I take in a deep breath and stare into the mirror that spans all along the dojo. I think I look a little awkward with sweat trickling down my muscly figure, mostly from using my fire. Thank goodness I now have gloves to practice on or else my skin would've been burned. I slip the gloves back onto my hands after taking in another hefty gulp from my water bottle. I cringe from the gel I feel slide across my hand as I slip the glove on but I quickly remind myself that it'll keep my skin healthy as I continue to burn it.

I turn my vision away from the mirror, scrunching my nose at the feeling of thick gel pressed against my hand. The sound of people punching bags emits across the gym and I know I should get back to work to prepare for a practice spar.

I sigh and turn to my bag. I raise my fists and focus my sights on my red punching bag. I feel a warmth trail through my legs along with a force that gently pushes at the flats of my feet. I turn on my foot and perform a roundhouse, the flames explode out of my foot, brushing my fireproof punching bag, leaving a trail of flames in its path. I transition out of my roundhouse and release the flames from my fist. A scorching flame bursts out my fist with a strong force pushing through my knuckles.

My punching bag swings back as the flames that once touched its surface burn out. I take a deep breath and frantically flick my aching wrists while turning away, my hands sore.

“Canmoor!”

I glance up and stare at my MMA coach, Coach Freeman, his gentle brown eyes glint with playfulness as a boy about my age trails behind him walking towards my direction. The boy has an innocent look to him with a round looking face and wide green eyes.

“This is Jacob, he’ll be joining us soon,” Coach Freeman playfully jabs his elbow at Jacob, “He may even be good enough to beat you in the ring.”

I smile, placing my hands on my hips I scan the frail boy, who has faint muscle, just enough to tell he actually exercises. “Good to have you here.” I  respond; my wrists and hands still.

“You might want to be on your way Canmoor, it’s already four.” Coach Freeman reminds. I glance at the large clock hanging far across from me. I smile gratefully at Coach Freeman.

“You’re right, Rose hates to wait,” I say.

I quickly strip open my bag and throw on my black sweatpants and a white t-shirt. I pull on my combat boots and rush out of the gym and into the lively streets of Noway Tom. The city is full of white buildings that curve like hills at the ground and rise to a sharp point with blue tinted windows dotting its surface. Many of these buildings line my vision as a highway wraps around the necks of the buildings including the cars zipping along in the air. Some people, no doubt those with the ability of air, float along the landscape. People rush along the sidewalk in a hurry to get places, and I quickly fall into their step and walk 3 blocks before shoving out the crowd and into the most popular ballet studio in the country.

The echo of a bell fades from hearing as dancers finish zipping up their bags to leave. I scan the room and catch Rose shoving her, faded, pink ballerina slipper into her bag. Her short, blue, long-in-the-front-short-in-the-back, bob cut is tied back by a pink hair clip. Her thin, pink, lips pursed in annoyance when the zipper to her bag catches and she struggles to zip it back up. Her golden brown eyes glare in fury as she clenches her fist. I laugh to myself once I notice the water bottle clenched in her hand turn to ice. Rose sighs before roughly grabbing her bag, turning to face the door where she spots me. A small smile plays on her lips as she walks over.

“So the fire queen arrives.”

I smile as she takes my bag off my shoulder. Rose exits the ballet building and glances around for my mom’s car.

“Your mom is never late,” I overhear Rose mumble.

I smile, about to open my mouth to reassure her, when my bag is suddenly ripped off Rose’s shoulder, followed by the blur of a black figure. I pause, that bag holds the only fire gloves and socks and suit I own! I ditch Rose, pushing through the crowd of people to chase the phantom thief.

“Hey!” I cry, barely following the stranger as they turn a corner.

I suddenly stumble out of the crowd and go staggering into a dark alleyway. My eyes try to focus on the dim lit area, taking note of the two trash cans that line the brick wall that leads further down the alley. I follow the padding of footsteps in the distance. A dark figure running in front of me comes into my line of vision. I push forward, hoping I’m running a little faster. I spot the figure go ruffling through my bag. My energy saps as I desperately try to catch the thief, I find I’m only a few feet behind him and the crunch of the ground underneath my feet encourages me forward. I push off the ground and grapple my fingers into the thief’s blue shirt. My fingers tangle in the soft fabric as my body pulls him down on top of me. I finally get a good look at the thief’s face. He’s pale with hollow cheeks and bags under his blue eyes. His hair is blonde and cut into a thin buzzcut. I push him off me and roll away. I stand and search the ground for my bag, only to find it grasped tightly in the thief’s thin fingers. I get into a fighting stance, I glare down at the thief, clenching my fists firmly.

“Give me back my bag,” I growl.

The thief shakes his head, his eyes widened.

I open my mouth, but I am only interrupted by a voice.

“So, Grimm is at it again I see,” A soft, melodic voice whispers.

My whole body stills by the gracefulness in the voice. I glance around to find from which the voice came but am greeted with nothing. I jolt as a person steps out into my line of vision.

“Why don’t you go tell Grimm to shove off for once?” The voice speaks.

I study the person, gray hairs are pulled back tightly into a thick bun, with ebony skin and her dark brown eyes are dim of life. She has a white-toothed smile, as she steps forward and her figure is muscly with scars scattered across the visible parts of her body.

“I’ve been meaning to retire,” She states.

The thief’s eyes grow stubborn as he stands, he glares at the woman, clutching my bag closer to his chest.

“You know I can’t let you do that now,” A deep, smooth, fear-striking voice chuckles from behind me.

My heart jumps out of my chest as a hand tightly grips my shoulder and pulls me back into a chest. My eyes widen as I feel a sharp knife press lightly against my neck.

“Let go of the girl, Grimm.” The woman growls.

I gulp, my heart beating faster and faster as seconds pass by, I don’t dare whimper or move.

“What, you don’t want me to kill your successor?” His hot breath is in my ear as his knife presses further into my neck, my tears slither down my cheeks as a light trickle of blood trails down my neck. “You’re getting too old for this Loretta, let it go. “Grimm continues.

“Why do you think I need the girl?” Loretta responds, stepping forward.

Grimm chuckles, “I mean give up already Loretta, give up on passing on your power, give up on defeating me. You could finally do what you’ve always wanted and stop trying to save this forsaken country.”

My hands shake as my vision blurs from the tears forming in my eyes, a whimper manages to escape from me.

“You destroyed that dream years ago,” Loretta responds, she’s close, I’ve come face to face with this mysterious woman who grabs the hilt of the knife at my throat. The stranger behind me doesn’t move, he only chuckles.

“You’re such a fool, Loretta, I can’t see why your predecessor picked you.” Then in one split second Loretta is blown back, I cringe, fearing her body will hit the wall, but instead, Loretta catches herself and pushes off the wall, shooting towards Grimm.

Grimm swipes his knife across my throat, black dots rapidly replace Loretta flying towards me. I struggle to breathe as I collapse to the floor. Panic floods my brain as my fingers scrape at the ground, I wheeze. Someone help me, please, I can’t breathe, I choke on the metallic taste in the back of my throat, dripping down into my lungs. A painful migraine spasms around my temples, my body burning from the inside. The ground begins to spin and fuzzy feeling washes over my consciousness. Someone, please help.

I jolt as I feel a soft gel press against my neck, the liquid in my lungs slowly leaves and a sudden onslaught of oxygen replaces it. I gradually feel the world come into focus.