It was into the early days of January when they found out what type of creature Spitfire was.

The winter snow still blanketed the ground outside, suffocating the grass and chilling the air. It was a vacation period so there was no school. Even if it hadn’t been, it would’ve been good enough to call it a snow day. So there would’ve still been no school.

They had yet to figure out what Spitfire ate.

It wasn’t chicken or chips or stew or rice. It wasn’t—and Melmarc couldn’t believe they’d tried it with a magical creature—raw meat or live prey.

It didn’t even drink water.

The only thing it used its mouth for, except for making an odd cackling sound whenever it was uncomfortable, was biting Ark every now and again.

Melmarc wasn’t sure what it said that Ark was already accustomed to it. He even joked about how it was Spitfire’s diet.

“Eight bites a day keeps the hunger away.”

But Melmarc couldn’t really complain because no one else did. He attributed it to the fact that it never bit anyone else but Ark for some reason.

Ninra always looked bothered but never said anything. Their uncle Dorthna would always smile when it came up and ask about how Ark’s pain tolerance was coming along. There would be a tick in their father’s jaw every single time, his anger at Spitfire ever-growing but never showing.

“It heals every time,” his mother had told Melmarc once while he helped her set the plate for family dinner on a Sunday evening. “And trust me, it’s not injecting your brother with any toxins or question-ables.”

“But it’s always biting him,” he’d complained. “He’s losing a lot of blood.”

His mother had paused to think about that one before placing a plate down where their father liked to sit.

“That’s not much of a problem, really.” She walked into the kitchen and he followed her. “Mel, trust us. I know you worry for your brother a lot. God knows he acts like he’s indestructible sometimes, but this is good for him. Besides, haven’t you noticed he doesn’t get angry anymore?”

Melmarc had noticed it. But he’d thought it was because Ark was too busy taking care of Spitfire to be worried about other things. That and the fact that he wasn’t having any problems with anyone in school. Not that being bitten everyday gave him some level of self-control.

Listening to everyone’s lack of real worry, Melmarc had let the topic die.

During the Christmas Ark had dragged Melmarc out of the house, and they’d both gone bed hunting for Spitfire.

They got him one of those dog beds that was basically a black pillow stuffed into a half-woven basket.

Ark had chosen the color because it matched Spitfire’s.

Despite the bed, Ark always did his best to get it to share his own bed with him. He would play with it into the late hours of the night until he fell asleep. Then it would crawl down from his bed and into the laundry basket.

It would pick a shirt at random—always a shirt—then crawl into its bed with it and sleep.

In the earlier days, Melmarc had fought it for his shirt but soon learned to give up. Taking the shirt was a guarantee that there would be no sleep because Spitfire would cry all night. A replacement shirt would not suffice to silence it. Ark’s doting and new found motherly instincts did not work either.

The only solution was giving it the exact same shirt back. The only reason Melmarc had made the concession was because the shirts always came back intact.

It was late in the night on a Wednesday when it happened.

Ninra was somewhere in her room doing whatever she did. Their parents were out on another portal deployment so Uncle Dorthna was using the living room couch to watch a movie.

Ark was busy playing with Spitfire on his bed while Melmarc surfed the internet looking for ‘dragon-like creatures that were not dragons’. Most of his results gave him sea serpents of different kinds.

He was on page six of his internet search when Ark swore.

“Fucking hell!”

Accustomed to some level of it, Melmarc just raised his head and looked at his brother.

“I thought it’s already bitten you for the night.”

He couldn’t believe how casually he was saying the words. It was like they were all losing their minds when it came to Spitfire.

“It has,” Ark said, rushing off his bed so he didn’t get any blood on it. “Damn thing bit me all the way to the bone.” He sucked in a pained breath, clutching the wrist of the bitten hand as if it would somehow stop the blood flow. “It hurts like a motherfucker.”

Melmarc got off his bed and headed for their bathroom.

“Language,” he chided as he opened the door. “I’ll get some tissues. Get all that blood cleaned up before it stains the whole place. You think I should get a bandage from the cabinet?”

“First off,” Ark replied when Melmarc was in the bathroom, “I’m your older brother, you don’t get to scold me for what I say. Second, forget the band aid, it’s just going to heal up anyway.”

Melmarc came out of the bathroom with a wad of tissue. “You sure? It’s never bitten you this late before, or this deep.”

Ark was still in pain, while Spitfire had run under their reading table and was just staring at him. It was almost like it was waiting for something.

Melmarc took Ark’s bloody hand in his and started dabbing it with the tissue. “You got some on the floor.”

“Damn it!” Ark swore when he saw the few drops. “We’ll need a mop.”

Melmarc nodded absently. “When I’m done cleaning you up.”

“You do know I can clean myself up, right?”

Melmarc paused. He looked up at his brother and cocked a brow. “If I leave you with this, you’ll ignore it and go do something else.” He looked back down at the blood he was dabbing. “Just stay still. I’ll get this cleaned up, mop up the blood, then we can go kick your pet’s ass.”

“Ha! Like I don’t know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

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“I take self-defense classes just like you, Ark.” Melmarc was done cleaning up the blood and wrapped the blood stained clumps of tissue in a roll of tissue. “I know how to hit things too.”

“It’s self-defense not krav maga,” Ark called after him as he went into the bathroom. “You know how to keep a fly from hurting you. There’s a difference.”

Melmarc tossed the tissue in the toilet bowl and flushed. He picked a bucket and turned on the tap. He didn’t need too much water, just a little bit, and some liquid soap. At this point it was all routine to him. Spitfire bit Ark and he cleaned whatever blood stained the floor, not because anyone made him do it but because he could.

There was a part of him that just felt that if Ark had to go through the pain, even if intentional, the least he could do was clean up the mess.

He was getting the liquid soap when Ark’s voice broke him from his routine.

“Uhh… Mel, I think you should come here.”

There was no panic in Ark’s voice but there was something in it. Something Melmarc couldn’t quite name. Worry, maybe.

Whatever it was, it had Melmarc abandoning everything and rushing back into the room.

“What’s wrong? Is it not healing? Damn it, I always knew—”

“I think it’s happening.” Ark was leaning against their reading table for support. “I think it’s really happening.”

He had a shaky smile on his face as if he couldn’t allow himself believe that whatever was happening was happening, in case it was just a dream.

Melmarc had an inkling of what it might be. Still, he asked, “What’s happening, Ark?”

Ark was staring at the air in front of him, shaky smile trembling more.

He looked away from nothing and met Melmarc’s eyes. “I just got a few skills to pick from.”

Melmarc had been waiting for this day his whole life. Not the day it would happen to Ark but the day it would happen to him. He’d acted out what he would do a lot as a kid and day dreamed a lot about his reaction now that he was older.

He knew every action he would take down to the most miniscule detail. So he wasn’t surprised when he acted.

He walked up to Ark and asked, “What are your options? You get to pick a skill, then you’ll get to pick a support skill. But you don’t get to see the options for your support skill until you’ve chosen your skill.”

“Uh…” Ark looked at the air in front of him. “How do I move it?”

Since it was Ark’s skills, Melmarc couldn’t see it. No one else could. After he selected his skills and got his class, he could show it to other people, but only fellow Gifted.

As for how he could move what he was seeing, Melmarc knew all about that.

“Just think of moving it. If it doesn’t move, swipe it with your hand, like a phone.” Melmarc could feel his excitement growing despite his attempts to smother it and be calm and collected.

Ark seemed like he was in a rush, and such things could lead to mistakes. You did not want to make a mistake when selecting your skills. It wasn’t like you could unselect them. Any decision was permanent.

“Uhh.” Ark swiped the air up, then down and frowned. “There’s just two. Breath of Poison and Breath of Fire.” He looked at Melmarc. “There’s nothing else.”

Melmarc affected as much calm as he could to counter Ark’s growing panic. “That’s fine, it’s not a problem. You still have time. If you don’t like any of them, we can wait and see what other ones we get. You can go as long as months without choosing a skill. During that time you’ll get a few more and lose some. So no rush.”

“You sure?”

“Certain.”

Ark let out a relieved sigh and Melmarc watched all the tension ease out of him.

“That’s good. For a moment there I was worried about the timer.”

“Timer?” Melmarc’s eyes widened. “What timer?”

I’ve never heard of a timer.

Melmarc got up from the chair he hadn’t even realized he was sitting on and stood beside his brother. The only thing he could see was nothing, and he swore under his breath.

He’d never read or heard anything about timers when people were offered their first skills.

“What’s the timer saying?”

“It’s just counting down. Uhhh… it says I’ve got about one minute and a few seconds left.” Ark looked at Melmarc. “What happens when it hits zero?”

“I don’t know.”

But Melmarc was sure they could guess. He’d never heard of anyone losing all their skills just because they didn’t choose one before. In fact, there was a girl holding the world record for longest skill offering not chosen. Eight months, sixteen days and counting.

How did they know that was how long she’d had skills and not picked any? Melmarc didn’t know, and it wasn’t important.

“Maybe I get a new set when the countdown reaches zero?” Ark tried.

Melmarc snorted sarcastically. “And I can punch through walls.”

It was a possibility, but it wasn’t one he was willing to take a risk on. Not the wall punching but the skill reset. For all they knew, he could lose his skills when it hit zero.

Or it could force a random skill on him.

He hadn’t ever heard of something like that happening before, though. But he’d also never heard of a skill selection with a countdown.

“One minute, Mel.”

Ark sounded so calm.

“How can you be so calm right now?” Melmarc was panicking. “You’re running out of time.”

“First, we are running out of time.” He checked a section of the air again. “Second, you’re already doing all the panicking for me.” He shrugged. “No point in the both of us panicking. Besides, it’s just one skill, and I’ve got two to pick from, it’s not exactly rocket science… fifty seconds.”

Melmarc saw some logic to it. So he chose not to mention that there was a chance they only had a minute to pick both his skill and his supporting skill.

What do we choose?

He considered calling for uncle Dorthna and killed the idea immediately.

Shouting for him was burning time they didn’t have. Then they would have to wait for him to get here, give him the options they had, then wait for him to decide on which one was best.

As a former Delver he would know which would be most useful to someone like Ark.

But they didn’t have that time.

“Forty seconds,” Ark informed him.

“Okay, okay. Uhhh… which one would you prefer. Burning people to death or poisoning them to death.” Melmarc winced at his own words. “They sound harsh but it’s what we’ve got.”

“Poisoning could take a while to take effect so…” Ark poked the air with his finger. “Breath of fire it is.”

Melmarc waited for something to happen but nothing did.

“Ooh, that’s cool,” Ark muttered after a while.

Melmarc really hated that he couldn’t see what Ark was seeing.

“What’s cool?”

“Well, I’ve been bumped up to one minute and forty-three seconds, and I’ve got four sub-skills to choose from.”

Melmarc let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. At least we got more time.

“What are the options?” he asked.

“Well,” Ark swiped the air. “I’ve got Poison skin, which is obviously a no. Will of Hades, which sounds too dark. Titan Armor, which just sort of gives me what I think is stone skin. And Book of Solomon.”

“What do the others do?” Melmarc asked hurriedly.

“Poison Skin pretty much makes my skin poisonous and corrosive when touched.”

“Definitely not. I don’t want to die when you forget and hug me.”

“I think I can turn it off, but you’re right. That’s a no. Will of Hades gives me fire resistance and bonus stats in burning and heat based environment.”

“And the last one?”

“Book of Solomon’s kind of odd.”

“How?”

“It gives me extra intelligence, and a chance to summon a familiar as long as it has surrendered to me. Sounds too complicated.”

Melmarc agreed. Ark was a simple person. Simple skills would work best for him. But the ability to summon familiars would be cool, and it didn’t give him any limit on how many he could summon. Strength in numbers and all that.

“So Titan armor and Will of Hades,” Melmarc mused. “I don’t think dad will be happy with the second one. Sounds too ominous. And you know how he feels about those.”

Ark snorted. “Isn’t he the guy that kicked angel-ass? I’m sure he’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t want my skin to turn into stone. So Will of Hades it is.”

Ark poked the air and smiled. “With a minute to spare.”

Then they waited for something to happen. Unlike skills, people weren’t offered their class, it was thrust upon them. Your skills selection combined to give you your class.

“Do you feel any different?” Melmarc asked.

“Nope, still feel like myself. Nothing—Oh, there it is.”

The air grew hotter somehow, but only for a moment. Ark’s eyes glazed over when it happened then it turned black as Spitfire’s with white dots like countless stars. It made him look like a…

…Shit.

Melmarc had an idea of what Spitfire was.

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Ark’s eyes turned back to normal and he gave a full body shiver. “That felt awesome. And look, I got a class… uhhh… okay…”

Melmarc didn’t like the sound of that.

“What class did you get?”

Ark looked at the air, clearly looking at his class, then looked at him. “Promise you’ll handle this in a calm and collected manner.”

Melmarc’s brows furrowed. “Ark. What’s your class?”

“You have to promise first. You won’t make a big deal out of it, and when mom and dad come back, we’ll tell them together. And by we, I mean I’ll stand behind you while you tell them.”

Melmarc didn’t like the sound of that.

“Promise?”

He sighed. “Okay, but not to the last one. It’s your class so you tell them yourself. The best I can do is be there when you tell them.”

Ark scratched his head in worry. “Uhh… okay. I guess I can live with that.”

“So what class did you get?”

Ark looked really worried. “I… uhh…”

“You’re stalling.”

“Alright, alright. My class is…” he scratched the back of his head again. “Demon Lord.”

Melmarc’s face fell.

Now that wasn’t good.