"After him! Quickly!"

"Sorcerer! Warlock!"

"This way! He went this way!"

Through the burning streets of the city he called home, a young man ran for his life, tears stinging his face as the flames burned hot around him. He was taller than most, but by no means any kind of giant, and so his gait helped him more than his speed. His legs, sculpted by years of blacksmithing and literally running errands, carried him as fast as they could down the inferno that once was a simple alleyway, his lungs burning from exhaustion and the smoke. His heart pounded strongly and quickly in his chest as beads of sweat went forth from his pores like bolts from a crossbow, his eyes frantically searching for a way out. His mind raced at the speed of his heartbeat, the sounds of shouts and an angry mob growing alarmingly closer and closer with each thruming pound on his chest. He finally reached the end of the alley, finding his way out onto the main street of the city, the gates just down the way.

Taking a moment to wipe the buckets of sweat from his face, the young man gazed down at the gate, and realized in horror that his way was blocked by a group of the city guard. To make matters worse, they were preparing to close the gates. If they sealed him in, he would be a dead man. Or worse, a killer.

A killer. He stopped for a moment, for a single pounding heartbeat, and realized that this fire may have already claimed a life. Perhaps more than one. He couldn't risk staying here any longer; he was a danger to his home as much as he was to himself. Osterland was no longer a place he could call home; his curse had seen to that.

Determined and resolved now to free his people from the menace he had become, he steeled himself for his next action. With nothing more than a whim, he summoned the powers which he had been born with, and wreathed himself in flame. The guards which had readied themselves for him were visibly shaken; undoubtedly his flame-cloaked form was a sight which instilled terror in them. But he would not hurt them; he would hurt nobody any more.

"Erik!" Cried out a voice.

It was a voice he knew, a woman's voice. He looked over, just a bit to the left of the guards, was his lifelong friend and secret sweetheart. By the divine, he loved her. She was beautiful; raven black locks cascading in curls down her shoulders and back; light flesh, but not pale; he loved her more than anything else in the world. He had always dreamed of marrying her, after becoming enough of a man to tell her how he feels. He fantasized often about the wedding, the honeymoon, the children… the making of the children…

It was the painful realization that he would never get to see any of that now that snapped him back to reality.

"Erik, please, just stop. We can work everything out! You don't have to do this!" She cried.

"Lyssa, I'm sorry, I… I can't! I'm dangerous, to you, to Osterland, I'm even a danger to myself!" He shouted back, the fire in his heart making him sound angrier than he wanted. "Now stand back, Lyssa. I don't want to hurt you!"

"Erik, please…" She croaked out, tears blocking her voice. She wanted to tell him so much, how much she loved him. How much she cared for him, how it pained her to think of him leaving her. He wasn't a danger, he just had to learn. She had even heard of another person like him, who learned to control their powers. But he never told her that he was like this. She should've known, should've guessed, he fit the description that her books listed about people with powers like this. And now she had to pay the price; she had to see it all fall apart. But first, she had to tell him. She had to try; he had to know that he is loved, that she will always love him, now and forever.

But she never got the chance.

As she ran out in front of him to tell him, he failed to notice her making the attempt, and charged forward, commanding the fire around him to shoot him forth like a crossbow bolt. His intent was to burst through the guards and break right through the sealing gate; that way, the only person getting hurt was him and the gate. The guards might get a little burned, but they'd be fine. But then she stepped in his way, and he bolted right past her, barely missing her.

But the fire didn't miss.

If he impacted her, they would both die, her from the fire and him from the guards catching him. It would've been better that way, he mused for a split second. Instead, she was wrapped in the flames that surrounded him, their flaming grip holding her, burning away her gorgeous icy blue dress, searing away her shiny black hair… he didn't have the heart or time to see the rest of the damage. He was already outside the gate now, and the guards split their numbers between trying to help her and going after him. He had to run. He had to run fast, and hard, and he had to run far, far away.

So he did.

Summoning the flames one last time, he launched himself into the air, and used the force of his fire to slow his descent as he landed a mile away in the middle of the forest. He dispelled the flames entirely, removing all chance of sighting him in the darkening forest, and ran off. Where he would go, he didn't know. What his home would do, he didn't know. How painfully she had died, he didn't know. How he'd survive, he didn't know.

He didn't know much.

But he knew what he was.

A sorcerer.

A warlock.

A monster.