The Souls of Earth
Fire, Lightning, and Water; this sacred trinity forms the very earth itself and those that command all three command the world shall have the world do his or her bidding. Lightning and Fire brought forth the land, fire and water brought forth the skies, Lightning and Water brought forth life. Each element is mighty on its own, able to bring forth energy, consume a target or bring warmth, and able to nurture life itself.
There have always been magic users who manage to tap into the awesome power of the elements. Merlin for example was able to control lightning with ease. However, he had a very limited command over water and fire.
Dumbledore was a Fire Mage, able to conjure whips of flame with ease. However, his command over fire was not absolute as Merlin's was with lightning. Even Voldemort whom also commanded the flame only did so with limited success. The last Water Mage, the final part of the trinity had not been spotted in countless millennia; perhaps the spirit of water refused to lend it's power to wizards whom did not preserve life as they were intended?
These mighty wizards were not the peak of magical potential. They didn't understand how magic truly worked, they didn't understand how magic could grow and that one's power wasn't limited to what one had now.
It would take a bright eyed boy, innocent in the ways of magic, but scared for his life to discover the truth. That magic was something that was truly... Alive, and that by communing with the forces that made up magic one could increase their own powers beyond anything the mortal world had ever imagined.
Vernon Dursley was not a nice man. He never claimed otherwise. Nor was his son, or was his wife. They were proud of their 'normalcy'. They were proud of their identical hedges and their identical house, as well as their identical lawns.
However, even though this was the truth, the Dursley's contained a dark secret in their homes. One that no one save themselves knew.
A boy; terribly malnourished, on the verge of death at all times. He didn't know his own name, let alone the legacy contained within himself. Where he should have had a round face with baby fat, still maturing, growing and developing he was gaunt, bony, and frail. A simple kick could have broken him.
In a way he was fortunate that he was locked in the cupboard most of the time. It kept him safe from his relatives physical brutality... Most of the time. By the time they were done with him normally they tossed his battered, and mostly broken body into the cupboard as if he was a toy to torment as they desired.
In some terrible and horrific way; he was just that. A toy to manipulate and use. Albus Dumbledore had set him there; intentionally either not knowing or believing them capable of such acts, or knowing that was exactly what would happen.
Either way, they boy suffered from the consequences.
"FREAK!" Vernon yelled.
At that he whimpered clutching an arm that hadn't healed right. As he did so Vernon ripped the door to the cupboard open and grasped said unhealed arm, dragging him to the front room.
"Worthless freak." Vernon grumbled as he weakly cried out.
Another beating already? The boy was scared. What had happened this time? Why did he deserve it this time?
Agony once more, a fist a boot, a belt, another fist, another... The hits began to blur together. Pain. Pain. Pain.
His body began to become jarred once again, internal bleeding, broken ribs, both arms broken, a femur cracked under the strain. His skull fractured and then... Darkness took him.
When next he woke he awoke to cracked lips within the cupboard. Pain across his entire body.
"I... Don't... Want... To... Die..." He gasped as he willed his body to knit itself together as he had so many times before.
He might be in 'hell' already but... He refused to die. He would NOT die.
However, as he slowly patched his body back together he realized he didn't have enough strength to mend the wounds anew. His 'power' wasn't enough.
"I... Need more of you..." He gasped pleading with the power residing within him; quickly running low trying to mend the wounds.
Why? The power seemed to ask.
"To... Heal... To be able... To... Keep living." He moaned weakly.
And why would you want that? Just so you can be hurt again?
"No... So... I don't... Die... So... I... Can... Get... Back...Up..." Each word was difficult.
He had to learn all his words on his own. All of his sense of self was found while focusing within, even with the oppression of Vernon's Family.
They weren't his family, just as this wasn't his 'home'. They never had been.
And what, just use our might to keep mending the wounds for however long? We've carried you all this way. If not for us you would have starved to death long ago. If not for us you would be tending far more injuries.
"I know." He groaned.
"But... Please...Help... Me... Please... Give me... Enough strength to... Break... Free."
Fire? One voice asked.
Life and desire burns brightly within. I see no reason to refuse. Young one. I grant to you the life born only from flames. You shall be given the ability to tap into fire itself. Fire brings warmth, and comfort. It protects life when controlled but when allowed to move at its own will can bring death. Use both control and unconstrained righteousness to see you through.
Water? Another tone asked.
He has not the serenity needed to access my might. He isn't as calm as the gentle sea, nor can he attain it's awesome wrath. He knows not how to still himself as a gentle pool of water or flood the enemy with the righteousness of the seas. If he should attain this power however, I shall reconsider.
Then a last voice cast its vote.
He is not ready to control my might. The fierce power of the storm. He is not able to access my might. He has not the focus needed to contain my power.
The voices merged back into one, the tone of his own magic.
The power of Fire has accepted you young one. Use its might to stand once more. Free yourself, and break these chains that bind you. This power will set you free.
He stood, still not knowing the name that had been given to him by his progenitors. However, he had the might needed to live now. And the knowledge that he could grow far stronger drove him even more.
"I... Won't disappoint any of you." He promised before his hand was enveloped in his new powers.
He was untrained and his power swirled about him as a vortex. Fire flickered about his fist and he struck the door in a flaming punch, completely flattening the accursed thing that had blocked his freedom for years.
"I won't be controlled by these monsters anymore." He vowed.
Will you find yourself a name while you're at it? His magic asked dryly.
"I will. My name will be chosen once I find myself able to do so." He agreed.
Who cared what his past was? He was himself. Nameless? Yes, but he would make his own path.
"FREAK!" Vernon roared as he heard the shattering wood, not knowing that he had changed.
As Vernon stormed down the stairs Harry placed his blazing hand on one of the steps, causing a fire to explode to life, blocking Vernon from going down that path.
"I now have the power to do what I must. Goodbye Vermin Dursley. Let the righteous power of the flame consume your evil." He stated coldly.
As he walked towards the door he touched several other objects. More than enough to cause a blazing inferno.
Outside he placed his hands next to each window, or under each window as he could. Perhaps it was a bit cruel, but he didn't feel bad. If the flames took their lives they wouldn't be able to harm another innocent... Like he had been. Surely they would have merely kidnapped another child to take their aggression on once he was dead, calling them 'freak'.
But not any longer.
His flames were much hotter than the typical flames that would have been set for a home. He didn't know it but the three Dursley's were already dead, no one knew it yet though; not even the still struggling Vernon, Petunia, and their son Dudley.
His path would see him take a train, stowaway as he was, to the first place he could get to. In this case, London.
The next several years he would live by finding his own path. It was hard to be certain, but eventually the name came to him. "Tandr" He would be called.
He had studied Norse lore at the local library whenever he had a chance. The gods, their language, their history. It interested him far more than he could ever understand.
Tandr meant 'Fire' in their old tongue. Tandr fit him well, not only for his power but the burning desires within himself as well.
But his greatest dreams were one born of the books he read: To find the World Tree Yggdrasil which each of the nine worlds resided, and to also become 'Odin' himself.
You've got a LONG way to go for that dream. Fire told him in a humored tone.
It was a developing trend. Fire seemed to like Tandr now and so would talk to him from time to time.
I know, but it'll be worth it. Tandr replied faintly.
Better get lightning on your side then. Odin WAS the god of Thunder after all. Fire commented in that same amused tone.
Tandr nodded thoughtfully. Still, he would need Fire's Power to be strong enough to reach such a goal, and if he was right... He'd need Water's power too. He'd need all of their might to do that. To be a wise and just All-Father though he'd need wise advisers, Just like Odin had Freya and Mimir's head* he'd need a wise counsel as well.
"I need to meet some people." Tandr mused thoughtfully.
That you do, but before you do I was curious: When the time comes will you take up the name of 'Odin' as well or will you keep your name of Tandr? Fire asked curiously.
At that Tandr paused. He hadn't thought of that.
I'll take up the mantle of Odin. Names are just things we use to identify others. It's not like they control us. I could have gone with the name 'Fluffy' and it wouldn't have mattered to me.
It's a mark of identification. Fire replied faintly.
Yes, but at the same time... I learned who I was without a name. I can keep myself with a new name too.
At that Tandr practically felt Fire's nod in reluctant agreement. Maybe he liked the fact that he was named 'fire'? Well, it didn't matter yet, not until he drew closer to the time he could become Odin.
Eventually he'd need his battle maidens, he'd need his Einherjar, he'd need his Thor's and all the others.
But for now, Tandr had what he needed most: Himself.
*Author's Note: Yes JUST his HEAD. In Norse mythology Mimir lost his head and it was sent back to Odin. However, it kept on talking and prophesying anyways!
Well this was an interesting concept, Norse mythology is so fun ^^
I had a different idea in mind but then I was drawn into this by the nameless Harry. He's got REALLY big goals no?
This near 1 a day thing I hope to continue for a while so Enjoy! Sorry about yesterday, I had a terribad headache. (Again.)
So I may actually get another chapter on Tales, Crystal Song, or Radiant Chaos (Don't hold your breath for Radiant please since I'm still replotting it...)