NEARLY FIFTY YEARS PRIOR

A chilling scream fills the desolate forest.

Thin trunks of ebony stripe the snow-clad woods. The howling wind swirls vicious flurries. All fauna is silenced; the creatures sense the impending battle and burrow into safety.

The cry ebbs in the background, fading into the relentless wind.

Flames burst to life on the edge of an outcrop, a shocking contrast to the black and white world, and drop to the ground below like molten lead. The flames collect and quiver. A circular patch of grass melts to reveal its verdant self from around its source.

A growl rumbles from within its fiery core.

With a roar of his own, a dark man appears from overhead, readying his sword. Each of his strides rips into the snow, uplifting black soil from beneath its luscious white overlay. He skids to a stop, having noticed the flames settled in the clearing below. With a glare of suspicion, the man whips the sword once in his meaty hands. But he does not approach the fiery being. Not just yet.

A woman, small in stature, follows suit though her footing, unlike his, is light and barely disturbs the snowy earth.

The flames before the pair bend their light, shifting into the molten shape of a man ablaze. His skin is charring embers, both blackened and aglow. The sudden increase in heat sears the land, snow sizzling to steam in its wake. A jet of flames streaks from his breath, the darker man unable to dodge it in time—

The woman steps in front, outstretching a hand to block and cast away the blaze with a burst of energy. Her fingertips blister in response.

"Fool! Rushing in to battle will accomplish nothing! Save your hot-headedness and first analyze our foe!" She buries her scorched hand into the snow.

In the shadows of the trees, a curious watcher gazes at the scene.

The flaming beast digs his hands into the soil underfoot, heat spewing from his nostrils. The woman, too, regains her composure, steadying her sword on point. Liquid energy pulses through her veins, strengthening her calves. She prepares to attack, but—

The darker man emerges from near nothingness, blade piercing the distracted beast's chest. A hot, blaring scream rages until his flames burn out to reveal his true self. The man, brown-haired and stocky build, staggers away from the darker man, clutching his gushing chest.

The boy in the shadows sneers.

The air of a threat burned out with the man's flames, but for reasons inexplicable, he does not give into death but hobbles away into the moon-kissed forest, leaving a bloody pathway behind him.

The darker man whoops in celebration, while the woman futilely attempts to repair her singed fingers; healing has never been her forte.

"Don't flatter yourself," she mumbles irritably.

He turns to her, victorious smile shifting to a grimace. "What's this? Are you jealous?"

"Humph!" She turns away coldly. "You wouldn't have been able to strike him down, had it not been for my distraction. Don't fool yourself into thinking you will take all of the credit."

"A kill is a kill. The one who drives in the blade still receives the glory."

"Speaking of kills," she says, cocking her head. "The job has yet to be finished...."

He booms a menacing laugh. "Did you not see the state he was in? Crawling off like a wounded animal? Ha! The coward's ran off to die under a bush somewhere. Call on the others to search for his corpse. The Marked One is dead."