The lady, whose name remained as hidden as her dignity, knelt before a pile of damp
southern twigs, her azure-crystal staff glowing with a frantic, pulsing light. She was
trying to channel a refined spark of solar energy, her brow furrowed in concentration
as her long pink pigtails brushed against the dirt. This was high-level elemental
manipulation, a secret art taught only to those of her station—and it was failing
miserably against the humidity of the forest.
"Focus... please, just a little heat..." she whispered, her mismatched stockings now
thoroughly covered in mud as she shifted her weight.
"Is that a staff or a glow-stick?" a lazy voice drawled from behind her.
Jee-shahn was leaning against a tree, his fur-lined collar framing a face of pure,
unadulterated boredom. He watched her struggle with the same detached interest he
might show a bug trying to climb a blade of grass. "You've been waving that stick for
five minutes. At this rate, the hawk is going to decompose before it hits the flame. Are
all the 'powerful' people of the South this slow, or did I just pick the one who skipped
her magic classes?"The lady's face turned a shade of pink that rivaled her hair. "This is a sacred artifact!
The wood is from the World-Tree's branch, and the crystal—"
"The crystal is currently a very expensive night-light," Jee-shahn interrupted, his
azure eyes flickering with a hint of cosmic mockery. He didn't move a muscle, yet the
air around the fire pit suddenly vibrated. "If you want fire, you don't ask the wood for
permission. You demand it."
Without a snap, without a gesture, the pile of twigs simply erupted into a roaring,
perfect bonfire. The heat was so sudden and intense that the lady fell back, her staff
clattering to the ground. She stared at the flames—they weren't normal; they were a
deep, stabilized violet that gave off no smoke, just pure, radiating heat.
"There," Jee-shahn said, closing his eyes as if the efort of looking at her struggle had
exhausted him. "The heat is ready. Now, stop looking at me like I've grown a second
head and start butchering that pancake. I want the wings medium-rare."
The lady looked at the "gravity-pancaked" hawk and then at the boy who treated the
laws of physics like minor suggestions. She realized that her staf, her title, and her
training meant nothing to a monster who could command the world with a thought.