Fire.

  Passion. Strength. Rejuvenation. Destruction.

  It coursed through Sparks’s veins like burning ice—painful and glorious, razor-sharp and euphoric. It had always been like this. A constant battle to keep the current moving. To let it stall was to be consumed by it.

  But right now, he wanted to be consumed.

  Rainbow flame poured through him, amplified and echoed by the two-tailed cat standing at his side. A living bonfire cycling through impossible colors. It took the power, refined it, and sent it back. A feedback loop, growing, swelling, building toward something terrifying and magnificent.

  Only when Sparks felt ready to burst did he finally let go.

  He thrust his hands toward the core and unleashed everything.

  Heat exploded around him. Sirens began to wail. The pool churned and boiled. Ecstasy filled every nerve. In that instant he could no longer tell where he ended and his friend began. They were one. A single spark. An extraordinary act of creation.

  His best friend. His only real friend. The one being in this entire plane that understood him—that shared in his art.

  He was happy.

  The power dragged memories to the surface—not painful, not pleasant. Just true. A pulse of bittersweet light.

  The woods behind his childhood home. Angry voices echoing behind closed doors as an orange tabbi kitten slipped outside to escape. Mother and Father shouting again—because he’d dared bring up the art program at school. Never should have shown any interest in it. Why couldn’t he be a big shot athlete like his older cousin, the Breakball prodigy. Sure, it was fun to watch. The magic. The strategy. All that power being lobbed across the field. He just wasn't any good at it. He wasn't good at many things, truth be told.

  He wasn’t great with numbers so father wouldn’t let him run the register. He was a little clumsy and would knock things off the shelf, so his mother wouldn’t let him face product or unload shipments. They always told him to go outside and play. Be a kid. Enjoy your youth. They told him not to worry about the shop but he knew they couldn’t afford to hire anyone.

  They could barely afford to send Sparks to school. Even the clothes he wore were ratty loaners. Slacks that were torn at the knees. His shirt, scuffed at the elbows with small holes dotting the hem. He knew they weren’t financially stable but he still had to ask. He wanted to join the art program. To create. To do something other than go out into the woods and hit things with sticks. He’d practiced so hard. A tiny conjured flame in his paw—clumsy, unfocused, but his. He wanted to show them. To prove he could help. But the moment Mother had seen it, she’d screamed. Dunked his paw under cold water. "Never play with that. It’s dangerous."

  He didn't understand. It was just fire. It was what he was named after. Why shouldn’t he play with it? Holding back tears, because big boys don’t cry, Sparks had tried to get his mother to listen. That he could do so much more if he just had the classes.

  Mother had shaken her head sadly and spoken a refrain that was all too familiar.

  "We can’t afford it. I’m sorry, Sparks."

  When Father came home, he tried again. Father was more enthusiastic but Mother walked in. Then it became yelling. Again. Sparks slipped out the back door, unheard and unseen.

  Deep in the woods, he practiced. Color. Shape. Movement. The fire answered him. It felt like a river of molten ice flowing through his body. His senses sharpened. His heart lifted.

  It was late before he started back, tossing the fire back and forth between his paws. He walked until his little legs were starting to get tired—but somehow never found home. Had he made a turn? No, he’d been walking straight this entire time. He should be headed straight home. So where was he?

  Half an hour later and Sparks was beginning to panic. Surely his parents had noticed he was gone by now? Maybe they were out looking for him. Then again, Mother tended to drink the grown up juice after a fight and Father would storm off to be with his friends or to work on the shop. Maybe they had forgotten about him. Maybe he would die out here.

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  The dark hid many dangers, including a tree root Sparks tripped over. The fire in his paws spilled onto the grass—catching immediately. A match dropped on fresh tinder.

  He tried to smother it. Burned himself doing it. Tears stung in his eyes. Mother would never forgive this—would never let him near magic again. The fire spread anyway.

  So he did the only thing he could think of.

  He reached. Called to the flame. Tried to control it—not as a trick, but as a plea. Control the flame. Feel it. Grab it. Contain it. Bind it. Don’t let it grow out of control. The power in him surged. Something pushed back. Hard. Like an adult amused by a child’s effort.

  A faint purring filled his head.

  Desperation forced him to push even harder. Pain flared behind his eyes. Blood began to run from his nose as he shoved back with everything he had.

  Something gave.

  The grass fire vanished with a burst of wind. All but a single mote—a tiny blue flame hanging in the air, bright and steady. It drifted towards him. Curious. Amused.

  It coalesced. Two tails. Four paws. A tiny, crackling kitten made of flame. It bounded up to him and rubbed against his leg. Warm. Soft. Inviting. When Sparks touched it, the burns on his palms began to close.

  "What are you?" Sparks whispered, lifting the tiny two tailed cat into the air. The little spirit nuzzled his cheek and purred like a burning twig.

  "I’ll call you...Kindling."

  *  *  *

  The memory shattered.

  Sparks was yanked backward—hard—and the soft glow of childhood vanished under roaring sirens and choking smoke. The pool erupted in flame before him, colors spinning violently through the air. The ecstasy drained away, replaced by raw shock and heat.

  "This way!" Hazelnut shouted, hauling him upright and dragging him toward the elevator. Its display flashed EMERGENCY in angry red letters. She mashed the call button with one hand, eyes flicking back toward the turbines.

  "They’re overloading," Sparks gasped. "The stairs! We need to get to the upper levels before—"

  A turbine detonated.

  The blast hurled all three of them backward. Buck slammed into the concrete wall with a sharp crack, stars filling his vision. Everything dipped—dark, bright, then dark again—until—

  Slap.

  "Wake up, Lawman! I will not have you dying here!"

  Buck jerked back to life, clutching his cheek. "Augh! What - what hit me?"

  "Another mystery for another time! Move!"

  Sparks charged ahead. Hazelnut dragged Buck to his feet and the three of them raced up the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. They burst through the B2 doorway just as a pair of chrome drones turned the corner.

  "EMERGENCY. ALL PERSONNEL EVACUATE VIA THE ASSIGNED ROUTES."

  The drone’s lights changed from helpful green to angry red as they scanned the three new arrivals.

  "INTRUDER ALERT. ATTACK PROTOCOLS ENABLED. EXTERMINATE."

  Another explosion shook the floor as the second turbine failed. A wall panel tore loose and crashed to the ground—revealing a maintenance hatch that led into the elevator shaft.

  Hazelnut dove for the opening. One heartbeat later, she was gone—red tail vanishing into the darkness.

  Sparks muttered an incantation and released a veil of fog down the hallway. The drones responded immediately, firing electrified darts. Buck dodged, but Sparks wasn’t fast enough—one bolt caught him center-mass. He dropped to the floor in a twitching heap as the fog dissipated.

  "Damn it!" Buck grabbed Sparks by the collar and dragged him to the hatch. He practically threw them both through it as another bolt scorched the wall behind them.

  They landed on top of the elevator car resting at B3. Heat bellowed up the shaft. The building shuddered again.

  Buck knelt beside Sparks and shook him hard. "Come on, matchstick—wake up. No way I’m letting your final act be saving my ass, and I sure as hell don’t want mine to be saving yours!"

  Something thudded beside him. A rope. He looked up. Hazelnut clung to the wall near the top of the shaft, tying off the other end. "Climb!" she called. "Hurry!"

  Buck looped the rope around the both of them and threw his weight into it, hauling both of them off the car. Another drone slid into the shaft behind him, firing. A bolt scorched the wall inches from his ear. "Knew I should’ve tried harder in gym class…" Buck groaned, muscles screaming as he climbed.

  Hazelnut slid partway down and hurled a knife. It struck solidly—but the drone barely reacted.

  "CLOSE QUARTERS COMBAT SCENARIO. ADJUSTING TACTICS."

  A second drone entered the shaft. It pivoted sideways, locked its treads into a maintenance groove, and began scaling the wall—coming level with Buck. Three diodes popped from its chassis, crackling with energy.

  BZZZT—!

  Power arced across the shaft. Buck’s entire body clenched in agony. His fingers slipped—and gravity reclaimed him. As he fell, the last thing he saw was something moving… fast… streaking toward him from the top of the shaft—

  —and everything went black.