Reborn in Flames

My eyes snapped to my parents as they reentered the dining room. My mother was no longer covered in furious fire, but now she looked tired, like she'd just spent the last several hours slogging through a stack of paperwork. I wasn't sure if that was better or not.

"Riser," my father started seriously. He walked around the table and knelt down in front of me, putting himself on my eye-level. "Do you know why your mother and I are waiting to begin your lessons?"

"Because I'm too young?" That was the reason they always used to shoot down my requests, right?

"Because we don't want to see you get hurt. You could hurt yourself if you aren't ready."

"But we regenerate! I don't need to–"

"Stop." my father said, holding up his hand.

I swallowed nervously as I cut off, anxiously awaiting his next words.

"Riser, your regeneration is no excuse to hurt yourself, nor should it be used as a crutch. Just because you heal rapidly does not mean that you shouldn't avoid being hurt in the first place.

What would you do if you accidentally hurt yourself in a way your regeneration couldn't fix? What would you do if you were alone when it happened?

We wouldn't be able to find you until it was too late. A Phenex should not die alone, killed by their own incompetence."

I hung my head in shame as his words washed over me. It wasn't that I was unaware of the possibility, but I felt like I wasn't doing anything.

From what I'd been able to gather during my various exhibitions into the library, most, if not all, mythologies and their associated monstrosities existed in this world.

I was wasting away as a small child when, for all I knew, Nidhogg, Cronos, or maybe even Ancalagon could break through into the Underworld tomorrow. Who was to say that Ancalagon was fiction when God–

Ow.

When the cloud-sitter wasn't?

Maybe that was a paranoid way of looking at things, but I had already died once; I had no interest in ever dying again. I needed to be able to run away from world ending creatures like that at the very least.

Mother walked up behind father and looked down at me. "Riser, talk to us. Why is it so important to you that you experiment? Are you not content with your toys and books?"

Shuffling uncomfortably, I said, "Experimenting's fun. Toys and books are…easy. I don't like easy. I want to be strong – as strong as the Satans."

Father's expression became clouded as he narrowed his eyes at me. "You want to be a Satan?"

That wasn't exactly what I'd said, but it was more or less accurate. I nodded my head shyly, still having a hard time looking my parents in the eyes.

Mother and father looked at each other and seemed to have a private conversation with their eyes. What felt like an eternity later, they finally turned back to me.

"Riser, look at me." father said.

I looked up at him anxiously, unsure whether or not he was mad at me.

"I originally told you we would begin your more serious studies when you were eight, but your mother and I don't think you'll be content to wait until then, so I'll make a deal with you."

I swallowed nervously, hanging on his words.

"If you do no more experimenting by yourself, we will start next year. But," he said before I could get a word in.

"You cannot endanger yourself anymore. No more experimenting. No more sneaking off. In order for us to be able to trust that you're mature enough to start early, we need to know that you'll do as we say.

If you can refrain from endangering yourself for a full year, we'll start teaching you. If you can't, we won't start until you are twelve. Do you understand?"

I nodded my head quickly, overjoyed at the chance to get started. Still, I had to go a year without training.

In the grand scheme of things, this was much better. I just had to convince mother and father to let me read some actual books and I'd be able to tough it out. I would be fine.

XXX

Ten Years Old

The room I found myself in was dark, lit only by a chandelier with plain candles and a few braziers around the room alight with green fire the color of a shining emerald.

The walls were lined with shelves. Some held decaying books bound in anything from leather to human skin. Others held small vials glowing different colors or crystals of varying sizes and shapes.

This was Clarissa's laboratory and study. Mother and father made sure she had her own space due to the fact that her mystical pursuits set some of the staff on edge.

Clarissa wasn't what people classically thought of when they heard the word 'mage'.

Smiling, I flexed my fingers, delighting in the dark violet, unnatural energy that swam between my arms.

"Well done, my lord." Clarissa praised me, studying the magic in my hands. Ever since I had begun training, she had been my teacher of all things mystical.

My parents had devoted the majority of their time to raising my little sister, leaving Ruval to help me with the Phenex bloodline, but he had never really expanded his reach into other forms of magic as I desired to. Thus, Clarissa was the best choice.

Even before my mother reincarnated her as a devil, she had been immensely skilled in magic, albeit a form of magic most considered strange or an outright waste of time.

Clarissa spent hours on end crafting components she used to fuel her spell casting. By using these trinkets, she was able to create effects that were magnitudes more powerful than they should be for a very low drain on her mana supply.

That wasn't to say she couldn't throw a lightning bolt if the situation required it, but why would she waste mana on such a costly spell when she could just as easily debilitate her enemies with a spell that warped the target's perception of space by flipping a coin?