Prologue
I failed.
The words echoed within his soul like the cruel judgment of an all-powerful god named Destiny. How could he have ever believed he was something better than this and could escape it?
Cold air blasted his face and raindrops struck his skin like a thousand pricks of a needle. His sweatpants had long since stuck to his legs and water dripped from the thin sports jacket.
The concrete sidewalk was dark and wet.
He ran.
Past overflowing garbage cans. Bums settling in for the night in the entrances of abandoned buildings, teenagers walking in small groups from the playgrounds back to their housing complexes. The rain had driven them all away, like rats abandoning a sinking ship, if only until the next few rays of sunshine peeked out from behind the clouds. Then they would come out of their rat holes and carry on as before.
His limbs became heavier, pulled down by the leaden wetness that had soaked through his clothes. He ought to head back home. To the tiny room he shared with his brother. Throw himself on the bed and listen through the thin wall as his mom let the non-stop parade of daytime talk shows wash over her before disappearing off to her next shift at the pub.
Alex kept running.
Then suddenly out of nowhere there was an underpass, the kind of place where the young troublemakers meet. He almost hoped that they were there to try and block him. With his fists clenched, he plunged into the shadows. He was ready to throw a punch. The way it used to be, when the world had been so simple, limited to hanging out with his friends and drinking beer. Without a care about the future: no plans, and fewer prospects. When only the moment mattered.
He loved those memories.
And hated them just as much.
There was no going back. Not that he really wanted to. In the last few months, he had done everything he could to escape the sluggish monotony of hopelessness. Away from the swamp called Brixton, Angell Town, to finally take care of his own, support his mom, and give his little brother a chance.
But that dream was now dead.
Alex slowed down, then stopped, standing in the midst of the cold, wet dark. No one was hiding in the shadows, no glint of a switchblade, no voice saying: "Hey, mate." He couldn’t even count on that. He was clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles were almost popping out of their skin. He wanted to beat the shit out of someone, break some noses, see some skin torn open. Quite a simple wish, really.
Alone.
Inside, the rage was incessant, throwing itself against the armor of self-control that he had so carefully built up. It wanted out. Before the feeling could become too strong, he began to move again, past graffiti-covered walls, discarded beer cans, and a handbag lying on the ground. It was empty, probably stolen by someone.
As he left the underpass, the wind whipped his face. In the distance, he could see lightning and hear the roll of thunder. The storm was getting closer.
I ought to go back.
But he kept running. He braced himself against air and water, although he could never win. Failure seemed to be a part of who he was.
He came to the end of the street, which became a well-beaten path through the grass leading to a playground. The wind was giving an invisible someone a wild ride on the swing and the merry-go-round creaked as it turned. Only one-half of the old seesaw was still left and it was stuck in the mud. The fence had been kicked in multiple times.
Alex rushed by.
He saw the remains of the housing project they had announced years back. Three lonely towers, desolate and empty, destroyed by the ravages of time. The huge project had been abandoned. No one spoke of it these days.
A huge, muddy construction site. Just a frame and building material; nothing else was left.
Alex failed to notice some rebar sticking out of the ground, tripped, and landed face-down in the mud. He just lay there. The raindrops splashed on his back, the back of his head, his exposed ankles. His face was covered in mud.
He laughed.
If that HR-recruiter could see him now! Alex could picture him, though, with his clean, tailored suit, pursed lips, raised brow. After all his effort, he hadn’t got the job. Why? They even told him why. Because he came from here, from the end of the world.
Again, Alex laughed; he couldn't stop.
To leave Brixton, he needed a job. But to get one, he had to leave Brixton.
A proper paradox, right? The Sisyphean task that kept him tied to this life.
Alex got up, crouched, hands propped on his knees, his upper body bent forward, looking down at the ground. Mud and dirt. Is that what his future looked like?
His gaze moved to the sky.
Lightning struck one of the towers. Thunder followed.
Infuriated, he tensed his muscles. The anger was becoming overwhelming. He yelled, letting his hatred of the cruel, unfair reality loose as tears ran down his cheeks, sparking even more resentment.
"Is that all?" he yelled at Destiny. "Is that what you want? To see me lying in the mud?!"
And Destiny responded.
Alex closed his eyes.
What was that? A green glimmer pierced through the blackness, coming to a stop right above his head. A glowing ball of pure light.
Alex stood up.
Was he imagining it? Was he finally going nuts?
The ball melted. What had once been smooth became amorphous.
Then it shot forward.
Right into Alex.
He howled. His insides were being torn apart and reassembled. Nothing remained hidden, every fiber of his being came to the surface, joined with the green, interwoven threads that began to take shape.
First, it began to shimmer around his body.
Aura, something inside him whispered.
His body was torn away from gravity, glided upwards, and came to a stop a few yards above the ground. He was hanging between the elemental forces, feeling the harsh storm and the rain against his skin. His hair was just a wet mess stuck to his skull.
The green thing joined with the aura and they became one. He couldn’t describe it any other way. Alex became one with what was inside of him. It took shape and color.
A blazing pain whipped through his mind.
Alex screamed into the night, letting his scream become one with the elemental forces. And as pure fire flowed through his veins, an ancient force awoke deep within.
Aura Fire
1. Memories
A few hours before
Fog floated in the light of the approaching day, its fingers slithering around the dewdrops that dripped from the leaves. She walked through the damp grass, between the stone angels that had long since lost their old glory. Their wings were broken, the bodies cracked, yet their hands remained stretched out to the heavens as if salvation was waiting for them there. Weeds had overgrown the finely carved faces.
Jen pushed the twigs of a hedge aside.
The garden behind the dilapidated house resembled a jungle. The only thing holding the small pagoda upright were a few ivies, the roof having long since caved in. The columns had slid down into the gnarled undergrowth. In summer, this wild growth might still have a certain charm, but in late autumn it just seemed desolate.
Even the mighty oak that had reigned over the center of the garden for generations, spreading its wide branches like arms and always exuding stability and confidence, could not take away the oppressive feeling that seized Jen here.
It was always like this.
With every step that brought her closer to the graves, the memory inside warred with forgetting. A fight, Jen knew, that she’d lose in the end. She wanted to lock away the images, not relive the events, just leave all that behind. But the guilt was always there. Sometimes weeks or months passed as everyday life kept her trapped. That helped her to forget.