“Heads up!” Adem shouted, a few seconds too late. Keiyuh didn’t have time to think. Out of his peripheral, a slate of shale came spinning at him like a deadly frisbee. He shifted his stance and instinctively threw up his arms, calling forth a shrieking mass of flames from the nearest bunsen burner.
The shale was swallowed by orange-red, the heat so intense that the air shivered, and the Water Interlocutor beside him scrambled back, interlocating with the nearest water source to build an instinctive barrier between her and him. The water wall immediately began to steam. When the smoke cleared, he was met with the mangled and charred remains of the bunsen burner, only a few seconds ago standing eight-feet tall, shooting out a steady column of fire.
Normally, he was quite good at regulating the fire, even when it sounded like a cat going through a grinder. He could do it with half a mind and one arm and no voice. Keiyuh wasn’t called a prodigy for nothing. But he’d woken up that morning, feeling bereft. The past had slipped up behind him and dug its fingers into his skull.
Adem raised an eyebrow at him from the center of the field, in the center of the large graphic of Rumney’s tiger mascot, created out of linear lines and painted in magenta and gold. He patted the back of their newest team member, a Land Interlocutor who was gaping at the black ash on the ground, too shocked at the destruction to apologize to Keiyuh about her misthrow. The corner of Adem’s mouth twitched; he looked over his shoulder at Sooter as soon as she stomped toward them.
“Hey Coach, we need another burner,” he informed her casually.
“I can see that,” Sooter snapped, briefly checking over the rest of her team before narrowing in on Keiyuh. “I should have you foot the bill next time for any new equipment. That’s the second one this semester.” She inspected the burner in disapproval. “Everybody who was assigned cleanup today can go home early. Key will take care of everything.” There was a murmur of half-hearted joy, dampened by sheer exhaustion. “We’ll spend more time on phasing.” The murmur of half-hearted joy dampened even more.
There was a joke about Periodic that boiled down to this: everybody who played it were masochists.
The sport was a daily fifteen-hour commitment. It was constantly striving to be the best, to look the best. It was militaristic training, training, bruises and vomit and reshaping oneself to some impossible standard. Most Periodic players retired with debilitating injuries, or their heart gave out because of the strain.
As everybody else stored the equipment back to their rightful places, Keiyuh dragged the burnt burner to the outskirts. The metal had melted in the middle, warped and distorted where Keiyuh had taken the fire from. The longer he stared at it, the more dizzying it became, like a hallucinatory series of repeating circles.
He readjusted his arm guards, keeping his gaze on the burner. Keiyuh rarely looked at his chest and arms, but if he were to, he would immediately notice the faded pink puckers. The scars could have blended in with his patchy skin if it weren’t for the distinctive texture. Fire Interlocutors didn’t burn easily, especially ones as powerful as he was, and yet …
Well, the bunsen burners were specifically made to be fire-proof, too.
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