The afternoon was gradually drawing to a close, many hours had slipped by mindlessly since the initial battle. The vast medical tents, all of them, were filled up with an endless train of burn victims forcing some to be treated in their own cramped confines. Most of the hectic chaotic bumbling about had fizzled out into oblivion. The sun would soon slip away and cull this day of madness.

Beneath a blackened haze, where no clear thought born of the mind could find the life to blossom. There, Sion stirred in an ember lit, mute nightmare. He did not turn to old battle, in his dreams. Instead, he sought emotion and colour, vivid landscapes twisted across a mixed palette. They gave rise to soured prangs of harsh willowing backdrops into which he melted. His human form began to spread. The pain oozed, and morphed, within his body, bubbling like a viscous, dark brown oil. It was an unyielding sensation of agony. Helplessness, suffering, despair, tinges of love, flakes dropped into a steaming, diseased kettle of distaste. It consumed him, like a feverish dream. But as unnerving as he felt, Sion did not think of it as a horrid nightmare. It was just, a righteous amalgamation of his existence in a single moment. One all-consuming moment that bled into his greater being from one point of impact sprouting an endless web, like a tree.

Beneath his feet, he felt a fire began to rage. It swept all around him, a vortex on the edge of oblivion. He doused himself in cool water that fell from above as both a waterfall and as spontaneous rain. It did naught quell the fire. It only grew more frightening with the imparted knowledge that this fire was impervious to any fleshly boundary or law.

It inched closer his to form, forcing it to aggregate into a more natural shape. One that could be compared to a mass, a stitched together heap of substance that could hardly be constituted as flesh. It shrunk back before the growing flame. The fear drowned out the dull throb of his heart, each strand of pain suppressed, plunged inward.

The flame did not stop, it curled around him engulfing each pore of his body with a sea of needless. He tensed, like a wrought bar of steel out of a forge. His body had regained itself. He felt the control return. His emotions twisted inside out until they had welled their way inside to fill the empty carcass. He looked down, he had sight and a pair of two arms. The fire seemed less perplexing than the sensation of being able to control oneself.

The ability of agency, to shift oneself as a sovereign vehicle through an endless barren world. He felt alone, his existence was not affirmed, only a grinding pain against his skin remained. Only the perils of the flesh seemed real, his emotions became internal, difficult to discern, uncontrollable and unknowable; tied to the flesh he could not grasp or control. It suddenly felt very lonely. He felt the world around him become a vast lonesome place, desolate and more like a maze-like prison than the heart of a man.

The pain flared once more, the fire ignited him a aknew. Its fervour was unparalleled, it’s strength brought him to wits end.

“Pain.” he began to whisper. “ Pain!” Unwittingly he had regained speech and thought. He returned to rigidity. His being felt whole. He had regained his place even within his vast empty mind, he gained orientation, the pain would not yield to anything else. He felt his muscles begin to spasm and lock up. His body convulsing, yielding, even his self could clearly recollect its loss of control. He shuddered. Then a violent cough spread through his being. His eyes sat open, the moment as he jerked them awake seemed more like a dream than something truly corporeal.

He watched the flames on his flesh, subside. Fireflies… Sion thought to himself, no officially called Fire Sparks, an intermediate healing spell. Easy to learn and master, used when there is a shortage of smelling salts. Sometimes used by sadists to prank their fellow soldiers. Outside of study, they were called fire ants. No permanent damage, but if there was still life within you, they’d wake you up whether you wanted to or not. The pain of their sting was supreme. The only strange part about it was the artifacts of ember fireflies dancing on the skin like sparks. He looked to the practitioner, a regular soldier, in long afternoon robes.

Before meeting his gaze, Sion waited for the stabbing pain to fully subside. The sudden shock of the spell…. He’d never thought he’d experience it. His heart was going wild, beating berserk.

“Took a lot to wake you, commander, had to really get into it. There is only so much you can do to up the pain when the spell only reaches skin deep. Frontline Commander Sion, the general has issued you a formal order for a meeting.”

“When?” Sion calmly interrupted.

“In twenty-five minutes. I came early. I heard about the severity of your wounds. I knew it’d be difficult to rouse you. But man you surprised me, lasting out a good five minutes against the sparks. I had to go overboard, soldier, don’t fret about any redness across the skin next morning.” Sion nodded testing his stiff neck. His cot was lit by a contained lamp on his counter. The light was growing dimmer all around. The colour of life was slowly coursing adrift. Sion had a dispossessed look to his eye. One that didn’t warrant any further induction of further conversation. The soldier looked him over and strangely smiled.

“Take it, easy Commander. I’ll be on my way.” The soldier saluted and made a short courteous bow alongside a step back, disappearing behind the flaps of the tent. Sion paid no true notice, nothing sat behind the eyes. His body felt too heavy to properly move. It became a surprise how he stayed conscious. He was pushed to a level of exhaustion that did not permit him to gaze freely at his thoughts.

Sion looked around then, pressed his hands firmly against his ruffled bed soaked in sweat and his own blood. He pushed off on and swung on to his legs. Almost instantaneously they began to vibrate and then shake. He staggered trying to take a step forward. He fell on to his knee and slowly unfolded across the floor, feeling the grass with his cheek through the tent material. True pain ravaged him on that cold surface. He felt the raw heat, the smouldering burns express their full, torturous melody. It began at his melted palm, and rode up the arm where the skin sagged and bled profusely. Looking at it, he was entirely covered in bandages. Luckily, he noticed that his eyes were spared. Thank the Emperor.

“Soldier you best get to bed right now. You almost died!” a soothing pleasant voice rang from across the tent as a woman in a stained nurse’s outfits rushed to his side. She crouched down beside him, gathering her white frilled skirt in a small comfortable bundle. “You, almost perished and now you want to make more work for us. We’d been dressing burns all day long. That smell reeks something awful. So why can’t you stay in bed and make it a little easier for us? Nobody asked you to make a mess.” Sion began to crawl away from her. “Oh sure, soldier, crawl away. I wonder how long it’ll take before your stitches open and you finish bleeding to deth.” She sassily stood up beside him, watching him inch forward. Until his left hand, relatively unmelted, which had pulled him along faltered and with a final spasm and a hiss, as the air escaped his pulverized chest, he stopped moving altogether.

“General.” he mouthed, whispering with a parched throat. The nurse shook her head then with an unparalleled strength she lifted him to his feet and sat him atop his bed.

“You should have said so sooner… Before the acrobatics!” She looked him over, similar to the way the soldier held his long sweeping gaze all over him. “My… you are in poorer shape then you let on. You are so weak you can’t even think. Darn, if you could see yourself, your eyes lost all glimmer.” She paused curling her lip. “Darcia!” she shouted. A young woman of pleasant proportion concealed beneath her warm robes appeared shortly.

“Yes Elae’sha.” she addressed the middle-aged woman. Upon closer examinations by Sion’s observant eyes, she was still beautiful, despite long being past the youthful stages of life. Her fuller curvature was far more pronounced beside the slender but angular, Darcia, who did her best to avoid making a grimace as she stared at him with all the disaprovement she could muster.

“You don’t see that often,” she whispered, her lips extending into one tight line. She moved closer to examine him further, then recoiled back and gave a quizzical eye to the older nurse. Their eyes communicated for a brief interlude.

“He needs to see the general. Can you fire him up.” Darcia smiled and nodded, rubbing her hands together, with some glee. “Wait before you get started, let me fetch him a drink.” she slipped away, auburn ponytail bobbing side to side, and returned with a jug of water. Sion clutched it like a mad men pouring it all over himself in his attempt to drink it. Even as they attempted to rip the jug from him he desperately continued to clutch it almost defiantly, until both his clothes and parts of his bed and hair became thoroughly soaked.

Darcia began to laugh and his clumsy display, as she carefully put the jug to the floor.

“You’ll pay for that you know. An empty bed needs to be treated with respect around here Commander.” She pressed her hands together. “Show me your palms, soldier.” Elae’sha, cautiously observed from a safe distance as they joined hands, fingers intertwined. His larger hands made hers seem much smaller, despite the differences in strength Sion still managed to hold on to some stature. His shoulders planted back, he still refused to commit to a degenerate slouch. She fell to her knees; taking a position between his legs. She held a devious smile. He squirmed as he felt her deadly suggestive stare before him, confident and audacious, on par with her restrained beauty.

“You thought you were clever dousing yourself with water?” Sion lightly shrugged. Then he felt her skin began to pulsate. The liquid fire began to merge with his own energy flow. Their heartbeats synced and the liquid heat began to bleed into his skin and flow throughout his body. She kept emptying the living flame through each of his cells which obliged, interlocking with hers. His body was growing loose and gaining energy. He felt tears freely roll down his face, a reflection of the burning volatile pain. Her pulses became stronger and stronger, until he felt his own blood roaring through his head. He saw her eyes begin to glow with a look of playful abandon. Her expression remained as one of malice and devious intent.

His clothes were completely dry once she had finished. Her hands pulled away as she jerked them back with force. Even his hair and deathly pale face had taken to a rosy warm glow.

“Vitae Inferno, a signature spell of the Ignatius Family and their patented medicinal practice. Famous, we are… all across the Empire and beyond, but not many get to experience our healing.” She patted his hands as he panted, crying out for breath. Skin tingling with the new burning sensation.

“This spell is bound to the beat of our hearts. It pushes the energy through me into you. But the activation of it starts internally. I feel the same heat as you do, I am just used to it.” Her voice took on a strangely calming demeanour. “I am always glad for a chance to perform on an interesting audience. Well, your legs and body should be fine. The energy will last you approximately three hours in your case. Normally it’d last you eight but I am tired and a little bit spent and you…. My friend are even worse for wear. Be Careful, good luck with your General, I am sure you can’t wait for him to congratulate you, on your victory.” Her words stung but he paid no heed to it.

Instead, he hoarsely whispered “Thank you,” in return with ragged breath. “If only she knew the general,” he thought to himself as he stood up. Before he left he caught the nurses to their casual talk.

“The noblemen had opened two barrels of wine in celebration. Elae’sha could I join them? It’s been so long since I tasted a fragrant red.” He slipped away before he could hear her response.

Indeed there seemed to be many small gatherings, here and there, of men eating their dinner, sprawled across the wide expanse of the camp. He couldn’t spy the nobles midst their celebration, from his vantage point. Perhaps they slipped away, into the darker, poorly lit parts of the camp as not to be interrupted by the common man.

His body felt loose and strangely agile. His muscles were warm, ligaments gently rolled over bone and joints fell into a place as he entered a brisk walk without a hitch. Despite the burning pain fizzling through his many-layered tissues, he felt at ease, surrounded by friendly soldiers... His mind regaining an old edge. Men looked him over, some chuckling to themselves or smiling with furrowed brows as he strolled over to the general’s tent. The flap gave way easily, and the guards made no motion to stop him. Before he entered he looked back for a moment, fearful and unsure, and in the distance, he saw a short figure in a long cloak looking around the tents. He swore it turned to gaze at him, then turned back to its examinations. He was curious but he would not pursue someone who the others willfully let peruse the camp.