Thiol: Chapter 1

"You wanna talk like a big man?"
 
Young Thiol digs his heels into the wood floor and struggles to pull free from the fist clenched around his wrist. He stumbles as he is dragged toward the door, and kicks desperately at his mother's ankles in a futile attempt to break free.
 
"Get your own fuckin' roof to sleep under then, if you're such a big man!"
 
The front door whips open and the boy is expelled into the chilly evening air, landing with a soft whump onto a pile of powdered snow. The door promptly slams behind him, and the deadbolt clacks just before he can stumble to his feet and grab the doorknob.
 
"No!"
 
He twists and tugs and gives a shrill cry, "Let me in! Let me in!"
 
No response.
 
He pounds on the door, his cries growing louder with his fury. They continue for minutes, even after his voice turns hoarse.
 
Still no response.
 
His little chest rapidly inflates and deflates as each breath hisses through gritted teeth. He steps back and glares at the cabin with white-hot focus. Master Tenow can break down doors with his mind. He did it in Trials of Tenow: Issue #33. Thiol presses two fingers to his temple, shuts his eyes, and concentrates. Rage fills his head and grows, and grows, and grows until it begins to boil over. His eyes roll back into his skull and he wobbles on his feet, dizzied by hateful visions of that stupid door exploding off its hinges. This is it: this is the precipice. This is happening! It's really happening!
 
Thiol's strength leaves him. He falls to his hands and knees, now panting and winded from the exertion. He looks up. The door to his home is unscathed. His shoulders slump and he begins to sob, alone in the cold.
 
A harsh breeze rolls through the boy, stealing away the last of his warmth and resolve. He crawls forward, presses his lips to the keyhole, and croaks:
 
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please let me back in."
 
No response.
 
"...I'm sorry, okay? Please! I'm sorry! Pleease!" His begs are choppy and uneven, broken by chattering teeth and heaving with hard sobs.
 
Still no response.
 
He seethes and bangs his head against the wood in frustration. "...Well at least give me my stupid damn coat! I'm gonna freeze out here! Ma...? Ma!"
 
Silence... then footsteps, approaching with purpose. He shudders and whispers praise to Aki under his breath. The door cracks open just enough for a hand to toss a lump of grey fabric, then slams shut again before so much as a waft of heated air can escape. He immediately throws the cloth over his head and pulls it down his torso, thankful for this small blessing until he notices an abnormal rip...
 
"...MA YOU CUT OFF THE SLEEVES!"
 
...No response.
 
Tears fill his eyes as he stares at the door, silently waiting for some sort of reprieve to come through for him. He waits...
 
...Nothing.
 
"...I wish you were dead..."
 
In his head it sounded like a ferocious roar. In reality, it was barely a whimper.
 
He sniffles, hugs his bare arms around himself, and turns his back on the cabin to trudge out into the night. There's a one-horse stable on the other side of their plot of land. He can sleep next to their mare, Chester, Thiol figures. But will that be enough to stave off the deadly cold? Or will he freeze solid in his sleep? Will his feet rot off from frostbite? Oh, then they'd be sorry. The morbid musings are oddly comforting, he finds. At least they distract him from the cold as he walks.
 
Before long, the outline of a humble little stable forms through the swirling snow, along with his stepfather's cart parked beside it. Thiol stops, a devilish thought creeping into his mind. He's heard of people making a killing just by taxiing lazy folk from one place to another. This can be especially lucrative over in the city proper, for it's a long walk from the keep's wizard tower to the nearest inn, and not worth the trouble to wealthy fatcats. That's just about the easiest way to make coin there is, Thiol imagines. He could make a few runs and then go find a warm inn for the night. Even if he doesn't make enough to afford a room, surely they'd let him sit by their fireplace for a few coppers. "Cmon, Chester." He clicks his tongue, rousing the horse from its rest. "We've got some work to do."
 
And so Thiol tacks Chester up and outfits his stepfather’s cart for the job. Thiol, with his keen eye for luxury, even tosses a small bale of hay into the back to serve as a comfy seat for his future passengers. Then he takes the reins and starts down the trail toward Ortysia proper. The journey is a few miles and his teeth will chatter away, but the cold doesn't bite so hard up here in the driver’s seat. He doesn't need his parents' roof, fireplace, or even sleeves, because he's a big man. Independent. His tears dry up and an uneven smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he rides.
 
***
 
After an hour in the cold spent calling out to pedestrians outside the wizard tower of Ortysia Keep, Thiol still hasn't attracted a single customer. Nobody gave his humble cart a second look. Meanwhile a fancy man with a closed carriage and a fluffy fur coat parks adjacent to Thiol, having just finished his third trip. Thiol's heart sinks with the realization that this may have all been for naught, and that he ought to return to his stable before he freezes. "C'mon Chester," he mumbles, "let's go..."
 
Just before he snaps the reins to take off, the keep's gate lifts, and out walks the most stunning creature Thiol has ever seen, either in reality or in any of his comic books. It’s a woman, bundled in a lavender cloak with the collar upturned against the cold. A pair of goggles with aqua-tinted lenses sits atop dark hair that’s been tied into a hasty bun. She’s looking intently at a parchment in her hand, but still strides from the keep with purpose, navigating down the steps as though guided by precognition, with a troop of four floating suitcases following behind her. Finally she glances up, catching the boy’s gaze, and he’d swear that her eyes shimmer a bright silver that contrasts with her dark complexion. Her polite smile is dazzling enough to cast Thiol into an infinite moment, his mouth hanging dumbly agape in shocked silence.
 
The fancier hackney pipes up, "Need a ride, madame? I'll take you to where you can find comfortable lodging for just a silver piece." Daggers of dread stab into Thiol's heart, jolting him out of his stupor. "Two copper pieces, and I'll take you anywhere!" He calls out desperately.
 
The woman glances between the two drivers, but lingers on Thiol and his sleeveless coat, her brow furrowing with mild concern. She nods to the carriage driver, "Thank you, but I think I'd prefer a full, unobstructed view of the city."
 
The hackney's eyebrows shoot up with surprise. "...Very well, I suppose." He gives a disdainful look to the kid that just stole his business, only halfway managing to stifle a scowl, but Thiol is too thrilled to notice. "YES! Thank you, thank you Miss! You won't regret it!" He leaps down from the driver seat and scampers over to help with the levitating bags as she climbs into the back of his cart. She lofts a brow at the bundle of hay, but then gives a half-shrug. "Well, I've never been on a hayride before." She comments absently, and sits. Thiol slings all of the bags over his shoulder - for a big man mustn't take more than one trip to carry all of the bags - and waddles back to the cart, swaying precariously under their unexpected weight. He clambers up with a strained grunt, then brushes some loose hay aside with his foot and drops the bags at her feet. She winces with the hard landing, but doesn't comment.
 
When he straightens up to face her, she can finally get a proper look at him. He's a scrawny lil' human runt, barely reaching eye-level with her while she's seated. He's got a tangled crop of brown hair, along with big sky-blue eyes, pale skin, freckled cheeks, and an unfortunately prominent overbite. His eyes are slightly red and puffy, and he shakes like a leaf in the wind, but regardless he beams up at her with a positively glowing smile. Thiol stares for a few awkward moments before he remembers his manners and averts his gaze to his feet.
 
"Ahem! Right, uh, where can I take you? The Pig's Pal? The wizard's tower? Wait, no, you're at the wizard's tower.. Uh, Gaerea? Eldamar? Balgard? I heard there's a real neat festival comin' up soon in Balgard, that could be cool. I could take you down to where the three Ortysian rivers meet? That's one of my favorite spots 'cause there's a ton of turtles that'll just walk right on up to ya and say hi.. I dunno, anywhere you want, just two copper!"
 
She raises an eyebrow. "You don't just taxi around town? You do out-of-town trips as well?"
 
Thiol bobs his head. "Well sure, if that's what you want. Be happy to!" The other driver stares incredulously from his carriage.
 
The woman watches the boy thoughtfully and says, "Hmm, well I might have to take you up on that after a couple days. But for now, I just want to get to an inn; teleporting across the continent is sort of tiring and I'm looking to get some food and a bed. But if you'd take a detour past the turtles, I'll give you extra."
 
The ecstatic beaming grin returns. "Okay!" Unable to contain his excitement, Thiol leaps out the side of the wagon and bounces off the pavement with an "Oof!" - again causing her to wince with the hard landing - before he clambers up into the driver's seat. "You're gonna love it! Tim is my favorite. He changes colors. You'll see!" With a snap of the reins, Chester begins carting them down the trail toward the boonies. The cold air makes Thiol shiver, but nothing could shake his elation in this moment. He’s doing it: he is earning his keep, all on his own. Independent Thiol will pay for his own fuckin' roof to sleep under tonight.
 
Eventually, as the wizard watches the sights and scenes go by, she would sort of study the back of Thiol's head and then ask, "So what's your name?"
 
The question draws Thiol's wandering mind back to the present. "Me? I'm Thiol. Thiol..." He pauses. "...Alkene." Then nods firmly, pleased with his new pseudonym. "Not Thiol Rogers or Thiol Tritan. Thiol Alkene. What's your name, Miss?"
 
She narrows her eyes a little bit, then answers, "Wylandriah Steele. So uh, what's wrong with Tritan or Rogers?"
 
He wrinkles his nose at the mention of his mother's and stepfather's names, but tries to give a nonchalant shrug. "They're just not m' name, yknow? You have a real nice name though, Miss Steele. It's really good to meet you." Thiol winces as another harsh wind blows through, but still maintains a cheery tone as he speaks through chattering teeth. "D-did you t-teleport to Ort-tysia to meet the t-turtles?"
 
She smiles a little bit at the question, "Not specifically for the turtles. Are they a big attraction here? And if they are, I must say, you should really be charging more for the guided tour."
 
"I th-think they're a big d-deal. You're the f-f-first person to come look with m-me though. But maybe after I sh-show you, then you can show some of your f-friends and they'll become a big attraction."
 
"Hmmm. Well even so, I would just suggest, Thiol, that you definitely deserve more than two coppers if you're planning on driving all the way to Balgard and back. That wouldn't even cover your horse's food, I think. Have you been a taxi driver for long?" She lets a hint of concern bleed into her tone, causing him to shrink in on himself. He stares straight ahead at Chester's ears, his face flushing red with embarrassment and guilt. Oh gods, she knows. "U-uh..." She's gonna turn him in, he knows it. He might not know to whom or for what, but he knows it! "N-no... I mean, yes-- I've got plenty of hay for Chester.."
 
"Okay, well, I have no intention of literally highway-robbing you. So in about two days, I will be heading to Balgard, and if you want to drive me there, you should do a bit of research and find out how much that normally costs, and then I will pay you that much if you still want to make the trip. Sound fair?"
 
He shoots her a nervous glance over his shoulder and his brow knits together as the cogs start turning in his head. Not robbing him... Not turning him in... His demeanor relaxes a bit, and an apprehensive smile creeps onto his face. Finally, he gives a lil' nod. "Yeah.. that sounds fair, Miss Steele. Y-you can c-count on me."
 
They ride on into the night, leaving the buzz of Ortysia proper behind them. Occasionally, Thiol is tempted to glance over his shoulder and sneak a peek at the kind lady. His head gradually turns, as though the slowness of his movements might make him imperceptible. She notices every time, lofting a brow and offering a polite smile, and Thiol snaps his view back to the road ahead, only to try again a few minutes later. Eventually the sound of gently rolling water can be heard as they approach their destination.
 
"Whoah!" Thiol brings Chester to a stop in the center of the road and hops out. To the right, there's a steep decline toward the sound of swirling liquid as three separate tributaries conjoin into one river about sixty feet away, but little is visible beyond the meager glow from the lone lantern affixed to the front of the cart. All they see of the river is a full moon and glittering stars that reflect off the surface of the water. Without a visible horizon in the dark, it creates a landscape of seemingly infinite night sky.
 
"C'mon!" Thiol offers up a hand to help Wylandriah out of the cart, though he's too short for it to be of any use. "It's just a lil' walk down closer to the water. That's where the turtles are."
 
Wylandriah hesitates, her gaze hardening as it shifts from Thiol to the darkness beyond. With a wave of her hand she conjures four globules of dancing lights which spiral out from her fingertips, further and further, out to a hundred feet before floating back. She watches their paths with a wary eye, searching for tricks, traps, or other malice lying in wait, but only finds an oblivious boy that did not consider how inconvenient this detour might be. He watches with wide eyes as she controls the mystical glowing orbs. "Whoooah... That's, like, super cool. Oh, and I bet it'll make it much easier to find Tim out here!"
 
Wylandriah hops down from the cart, satisfied with her search, and brushes some hay from her butt, though more clings to her back. "I hope so," she says. With another wave of her hand, one of the dancing lights follows close to Thiol's shoulder, while the others float out to help guide the path downhill toward the river. Thiol turns to look at the orb on his shoulder, but of course it turns with him, leading him to spin as he takes chase. He wobbles after a few turns, but grins with thorough amusement, and Wylandriah can't help a smirk of her own.
 
"...Will my tour guide lead the way?" She finally asks.
 
"Oh, right. Yeah, follow me!" He slides down the snow-sludged hill toward the river and skids to a halt at the edge of the water. Wylandriah picks her way down the hillside a little slower, her slightly-heeled boots not quite optimal for this terrain, but she seems amused nonetheless as she joins the boy's side.
 
"He's around here somewhere..." Thiol squints at the water.
 
"...Sooomewhere..." He searches... and searches...
 
"Tim? Tiiiim..." No response. The ecstatic grin gradually falters, then dissipates, and eventually pulls down into a frown.
 
"I... I swear, Miss Steele, he.. he's here somewhere, I.." Searching...
 
He cringes and pleads quietly, seemingly to himself. "...Gahhhh, no, c'mon, please..."
 
After several painful minutes of hollow silence, Thiol's shoulders finally slouch with defeat and he buries his face in his hands with shame.
 
"I'm sorry, Miss Steele..." He mumbles. "I... I didn't mean to waste your time..."
 
Just then, there's a ripple of movement as a bright aquamarine turtle head pokes out of the surface of the water and tilts to shoot an inquisitive look toward the sullen child. Wylandriah peers at the creature, noting a hint of intelligence in its eyes as she bends down to get a closer look. She reaches a hand out as if to touch it, but thinks better of it and slowly pulls her hand away. "Hi Tim," she murmurs. Thiol peaks out from behind his fingers and gasps, his beaming grin instantly returning with the arrival of his friend. "Tim! Oooh, you deviant, tryina make me look the fool, eh?" He tries to chide the turtle, slapping his hands onto his hips, but his tone betrays his delight.
 
Wylandriah presses her lips together to stifle a smile and swallows her chuckle before asking, "He changes colors, you said?"
 
Thiol bobs his head. "Yep! I've seen him turn a bunch of different colors. He was pink one time. Tim, can you show us? Can you change colors? Pleeease? Don't make a fool out of me twice!"
 
Tim turns the inquisitive gaze upon Wylandriah now, inspecting her about as closely as she did him. Moments later, his shell and scales - which were already an unnaturally vibrant teal - begin to shift to a deep purple before their eyes.
 
"Yeah, that's it! See?" Thiol says.
 
"Huh, that's... interesting." Wylandriah pulls her goggles down over her eyes while inspecting the turtle and spins one of the lenses until there's a soft click. "Veery interesting... Hmm. He's definitely doing that with some kind of magic. But I don't think we need to disturb him on account of it," she says.
 
"D'awwh, I don't disturb him none. He's m' buddy. Ain't that right, Tim?" The turtle blinks at Thiol with one eye, then the other. "See! He winked!" Tim then turns to blink at Wylandriah, who is currently covering her mouth to conceal a smile and shaking her head. "Well... that he did," she concedes.
 
A frigid wind blows by, causing Thiol to shiver violently and Tim to retract into his shell and sink below the surface of the water. Wylandriah adjusts her coat and clears her throat, "Thank you for showing me, Thiol. I'd definitely be ready to get to a hotel, now."
 
Thiol nodnodnods. "Yeah, g-good idea..." With that, he turns and begins clambering up the hill toward the cart, pausing occasionally to point out hazards along the way as he discovers them. "Ack-! Careful over here, th-there's a hole.. Ah, god-! It's a little m-muddy, too..." Eventually they both make it to the top of the hill, and Wylandriah winks out the dancing lights once they reach the lantern's glow. Thiol politely offers a hand as though to help her into the cart, and he says, "Din' mean to m-make ya freeze out here, s-sorry..."
 
"I wouldn't worry about me." She accepts the hand to humor the boy, then pulls herself up into the cart. Thiol then darts around to the driver's side, climbs aboard, and steers back toward the city. "Betcha never seen a t-turtle like T-Tim, eh? He's one of a kind." Thiol declares with pride.
 
Wylandriah ponders a moment before replying, "No, I've never seen a turtle do that anyway. Maybe he's something other than a turtle, though. Who knows! But he seems to be living his best life."
 
"I think he is, yeah. He seems pretty happy every t-time I see him." Thiol frowns upon realizing that he has no idea what a sad turtle might look like, but dismisses the thought with a shrug. "Anyway... Whatcha gonna do in Ort-tysia, now that you've seen the sights?"
 
"Hmm, well, you know. Not a whole lot, some rumors to look into, and waiting around for the rest of my equipment to be ready to take over to Balgard. I'm moving and setting up a new tower and lab there, which takes a lot of planning and such."
 
"A tower? Like... A wizard tower?"
 
"Yeah, I mean every wizard needs a tower, right?"
 
"You're a wizard?!" The question hangs in the air like a terrible joke before Thiol adds, "I've always wanted to be a wizard, but you're, like, a proper one, then? Proper enough to have a tower? Right in my very presence?"
 
"Yep, a wizard," she says, and with a snap of her fingers and a quiet mutter she turns the material of Thiol's coat-turned-vest toasty and warm. He gasps and drops the reins to hug his arms around himself, balling up around the blessed heat. "More people are capable of becoming wizards than you might think," she continues. "They just might not get the time, education, or opportunity. It's a bit of a travesty but... yes, I'm in the process of getting my own tower."
 
Thiol stares up at her with wide, awe-struck eyes as she speaks, and continues staring for a long moment afterward while the heat fades. "...Can... can you do that again, please?"
 
Wylandriah nods with a quiet "Sure thing," and snaps her fingers again, instantly warming Thiol’s vest as though it's been bathing in summer sun all day.
 
"Aaaah... That.. That's an incredible trick, Miss Steele... I'll hafta learn it someday, aheh..." Thiol forces an awkward chuckle, feeling particularly small in the company of someone that can solve his greatest problem with a literal snap of her fingers. He forces his gaze to the road ahead and falls into a contemplative silence. Wylandriah tilts her head a little and says gently, "I'm sure you can, though maybe not on the first try. It's called prestidigitation, and you basically just..." She shifts into the front seat of the cart beside Thiol, and begins showing him the hand motions and incantation to cast the cantrip with all the patience of a seasoned arcane instructor. He lets down the reins, trusting Chester to know the path, and closely studies Wylandriah's demonstration. After running through the motions a few times, she speaks with an encouraging tone, "Now, you try."
 
Thiol shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and focuses. Not like Master Tenow's door-smash; that didn't work. Calm, level focus this time. He concentrates on the sensation of being wrapped in a toasty warm cloak and holds it in his mind's eye while he tries to follow Wylandriah's example as closely as possible...
 
His hand waves, the incantation leaves his lips, and then... nothing. The cold stings no less than it did moments ago. But before despair can settle in, he opens his eyes and finds that his sleeveless jacket has turned from a dull grey to a vibrant, fiery orange. His heart leaps with glee as he cries out, "I did it!" Wylandriah's head sort of bobs in surprise at Thiol's result as she squints at the bright jacket, but she replies cheerfully, "You sure did!"
 
Thiol straightens his posture, brimming with fantasies of Master Thiol the Wizard. It's not until he's got a rough outline of the plot of Trials of Thiol: Issue #1 that he finally snaps back to the present. Tears of joy threaten to spill onto his frigid cheeks, and his hands shift fussily at his sides as he fights back the urge to throw his arms around the woman's waist in a tight hug. Instead he looks up at her with big blue eyes and a smile that can hardly convey the depth of his gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Wylandriah.."
 
She gives a satisfied smile and slaps her hands onto her lap, punctuating Thiol’s success. “Well now, you keep practicing that and it’ll start- Oh, yep, look at you go, good job…” Before he can be told, Thiol has already begun repeating the exercise. By the time they return to town, he can alter the color of his jacket somewhat consistently.
 
They pull past a sign that reads “The Pig’s Pal” and halt the cart near the entrance of a large log cabin. A warm glow and musty fragrance spill out of the front door, followed by a stumbling drunkard. Far from the most upstanding establishment, but it’s the only inn that Thiol knows. Fortunately Wylandriah doesn’t protest, instead accepting it as part of the humble hayride experience.
 
Thiol rubs his eyes and yawns, already spent after practicing his new trick on the road, but still dutifully turns to hop down from the cart. “Here we are. I’ll get your luggage for you.”
 
“No no, that’s quite alright,” Wylandriah hurriedly interjects, scooping up her fragile bags before Thiol has the opportunity. “I can take it from here.”
 
“Oh… Alright, if you insist.” Thiol averts his gaze and anxiously grinds his heel into the ground. “Well… I just gotta say thank you, again, Miss Wylandriah. For comin’ with me to see Tim, for teaching me how to do magic- all of it was just…” He shakes his head, searching for words. Before he can find any, there’s a quiet ting! and a glittering gold coin sails through the air, then lands in his hands. Thiol’s eyes go wide and his jaw drops. The wizard smiles at him and says, “Thank you for the fantastic tour. Keep practicing what I showed you, and meet me here in two days if you’re still up for the ride to Balgard. Okay?”
 
“Y-... do-... bwuh-... I-…” He can only sputter in response.
 
She gives a chuckle. “Good night.” And then turns toward the inn. Awe-struck, Thiol watches in silence as she departs. After she’s out of sight, his gaze drops to his palm, and his reflection stares back from the polished surface of a coin worth a hundred coppers. With this he could get himself a cozy room for the night, and buy himself a new jacket, and still have plenty leftover. He hastily pockets the coin and glances around shiftily, paranoia suddenly coiling in his gut as though he’s done something wrong. Before anyone can confiscate his contraband, he guides Chester and the cart to the nearby stable to be accounted for, then rushes into the inn, intent on renting the nicest room available.
 
When he finally arrives at the room, he collapses into a warm bed that is much more comfortable than his own, and buries his face in the soft pillows with a satisfied groan. Exhausted, he bundles up under the covers without even removing his dirty clothes, yet somehow finds himself unable to fall asleep. His imagination still raves behind his tired eyes, enraptured by the events of what has certainly been both the worst and best evening of his life. He’s not sure how he will take Wylandriah out of town later this week; he’s already in for a whipping if his stepfather finds out that he stole the cart for a night. But he will find a way. Somehow. He has to, for he is now Master Thiol Alkene: The Big Fuckin Man-Wizard™, and he will never be Thiol Rogers again.
 
***
 
It’s not until well after sunrise that Thiol stirs from the most restful sleep he’s had in ages, and he doesn’t roll out of bed for another half hour after that, still caught in revelry from yesterday’s miracles. Sure, it’s too late to return the cart before his parents wake up, but he’s rich now; he can just drop off the cart and leave again if he wants. The problems of his old life seem so small to him, now that he’s lifted himself from poverty and become a wizard. Oh, but he should return posthaste, since surely by now they must be worried sick! Perhaps if they apologize, he will consider staying, he decides. And with that, Thiol finally retrieves Chester and starts toward home at a casual pace.
 
Thiol’s heart lurches when he reaches the edge of town and spots four columns of black smoke rising in the distance. “It’s alright. It’s a bunch of really big bonfires, that’s all…” He reassures himself to fight the rising panic, then snaps the reins to usher Chester forward, hurrying toward the nearest beacon of dread. His delusion is quickly dispelled as he finds that the cottage which previously belonged to the neighboring Hawthorne family has been completely leveled.
 
“Whoa, Chester…” He stops the cart and hops out to get a closer look. “Mister Hawthorne?” Thiol calls out, stepping closer to the fence around his neighbor’s farmland with great trepidation. Black patches of scorched earth litter the yard around what used to be a sizable home, but is now a smoldering pile of ruin. His heart hammers in his chest as he scans for signs of the Hawthorne family, and flutters faintly when he finds them. Five charred masses are strewn about the wreckage, barely recognizable as corpses.
 
Thiol stumbles back with a gasp and trips on his own feet, hitting the dirt with a sharp yelp before scrambling back to Chester’s side. He frantically yanks at the buckles of Chester’s harness until the mare is free from the cart, then leaps onto the beast’s back and digs his heels in hard. “HYAH!” Chester rears back with a distressed whinny, then breaks into a charge. Icy talons of fear squeeze on Thiol’s heart as he rides toward home.
 
The knot in his chest pulls ever tighter as he nears the thickest column of smoke, and rips apart when a raging inferno comes into view. He would vomit if he wasn’t so focused on the bareback gallop toward the fence between him and his home. He holds onto Chester’s mane as they vault over the barrier - narrowly clearing its two meter height - then slam back into the ground and keep running.
 
Thiol’s home is not like the Hawthornes’; this fire is still lively, and no bodies litter the lawn. At least, not yet. Perhaps he arrived in time. Or perhaps he would have, had he not so slothishly dragged himself out of bed this morning to return his stolen vehicle. Thiol dismounts the moving horse with a nimbleness he’d never known and sprints into the blazing, half-collapsed building. The pounding of his heart in his ears drowns out the roaring flames. Then he spots her, and the world falls silent.
 
“MOM!”
 
No response.
 
He tears across the room and skids on his knees to the pile of burning wreckage that is pinning his mother’s motionless form. He grabs onto a glowing beam and lifts with all his might, even as it melts the flesh of his hands. He throws his head back in an agonizing scream, and smoke fills his lungs.
 
Still no response.
 
Thiol hacks and coughs. His vision starts to fade. There’s a malevolent cackle. He lifts his head. An unfamiliar woman in black robes looms over him with an evil grin, her hands engulfed in flames. Her pale skin, red hair, pointed teeth and sulfurous yellow eyes burn an image into the back of Thiol’s eyelids. The witch lifts her palms and jets of flame pour forth to consume the boy. His joints lock against his will, leaving him paralyzed and powerless as he’s bathed in searing fire.
 
With a thunderous crack Thiol is jerked backward through a blinding flash of vibrant colors, as though a ripcord was pulled and his soul was violently ejected from his body. He’s falling, spinning, and suffocating all at once, careening through space until he crashes into an impactless landing.
 
And like that, the nightmare is over. He’s lying on soft earth now, instead of a bed of embers. When he gasps, he sucks in sweet, clean air. Bright sunlight silhouettes a dark figure with glimmering silver eyes: certainly an angel, sent to deliver him from the fires of hell to heaven’s embrace. Thiol blinks and squints up at his savior, until he can make out the face of Wylandriah Steele, her brow knit with worry. Her lips move, and though he hears no sound, a wave of relief washes over him, dulling the pain in his sizzling hands. His eyes roll back into his skull and all goes dark as he’s magically coaxed into a comfortable slumber.