(In case you guys want something to listen to while you read. This is what I was listening to when I wrote the below)
It was dark. Everything was dark. Fandrim couldn't see anything at all. The blackness had closed around him. Blood dribbled from his mouth - slow and gentle it left a crimson trail down his chin. He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to bring some light back. "Where is the flow...the ether..." Murmured the firemage, his magical senses casting out around him; it wasn't there. He couldn't find it. The constant blanket of power that he had been tapped into since childhood was missing. His heart dropped like a stone into his stomach. The fire was gone. He began to cast around himself, arms out, fingers searching for some refuge to hold on to.
He couldn't find it. A light, brighter than anything else he'd ever seen, flared around and above him. A thousand faces stared down, and began to scream. The firemage clamped his palms over his ears like tight screws, dropping to his knees as the concussive sound buffeted at him, shaking him to his very soul. It was the hand on his shoulder that ceased it all - small, gentle fingers wrapping around the tense outcropping of muscle and bone. The contact spread calm through him and eventually, the screaming orchestra stopped. "Drin..." Whispered a soft voice. "Drin, son, open your eyes. Its all right now." Fandrim slowly lowered his hands to look up at who was speaking, the voice soft and womanly. He couldn't quite make out a face - a hood shrouding it in gentle shadow, but his eyes immediately picked out the family crest sewn to the collar of the figure's cloak. "Stand up son, its all okay" It hurt to stand, and the firemage didn't know why. When he was on his feet, the figure was even shorter than he was.
"My darling, darling boy, you shouldn't fear..." Softly, the figure raised her hands to his cheeks, long sleeves falling away to reveal smooth skin. When he saw the ring on her finger, Fandrim knew exactly who stood before him
"Mother?" He asked, his confusion obvious in his tone. "Mother...how? What...are you doing here?" The question was barely asked before a deluge of shame and horror spiralled from his tongue "Mother! I've lost...I've lost my Arcana! I can't provide for you any more-I can't help you and father, I can't make you proud - please,e please forgive me-" Before he could go on, he was pulled into a sharp hug.
"Never doubt yourself"
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He woke up. The face of a magical healer was staring down into his, soft green eyes concerned and focused. The pain in Fandrim's chest had faded, though the burn marks all over the steel of his breastplate wouldn't fade for quite some time. "Mr. Koss? How do you feel?" The medic asked, her hand prodding at his chest. When the firemage looked up at her he breathed out loudly through his nostrils - flame following breath. The connection to the ether was back, he could feel his body tingling with Mana - could feel the fire flowing again. It was in his blood, and in his heart. A sigh of relief broke from both his, and the EMS worker's throats, and he laughed at that.
"Am I good to get up?" The wounded fighter asked. He'd taken worse wounds in the past, but it was always good to check with the medics. A nod gave him his permission, and he pulled himself from the small stretcher cot they'd had to set up. Everything hurt - he could still taste blood in his mouth - and when Fandrim stood it wasn't with his usual strength and confidence. "The Dragon still lives" Grumbled the Firemage before he set off through the back of the medical tent.
When he reached the lift, he could see that the team were dinged up. Lena looked her usual cool self, Oliver had taken a shot to the thigh and Elizabeth had damaged her wing - it was all usual minor stuff. Fandrim was the worst, and he smirked at the rest of them, falsely squaring his shoulders, even though it hurt. He didn't want to belay the idea that he was the strong, indomitable tank of the group.
They know my true heart, but after battle, it is best to reassure your comrades of your power. It was a lesson he'd learned when younger - if his father was still smiling and strong after a knockback, then the whole family would continue to have hope and fight on. He clapped Oliver on the shoulder, nodded to Elizabeth, and slumped against the Elevator rail beside Lena. A heavy sigh broke from his hurting chest.
"Good fight"
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The barrage of questions broke from the crowd of reporters just as the light of their camera flashes smashed into the eyes of the Circle. The three who chose to stay and endure the mass of inquiries stood in a sea of inquisitive souls. Fandrim caught sight of a few wearing Dragon Head Armbands and waved to them - he'd always made sure his fans knew not to get in his face, but he would acknowledge them. He felt his leg almost give out, and acting as casually as possible supported himself using Lena's shoulder.
When he heard his name, Fandrim found a young reporter with slicked back ginger hair and a notepad prodding at his side, face adorned with a scraggly moustache that had barely filled in. This one obviously hadn't heard how angry he could get. "Fandrim, will you be taking part in the one on one matches today?". The firemage did an internal prodding of both his body and pride.
"Maybe in the evening" Was all he replied.
"Mr. Fandrim sir, is it true that you are dating Amanda Tellingsworth?" Another, older reporter asked. The modern, stylish haircut and
Chicago Teller press badge revealed her as a tabloid writer.
"No, I don't believe I am Miss! But if Ms. Tellingsworth would make herself known to me I might find the time to meet with her" He chuckled. A few of the reporters chuckled with him. Every match, at least one person asked him if he was dating someone or the other - just as they fixated on Olivers combat strategy, and how he felt about injuries, or Lena's outfits (He could see why. He'd caught himself looking before and after battles in the past) or her family. Pointless drivel most of the time.
"Fandrim! How does it feel to be bested by an old Rival in Celia Le'cosse?"
The firemage felt his eye twitch slightly, turning to look at the reporter who'd asked an inane question. "Perhaps I should put you in my armour, shoot you in the head with a disc gun and then slam a firebolt into your chest? Then you would know how it feels to be me at the moment...though a reedy stick like you - " And the boy was tall and thin " - would probably break far easier than I". A flush of anger or embarrassment shot across the tall reporter's pale face and he fell back.
He could see Oliver getting overwhelmed. Security never managed to keep out the stranger demographic of his fandom. Growing impatient, and wanting a drink with his teammates, Fandrim decided to take action "Friends, friends!" He called, voice ringing out above the questioning storm "Let us have our rest! We've fought a hard fight and deserve that at least, do we not?" He accented this with a glance at a pair of security guards off in the corner. He knew that the respectful fans would leave immediately. He moved over towards Oliver, nearly hobbling, and pushed him into Lena - placing himself between him and his ravenous female admirers. "Ladies, ladies, step back just a little! You wouldn't want your pretty boy to fall and hurt his poor face now would you? We're all very tired"
For him, at least, that last part was true. He saw a few of the women shrink back at the thought of harming their object of idolization. Like the sea parting for Moses (Who Fandrim was convinced had been a skilful mage) the reporters and fans parted to reveal a path to the team's private lounge booth.
"Shall we? I need a drink" He grumbled, determinedly setting off towards the sanctuary, waving to a bartender - the man had grown accustomed to Fandrim's usual and would bring it across.
