The edge of Humlide Inizio's ruins, once a peaceful village, is now a field of ash and broken structures. The wind carries the scent of smoke and memories. The sky was gray, not with clouds but with dust still hanging over the village's ruins. A younger Daniel stood barefoot in the dirt. His fists clenched, the heat from his body distorting the air. Adrien stretched beside him, his earth element quietly pulsing beneath the soles of his feet.
Across from them, Andrew Reyes, Daniel's father, stood firm, back stiff, his old mercenary uniform hanging loose over scarred skin. His eyes, once sharp as a blade, now carried a weariness that couldn't be burned away.
"You boys, are you sure you want to do this? I'm not the man I was."
Daniel steps forward. "Neither am I."
"And we won't survive what's coming if we stay who we are," Adrien affirms.
Andrew's gaze lingered on Daniel's fists, already lined with burn scars from previous outbursts. He exhaled slowly.
"Alright, no weapons. No flashy stunts. Just you, your fists, and your element. That's how I learned. That's how you'll learn." Andrew clarified.
Daniel and Adrien looked at each other and nodded. Then, they looked back at Andrew. Their training began that day. They started with stance drills. Andrew corrected them constantly, knocking Daniel's arms down, forcing Adrien's feet wider. Andrew snapped at them.
"You think enemies care about pretty forms? You think pain waits for technique? No! Now move!"
Daniel jolts from his father's sudden yelling, but quickly gets back into motion. He charges forward, throwing a straight jab lined with flame. Andrew caught it barehanded, his palm flaring with just enough fire to cancel the blow.
"Too wild. You let your flame lead your fist. It's the other way around." Andrew shoves Daniel's hand hard.
Adrien steps in. "Go again, Danny. Tighten your core. Don't flare too early."
Daniel nodded. They moved again—this time, tighter, faster. Daniel's strikes came with bursts of flame. Adrien follows with low sweeping kicks reinforced with stone. Andrew parried, blocked, and corrected them both in one brutal flow. When Daniel missed a strike, his fire flared uncontrollably, scorching his arm.
Andrew grabs his wrist. "Look at me, Daniel. You feel that burn? That's your fire punishing you. Not mine. Not anyone's, Yours."
Daniel gritted his teeth, breathing hard. Sweat dripped down his neck.
"I don't want it to hurt anyone."
Andrew looks down on him, his voice low and firm. "Then earn the right to command it. That starts with your fists."
Andrew turned to Adrien, throwing a palm strike that cracked the dirt around his feet. Adrien raised a stone shield from instinct, but Andrew shattered it with a punch.
"Stone won't protect Daniel forever. You're his anchor. You panic, he burns."
Adrien took a hit to the shoulder, winced, then grounded himself. Earth surging up through his limbs. His next strike landed. Andrew smiled faintly.
"Good. Now again."
Night fell over the clearing. The flames had died down. Adrien rested against a rock, breathing calmly. Daniel sat beside Andrew near a low campfire, no blaze, just embers.
"You think I'll ever control it?" He asks his father softly.
"You're already closer than I ever was."
Silence stretched. The wind picked up a bit of ash.
"When did you stop using your fists?"
Andrew stared into the embers. "When I had something to protect. That's when you learn restraint. You'll find that moment too."
Daniel looked at his hands. They were scarred, bruised, but steady—the mark of those demonic eyes on his palms.
"Thanks for training us, Dad, even with everything..."
"Don't thank me yet. You haven't survived me."
As Adrien drifted to sleep nearby and the night wind softened, Daniel sat cross-legged before the campfire. His fists were on his knees. His arms were still raw, scars not just from training, but from everything that came before. The flames crackled softly. Gentle. Controlled. Unlike the fire that consumed his village.
He stared into it, and suddenly, he was no longer in the clearing. He was on his knees. Alone. Surrounded by ash and echoes. The moment after that cursed sigil flared beneath his feet. When his body screamed, not from pain, but from something more profound. The feeling of something being stolen from him.
He heard it again. Cynthia's voice. Screaming. Begging. Then nothing.
Lia's voice. Calling his name. Then... being pulled away.
He gripped his knee tightly. He never saw who did it—never got a clear image of their faces. Only shadows. Movement. Chaos. And when it was over—
Cynthia was gone. Her body was lifeless. Her light extinguished. And Lia—gone without a trace. Daniel's jaw clenched. The fire reflected in his eyes, burning brighter, hotter. His flames threatened to spike, but he forced them down.
He didn't know who took them. Only that someone did. Someone who shattered everything he believed he could protect. He blinked, realizing his breath had quickened.
"I couldn't stop it... I wasn't strong enough..."
A low voice broke the silence.
"And if you stay stuck in that moment, you never will be."
Daniel didn't turn; his voice cracked.
"She screamed, Dad. Cynthia... She was always the brave one. And she still screamed."
Andrew stepped forward and crouched beside him. The firelight danced in both of their eyes.
"Being brave doesn't mean you're never afraid. It means you fight through the fear."
He hesitated, then placed a hand on Daniel's shoulder.
"You're not the boy from that day anymore. And Cynthia... would hate seeing you trapped in that guilt."
Daniel let his eyes fall. The flames flickered gently, no longer violent. He feels himself on the edge of tears.
"I won't let what happened fade. But I won't let it define me either."
A moment passed. Quiet, sincere. Daniel said to himself. "Whoever took her... I'll find them. I'll stop them. And I'll be bringing Lia back."
Andrew nodded once. "Then we start again tomorrow. And again the next day. This time, fists up before the fire."
Daniel looked up at his father, his eyes teary as he wiped them away. He says nothing and nods.
As the fire settled into a quiet glow, Daniel rose to his feet, fists still raw, but steady. The weight of his past hadn't vanished—but it no longer dragged him down. He looked at the stars overhead, then the flames at his feet. He didn't choose the curse. He didn't ask for the darkness or the Demon's mark. But he was still here. Still fighting.
If the world insisted on seeing him as a monster, he would become the kind that monsters feared. Not to destroy... but to protect. With fire in his veins and purpose in his heart. One day, his fire would be more than fury. It would be a requiem—not for what he lost, but for what he chose to stand for. A hero, forged by flame, remembered not for what he burned... but for what he refused to let die.