Darkness fell all around him, Jason could feel the cold grasp of death encroaching upon him. The most horrid smell assaulted his nostrils, like rotten and charred flesh. He could only see the ceiling and hear the distant screams of what sounded like a little girl.

He wanted to run, to go away from all the screams and shrieks of pain, yet he could not seem to move. There was a new sound. A baby’s cry. Where was it coming from? He willed himself to turn his head but he couldn’t.

Light suddenly blinded him as a door opened, he was in a cupboard in the kitchen, how did he get there? Who was the woman who was picking him up? Her voice was soft and soothing, even though he wasn’t able to properly comprehend her words, her voice was like a soothing balm. His initial fear ebbed away.

He realized in that moment he was the baby, the cries he had heard earlier were his own. The woman held him tightly to her bosom and her breathing was like a safety blanket to him, who was she? He could hear the screams of innocent people dying all around them, but why was he not worried?

Her platinum blonde hair tickled his face as she carried him off. Everything went dark again, but it was only momentarily. She spoke a word very softly, very faintly he could barely catch it. It sounded funny. “Flagrante,” she said in a whisper.

A purple light appeared out of no where and he suddenly felt warmth wash over him, he had to see the source of the warmth. He turned his head and his tiny eyes were captivated, she held a ball of purple flames in her palm.

He could feel his eyes going hazy as sleep claimed him.

Jason sat up like a shot in his bed drenched in a cold sweat. He held his hands up in front of his face as if he was checking he was no longer a baby.

“That felt so real,” he whispered to himself.

He screwed up his eyes trying to remember every detail of the dream, but it was like trying to hold water in his hands, it was slowly trickling away.

The woman’s face appeared again in his mind’s eye. It took a second but suddenly he remembered her, his eyes snapped open and he whispered one word, “Mom.”

*

Jacob sat in his study staring at the letter he was given by Principal Smyth. It was a final written warning for his son. Should any other instance occur when he returned to the school he would be expelled on the spot, which would obliterate any kind of future that Jason would have in the mortal world.

This letter to him was not just some mere warning of his son loosing his place at that blasted school. No. This was a sign that Jason’s magical capabilities were starting to bloom. Which meant that if he couldn’t control it he would end up in severe danger, the kind that Jacob so desperately was trying to avoid.

He sighed knowing that he needed council now more than ever, and there was only one person in the world he could trust with his current predicament.

Standing to his feet he strode across to the door and locked it. Turning on his heel he approached an old globe that sat on the bookshelf behind his desk. He lifted it carefully and sat it on his desk as if it were made of glass. He ran his finger along a hidden seem and found a little notch just next to France and Germany, he then proceeded to pry the globe open.

Held within the globe was what looked to be a small golden basin and a small vile of what could only be described as khaki green ooze. But there was something else, a dark oak wooden wand with an intricate and elegant dragon design carved on the handle. He lifted all three out onto the desk.

With a deep breath he uncorked the vile and poured its contents into the basin. The moment the ooze came into contact with the gold bottom it turned a bright bubblegum pink.

Taking the wand a waving it over the basin he concentrated and spoke with a soft tone as to make sure Jason would not hear him, “I call upon you Gandor Of The Woods.”

The ooze bubbled and frothed, but soon it morphed into a small pink figure in the form of a bearded elf.

“You called upon me old friend?” asked this tiny pink Gandor.

“Yes,” confirmed Jacob gravely, “It appears that we have a spot of trouble.”

“Oh? What seems to be the problem?” asks Gandor curiously.

“Jason,” sighs Jacob as he collapses into his office chair, “His powers are growing at an alarming rate.”

Gandor looked intrigued by this news, “How can you be sure?” he asked.

“There has been several cases throughout the years which I have been able to smooth over,” reveals Jacob as he scratches his bearded chin, “But most recently there was an incident at school. He was being bullied, and when he gave the bully a simple shove he was thrown across the cafeteria and his ribs were broken along with other injuries.”

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“This is most certainly a cause for great concern,” confirmed Gandor, “The spell I placed upon him all those years ago will only hold out if he is not exuding magic. If he keeps going at this rate it will no longer be able to mask him.”

“What do I do?” asked Jacob almost beggingly, “If Lord Chimera was to discover him it would be a slaughter. I cannot lose him like I lost Julie.”

“I believe it is time for us to both face reality,” says Gandor broodingly, “We need to reach out to the Masters of Chaos. They will be able to teach him how to control his abilities. You know as well as I do that this is our only option.”

“If we do this he will be put straight into danger!” snapped Jacob angrily.

“And if we don’t he will suffer a fate worse than death,” responded Gandor gravely.

Jacob sighs and droops in his chair, “But what do I tell Jason?”

“The truth,” answered Gandor, “It will allow him to process what is going to happen. Especially for the ceremony.”

“The ceremony?” asks Jacob curiously, “Weren’t those old traditions done away with decades ago?”

“Master Gorgu brought them back,” he answered, “He believes that tradition is the correct way to be selected to study magic, to complete all the required trails, to prove your worth. Speaking of which, the ceremony takes place next week at the Winter Solstice. Would be best to prepare the child now.”

“Very well,” concedes Jacob, “I will explain everything to him tonight.”

*

Jason sat upon his bed, the realisation of what had just happened had numbed him. It was as if he was shaken to his very core, his mother was a witch, or mage or whatever the correct term was.

Now everything made sense to him. All the secrecy that surrounded the story of his mother’s death. The way his father became moody anytime he attempted to bring it up. It was because his mother was murdered. No wonder his dad was so secretive about everything. He had to experience it all.

A shot of sympathy for his dad just went through him, mixed with anger at not being told about all of this. Jason stared at his hands, now that he thought about what he had just envisioned, he came to yet another understanding.

All of these strange events that happened around him. Was it because he was like his mother? Was he too a sorcerer? A vision flashed across his mind of his mother holding a purple flame in her hand. He screwed up his eyes in concentration, attempting to remember the exact words that were used to make the fire appear.

He could recall her platinum blonde hair, her comforting embrace. The darkness pressing in on both of them from all sides. The muffled sound of chaos. He could see her lips moving, forming one word. He strained his memory in the endeavour to recall the incantation. He could hear her soft voice speaking that one word….Flagrante.

Jason opened his eyes and suddenly found his mouth dry. He remembered. With a deep breath he held out his hand and in an uncertain voice he spoke, “F-Flagrante.”

Nothing.

Jason groaned and felt stupid. Of course it wasn’t real. But it felt real in his dream. He was almost certain that it had all happened. So with a deep breath to steady himself he stood up in stepped into the centre of his bedroom.

Extending his hand and focusing all of his mind and soul onto the flames he saw in his vision he spoke with confidence, “Flagrante!” Within seconds a purple flame erupted in his palm and cast a radiant heat across the room.

“Woah,” said Jason mesmerized by the violet flame.

“Woah indeed,” said a deep voice startling him.

Jason let out a yelp and flung the flame towards the voice. He was surprised to see his father standing in the doorway holding the fireball he had just thrown. “You need to focus more, the flame is a little weary.”

“D-Dad?” stammered Jason.

“It seems we need to have a talk,” said Jacob as he closed his fist around the flame extinguishing it, however turning the smoke into a small smoky dragon which flew around the room before disappearing out the open window to blow away in the wind.

Jason was in awe at seeing his father using magic.

“How long have you known son?” asked Jacob.

“I-uh just today,” muttered Jason like a child caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. Jacob approached the bed and sat down patting the spot next to him signalling for Jason to sit next to him.

“How did you find out?” asked Jacob as casually as if he were simply asking his son’s opinion on the latest soccer game or even the weather.

Taken aback by his father’s casualness Jason simply answered a little dumbly with, “I had a dream about Mom doing magic.”

“A vision of the past,” clarified Jacob, “Sometimes sorcerers are capable of seeing through the veils of time to see past events. Your mother favoured that spell you know. She loved watching the purple flame dance in her palm. It was truly captivating.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” whispered out Jason. He was still in shock from all of the events that had just transpired.

“I wanted to protect you from what killed your mother,” admitted Jacob, “You are a special boy Jason. The day your mother died a powerful sorcerer was in search of you. His belief was that if he could absorb the ancient magic that resides in your veins that it would allow him to become the most powerful magician to walk the Earth.”

“He killed Mom?” asked Jason as he felt a lump in his throat.

“He greatly wounded your mother,” answered Jacob, “I arrived in time for Julie, your mother, to tell me where she hid you and what had happened to her and your sister.”

Jason felt tears beginning to stream down his face, “I h-had a s-sister?” he managed to get out through trembling lips.

His father leaned forward and sighed. He seemingly aged forty years just by asking that question. “She was murdered. I found her he had-” he couldn’t seem to manage to finish. It was the first time he had seen his father cry and it shook him more than anything else he had discovered this night.

“He killed her,” sobbed out Jacob, “The bastard strung her up in the tree outside our house.” He sobs were agonising as was the realisation that he had to discover his own daughter hung from a tree the same day he found his wife killed.

“I am s-so sorry I n-never told you son,” sobbed Jacob as he pulled Jason into his arms which Jason returned the hug gratefully.

“It’s okay d-dad,” he found himself saying. He was inwardly seething that all this was kept from him. But now that he could witness how broken his father was, he knew it was causing his dad more pain in this moment than it was for him, and that was punishment enough.