Chapter Text
He snapped his eyes open with a jolt, his heart galloping in his chest like a wild stallion. With a shaking hand, he wiped his damp hair away from his forehead before letting his arm fall limp above his head. His chest heaved as he gulped in air through his dry throat, and he closed his eyes to try and calm himself. However, the images projected themselves on the backs of his eyelids, causing him to grimace and open his eyes again to chase them away. He swallowed nothing down his clammy throat, grimacing again at the odd sensation. He needed some water.
With a grunt, he shakily rose to a sitting position and pulled at his sticky clothes that had gotten twisted around his frame. That done, he forced himself onto his trembling legs that buzzed with the adrenaline still coursing through his blood and shuffled out into the hall that was as black as Cole’s ninja gi.
Wishing he had brought the Sword of Fire in order to conjure a flame to help him see, he instead let his hand slide along the wall to guide him. He slowly passed Nya’s room, a twinge of sadness blooming in his chest as his fingertips brushed against her door. He reached the next room and paused when he thought he heard the sound of rustling sheets coming from inside. After a brief moment of silence, however, he shook his head and continued his journey to the kitchen.
It took him several minutes to blindly find the cupboard where the glasses were kept and several more minutes to fill his glass, accidentally over-filling it while he was lost in thought. He took a long sip, the cool water refreshing his throat and calming his nerves, if only somewhat. He clutched the glass tight to stop his hands from shaking and wondered that it didn’t crack from the pressure he gave it.
Slowly, his nightmare came back to him. Not a nightmare really but a memory. A memory of a young boy screaming for his parents with the full capacity of his lungs. Of a young boy crying an ocean of tears to try and fill the void in his heart. Of a young boy forced to become a man long before his time.
He had shoved his grief aside for the sake of his then three-year-old sister, but ever since that day inside the blasted volcano, the memory he had buried long ago would seep out and haunt him, stalking him like a shadow.
A chill dashed through his spine, and he wiped his upper lip on his sleeve with a sniff. The glass, now empty, sat heavy in his hands as he set it by the sink, his fingers lingering around the smooth surface for a brief moment. With a deep sigh, he let his arm fall back to his side and turned toward the hallway.
More alert now, he made his way down the hall, his fingers guiding him once again. He paused at the first door and listened intently, now sure he was hearing something on the other side. A muffled sob came through the door, followed by a shaky, small voice.
“Come back! Don’t leave me!”
His throat tightened and burned at those two sentences, imagining them being wailed from lungs choked by the heat of a volcano. His skin crawled as more sobs cracked the silence, and almost before he knew what he was doing, his fingers glided to the doorknob.
Through the darkness, he made out the trembling form curled on the bed, a blanket wrapped tightly around the small figure. He approached the side of the bed with slow, quiet steps, being careful not to wake the boy. To his surprise, however, the figure shifted a little before choking out a whisper.
“Zane?”
Knowing the kid was awake, he knelt into view. “No, just me.”
His chest turned to lead at the harsh flinch that jerked the boy’s body and the wide, glazed stare peering at him from within the blanket. He flicked his eyes down at the hands clenching the soft fabric as though it were his only saving grace before meeting the red irises again.
“You ok?”
A beat of silence passed, and the cocooned form flitted his gaze to the side and shifted some as if in discomfort. “‘M fine,” came the mumbled reply, punctuated by a rough sniffle.
Another uncomfortable silence followed as he searched for the right thing to say, but his mind came up blank. Gazing at the boy’s watery eyes and runny nose, he knew he couldn’t just leave the kid like this. With a sigh, he rose to his full height before turning and sitting on the end of the bed, leaning his head back against the wall.
“Y’know, Lloyd,” he said after a bit. “I used to be afraid of fire.”
The bundled child said nothing, so he continued.
“It’s silly, what with my dad being a blacksmith and all, but when I looked at fire, I saw something dangerous. It could cause buildings to burn down and kill people. It could destroy entire forests. I always stayed away from my dad’s workshop because I thought the fire would burn the whole forge down.
“When he started teaching me how to work the forge, my dad told me that fire wasn’t something to be afraid of. He said fire is a comfort, like a warm hearth on a harsh winter morning; it’s a beacon, to light the way for others; and it’s a tool, to help shape the steel that becomes the warrior’s sword.”
He paused, his mind falling back to that moment in the belly of the volcano where he had been presented with a choice: grab the Fang Blade or rescue Lloyd. The brief flash of fear on Lloyd’s face had awoken that painful memory he had tried to bury years earlier. It was the face of a boy who didn’t want to be abandoned. The face of a boy who needed guidance. The face of a boy who needed him.
His voice cracked a little as he went on. “He told me the only time fire was to be feared was when it was out of control, when it had no purpose.”
He remembered staring into Lloyd’s frightened face and seeing the faintest hint of green in those red eyes. He remembered the dawning realization. He remembered grabbing the black hoodie and pulling the boy so close to his chest that he could feel the frantic heartbeat beneath the thick fabric. He remembered the three words Lloyd cried right before they fled the volcano’s fiery guts.
Don’t let go.
He was suddenly aware of Lloyd sitting up in bed, the blanket still curled tightly around his thin frame, and staring at him with green-tinted eyes. The boy scooted closer until they were sitting right beside each other, his aura calm as though he understood where he had been going with this. He let a smile grow on his lips as Lloyd rested his blond head on his shoulder. Without even thinking, he snaked an arm around the boy, pulling him into his side in a hug.
“Don’t worry, Lloyd,” he murmured. “I won’t let go.”
END