter, my senses sharpening as I scanned the dimly lit room for any sign of danger. My instincts were screaming that something wasn't right.

And then I saw it.

Auzra—still fast asleep, his tiny form buried beneath the blankets—was glowing.

Not his whole body, but his hands.

A soft, golden light flickered at his fingertips, twisting and curling like living fire, warm and steady. It wasn't the harsh, destructive blaze of an Infernal, nor the manufactured glow of artificial flames. It was something else entirely. Something… pure.

I stared, my breath caught somewhere between disbelief and wariness.

This wasn't normal.

Hell, none of this had ever been normal, but this? This was something else entirely.

The realization settled over me like a slow-burning ember, sparking a deep, unsettling feeling in my gut. This wasn't a fluke, wasn't just some strange trick of the light or my mind playing games with me after a long night. No—this was real.

The flames that curled around Auzra's small hands weren't wild or untamed like the ones that engulfed the battlefield. They were something else entirely—controlled, deliberate, radiating warmth without destruction. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. The Holy Sol Temple preached about divine flames, about purification through fire, but this… this was different.

I sat there in stunned silence, watching the golden embers pulse gently with each slow breath Auzra took. Every trace of pain, every lingering ache in my body, was fading away as if it had never been there in the first place. The exhaustion I had carried from my latest job, the weight of constant battles and bloodshed, all of it was slipping away under the soft glow of his power.

He was healing me.

Not like a medic patching up wounds with bandages and antiseptics, not like the desperate kind of treatment you found in the back alleys of the underworld. No, this was something deeper, something more profound. It was as if his fire wasn't just mending flesh and bone, but unraveling the very wear and tear life had etched into me.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand down my face as I processed what this meant. A kid barely five years old, unknowingly wielding a power that shouldn't exist—at least, not like this. Healing flames. A force that defied everything we understood about Adolla's fire, about the way it consumed and destroyed.

I should've been alarmed. I should've been questioning everything, planning for the worst-case scenario. If the wrong people found out about this, Auzra would never know freedom again. The Holy Sol Temple, the Haijima bastards—they'd tear the world apart to get their hands on something like this.

But instead of fear, instead of panic, something else settled in my chest as I watched Auzra sleep peacefully, his tiny fingers twitching in his dreams.

Pride.

Possessiveness.

And an unshakable resolve.

Whatever he was—whoever he was becoming—he was mine. And if the world wanted to take him from me?

They'd have to burn first.

I decided to keep a closer watch on him after that.

I never mentioned it outright, never let on that I was paying more attention than usual. But I started testing things, little by little. When I got injured—cuts, bruises, the usual wear and tear of my line of work—I made sure to stay near him, just to see if my recovery would speed up. And sure enough, it did. If he was upset, I watched his flames flicker and pulse, reacting in ways no normal fire should.

It wasn't always predictable. Sometimes, it was subtle—barely noticeable. Other times, it was undeniable. But one fact remained constant: Auzra's fire wasn't normal.

Then came the night everything changed.

The incident with the Infernal.

We weren't supposed to be anywhere near a battlefield that night. I had been lying low, keeping to the shadows, avoiding unnecessary fights. But when a poor soul combusted right in the middle of a deserted alleyway, I didn't have a choice. The thing was rampaging, and if I didn't put it down, someone else would suffer for it.

I told Auzra to stay inside. I made it clear—stern voice, sharp look, the kind of warning that should have made any kid hesitate.

But he didn't listen.

I was mid-fight, maneuvering around the Infernal's erratic attacks, when I heard it—a sharp, startled gasp behind me. My stomach dropped. Whipping around, I spotted Auzra standing just a few feet away, his emerald eyes blown wide in shock.

He wasn't supposed to be there.

The Infernal turned, drawn to the presence of something—someone—alive. Its charred, grotesque mouth opened in a wailing screech, embers raining from its decayed form as it lunged.

I moved to intercept, ready to cut it down before it could reach him.

But Auzra moved first.

No hesitation. No fear.

One second, he was standing there, small and fragile. The next, golden fire erupted from his body, unfolding behind him like massive wings. It wasn't like any flame I'd ever seen—it didn't crackle or scorch, didn't consume the air around it. It simply existed, bright and unyielding.

And then—

The Infernal vanished.

Not burned. Not destroyed. Not reduced to embers like the countless others I had faced.

It was just… gone.

Erased.

Auzra swayed on his feet, his body trembling, his breathing ragged. Then, without warning, he collapsed.

I was already moving before he hit the ground, catching him in my arms. His skin was burning hot, his small body limp against mine, but there wasn't a single mark on him. He was unharmed. Exhausted, yes. But whole.

He had no idea what he had just done.

But I did.

That night, as I sat in the dim glow of the safe house, watching Auzra's slow, steady breathing, I came to a decision.

I wasn't going to tell him the truth. Not yet.

The world we lived in—it wasn't built for people like him. It barely tolerated people like me, and I was just a man who knew how to stay ahead of the game. But Auzra? He was something else entirely. And the moment the higher-ups caught wind of a boy who could erase Infernals without combustion, who could heal wounds without the calculated control of a second-generation pyrokinetic, they'd come for him.

They wouldn't see a child. They'd see a weapon. A tool. Something to be studied, dissected, controlled.

I'd seen it before.

I wasn't about to let it happen to him.

I ran a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. He was just a kid—small, fragile, still clinging to me like I was the only solid thing in his world. He didn't know what he was, what he could do. And as long as I had anything to say about it, he wouldn't have to.

Not until he was ready.

I adjusted the blankets around him, watching as he shifted slightly in his sleep, murmuring something too soft to catch. The golden embers of his flames had long since faded, but I could still feel it—the warmth lingering in the air, in my bones, in the quiet space between us.

He had no idea how dangerous he was.

And for now, that was for the best.

I had spent my entire life fighting against the system, tearing at the seams of its corruption, exposing the cracks it tried so desperately to hide. I knew what happened to people who were different—people who didn't fit neatly into the categories the world had set for them. They were used. Exploited. Broken down until there was nothing left but obedience and ashes.

I wasn't about to let that happen to Auzra.

So I did what I do best.

I lied.

I told him his flames were normal, just another quirk of his lineage, nothing to be concerned about. I said there was nothing special about the way they shimmered gold instead of red, nothing unusual about the way they could mend wounds instead of burning flesh. I warned him never to use them in front of others, drilled it into his head that showing off would only bring trouble.

And then I taught him how to hide.

I made sure he knew how to downplay his abilities, how to feign exhaustion even when he wasn't tired, how to make his flames look weaker than they truly were. I turned deception into second nature, weaving it so tightly into his instincts that it became part of him—just another survival skill, just another mask.

And Auzra?

He listened.

For now.