Fire

welcome to the second part of Crimson Pasts (ooh, cool name. i likey!)

r&r. just 'cause you love me. especially about the echoes bit. please? pwetty pwease? it's good...

oh, and...(deep breath...)...NOT MINE NOT MINE NOT MINE NOT MINE NOT MINE NOT MINE NOT MIIIIIINNNNNEEE!

The boy looked out at the world from his perch on the mountain. Yesterday had been his fifteenth birthday, and today was the day when he would attempt the Accession of Flame, and thus become eligible for the command of the Dragon Brigade.

"Albel," his father's voice called. "It's time."

Standing up, the youngest Nox nodded. He touched the first two fingers of his left hand to his lips, as a way of farewell. There was a very likely possibility that he might never see the view again. He walked into the cave, grimacing slightly at the waves of intense heat. The white chalk arrows on the walls clearly marked the route through the many complex mazes inside the Urssa Lava Caves. Slowly he made his way to the centre, where the dragons, his father, and his destiny awaited.

He did not look back.

The cave walls were lined with dragons, snarling, biting, a writhing mass of muscle and scales. In the centre stood two humans, and a young dragon; Nathrai. At the head of the circle, behind the younger dragon, sat Crosell, and it was his roar that silenced the wyrms.

"Human! You have come here to Link with us, so that we might grace you with our power. The dragon who is willing to bond with you shall be Nathrai-third-born. You may begin."

The dragon Nathrai walked forward, sitting herself on the boulder in front of the humans. Glou stepped back, leaving Albel alone on the raised plateau.

The she-dragon began to speak, her voice softer, higher, than that of the Alpha. "Three questions I shall ask, three answers you shall give. The Clan shall judge after."

Albel nodded, and she began. "What matters the most to you?"

As long as I don't tell a lie, he thought, everything will be fine "Strength." Oops.

"What are you most afraid of?"

"Not being able to reach my full potential."

The dragon shifted, hard golden eyes glaring down at him. "What do you hate the most?"

Albel paused thoughtfully. "Those that think I'm no good, and those who try and give me charity. I also hate people who think they're better than me."

Silence reigned. The dragons began to growl. Nathrai reared up to her full height. "In the years since you Acceptance, you have not changed! You are a fool, a coward, like so many before you! How dare you try and taint my essence with your blackened soul! You may be physically strong, but your mind is weak! You are pathetic!" The cave shook with her fury as her Clan family began to roar. "You shall feel the wrath of my fire! May it cleanse your soul."

Albel bowed his head, ready for the dragon's breath. Deep down, he had known that he wouldn't pass. He waited resignedly for the scorching blast.

"No!"

A figure lept in front of him, and he looked up. His father stood defiantly in front of him, shielding his son from the deadly flames. The heat was unbearable, and Albel's vision blurred, eyes stinging. His father began to scream as the flesh was melted off his bones.

"Father!" Panicking, Albel reached out with his left hand, trying to pull Glou away from the flames; it should be him burning, not his father! He cried out in pain, falling back instinctively, eyes closed tightly. His father's screams echoed around the cavern.

There was a roar from the dragons, and suddenly the intense heat was gone. There was a sudden gust of wind, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived. Albel forced his eyes open, and gasped when he saw his left arm. From the elbow down, there was nothing. It had all been burnt away; flesh, bones…everything. He raised his eyes, and fought back tears. His father…gone.

For a while, he stared numbly at the ashes of his last living relative. The cave was empty; there was no one there. No one to see the pained crimson eyes. No one to hear the soft sobs of despair.

"It should have been me," a hoarse voice whispered softly. As quiet as it was, it still echoed around the cavern mockingly.

"…Should have been…should have been…"

"Why did you die…?"

"…You DIE…"

"No…"

"…Die…"

"No!"

"…Die…"

He clutched at his head, trying to block the echoes, screaming when only one hand came up. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"…Die…alone…"

Leaping up, he pounded his fist against the wall, clawing at it frantically. His fingers bled, and he roared hoarsely as the pain came beating back.

"…Die…"

"No! No, no, NO!"

He stumbled blindly through the lava maze, running, crawling, trying to escape the mocking echoes and the terrible realization that it was all his fault.

Finally he felt a cool breeze against his scorched face, and he collapsed, crying. The salty tears stung his burned cheeks, and he welcomed it. The pain became too much; he fainted.

The cavern echoed still, and not far away from the pile of smouldering ashes, sticking out from beneath a rock, was a sword. The Crimson Scourge gleamed in the light of its former owner's ashes.

"…Die…"