Slowing as he reached the area, Riven hovered far above the police station. He immediately noticed the crowd of onlookers still present, but added to them was a cluster of firefighters and ambulances.
Gazing down, as the firefighters rushed into the building in search of people they wouldn't find, others tried to put out the fire that was now a raging inferno, some using water magic and others using the firehoses.
While the paramedics were standing around looking perturbed, thinking about how severe the victims' injuries were going to be when they came out. Others were picking up on the fact they weren't hearing any screams coming from inside.
But what caught Riven's attention was when a firefighter ran out of the burning building with an older-looking man in tow.
"It's a Royal." He could hear the firefighter shout.
"He's barely breathing," he continued, as he put him on the ground. "Call the commander and ask him what we should do."
"Was there anyone else in there?" another firefighter asked. Just as he asked, a team of them came rushing out of the fire.
"There's no one in there; it's completely empty," one shouted over the roaring flames, unintentionally answering others' questions.
"Where did they go—" the firefighter who was carrying the Royal said, before abruptly pausing as a terrible thought crossed his mind.
Was it him? he questioned as he looked down, not daring to speak it aloud.
And as if the universe were confirming his thought, the Royal's eyes suddenly shot open, his peaceful expression shifting. He raised his arm and sent out a ball of flames at the firefighter. It sent him flying back and crashing hard into the ground.
"Wait, Sir," he tried to say as he felt the skin on his chest burn and his protective gear all but incinerated from the heat of the attack. He tried to rise to his feet, but the force of the attack had knocked the wind out of him.
"You filthy dog," the Royal muttered through agonizing coughs.
"You dare..." cough. "You dare..." cough. "...You dare look down on me!" he finally got out as he stood up with great struggle.
"No Sir, I would never—" he tried to say, only to be cut off.
Cough, ack, cough, cou—
"Shut your mouth. Did I give you permission to speak?!" he snarled in a gravelly voice.
"Sir, please, we're just trying to save you," a female voice said, stopping the stream of water she was shooting out of her open palms into the building and running over.
"Save me?!" the Royal raised his hand in her direction.
"No, Alice—" the firefighter yelled, reaching his hand out. But he knew even before the flame erupted from Royal's hand in a cylinder of death that he would be too late. He knew that the woman running to him—his high school sweetheart, his wife, who had taken this job so he would not have to brave the risk alone, the proud, loving mother of his kids—was going to die.
Slamming his eyes shut as he saw the flame erupt, he braced himself for her screams of agony, the terrible smell of someone burning flesh, and the last desperate call of his name.
But it didn't happen; the firefighter heard nothing. Did he disintegrate her? He thought; his mind knew no other possibility. But his eyes opened before his rationality could tell them not to, desperation beating out his fear of the worst.
But what he saw baffled him. Between his wife and the Royal stood a boy no older than seventeen or eighteen, with gray hair and eyes the same, along with skin as pale as death, which seemed to shine in the moonlight.
And though he had a million questions, only one thought crossed his mind first.
Thank you.