I was sixteen years old when they came, a man and a woman in the white robes of the Magistrate. A score of soldiers marched behind them, dressed for war despite the heat.

I sat oblivious beneath a lemon tree in front of my family manor. Everett, my logic and rhetoric tutor, rambled about the meaning of language as I lounged in the shade, occasionally nodding my head as if I were listening.

“Young master,” he said. I had never heard Everett sound uncertain before. I opened my eyes.

Two Magisters strolled down the avenue, their faces hidden behind ivory masks. What were the Archon’s justices doing here? They existed in a different world than children like myself, a parallel realm that sometimes drifted past but never truly mixed with my own.

As the ruler of Velassa, Nony brought stability to the area. In a Great City of a hundred thousand people only the deranged and the desperate broke the law. It wasn’t because Velassa was some religious utopia. It was because of monsters like those two in the ivory masks, spectres of divine justice.

I was so fixated on the pair I barely noticed as the soldiers circled around the manor. Everett understood the danger before I did. He ran for it.

He made it less than a dozen yards before the female Magister raised her hand. His clothing burst into flames, a white hot intensity that melted flesh and turned his hair into a torch. His screams pierced through the silence that had settled over the area. I will never forget that acrid stench, the mix of burnt pork and the copper tang of his blood as it boiled.

The Magisters continued down the avenue. A surreal feeling washed over me as if my body no longer belonged to me. I felt as if I were drifting through some morbid daydream. Everett’s screams died off and that empty silence once again settled over everything. His blackened corpse made no sound as it collapsed onto the grass. At this distance I could see how the gentle breeze stole swirls of ash from his body.

I flinched as a soldier hoisted me up by the collar. I hadn’t even noticed him approach. Bleary eyes looked down at me, bloodshot from a night of drinking. His hands were cracked and calloused, knuckles white with faded scars. I felt helpless in his grip.

“Don’t struggle.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Was that man your teacher? Yes? The Increate is the greatest teacher of all. Watch what he has to tell you about sinners.”

The manor doors opened and a few of the servants stepped out. A maid attempted to flee and she too became a smear of flame. The others slammed the door shut as if wood could protect them from what was coming.

The soldier watched me, lips curved in a small smile, curious how I would react. It drifted away when he saw the lack of expression on my face. “Heartless bastard, aren’t you?”

I had known Everett for over a decade; one of my earliest memories was of him scolding me. What kind of ending was this for him? What about for that maid, whose only mistake was working for us instead of the thousand other affluent families in Velassa?

The sight of their bodies, pitiful and twisted, formed a cold pit deep in my chest. So this was death. Casual destruction beneath the afternoon sun. The priests say that death is the next step, a bridge that leads our souls to paradise.

In that moment even I had to shake my head at their naivete. There was no beauty there, nothing divine. The laughable thing was that Archon Nony had ordered the Magistrate to come to my family manor. He was the flames of heaven made flesh, a blessed child of the Increate. Paradise was his home. Those he condemned went elsewhere.

Shouts rang out from the manor. Even from a distance I could recognize my father’s baritone voice cutting through the panic. The door opened and he stepped out, a giant confined in an expensive suit. He held a saber at his side. Despite his size and cold blue eyes I had never imagined him as a fighter. The only time I had ever heard him raise his voice was when he roared with laughter. But in that moment, blade in his hand and eyes on the maid’s corpse, I saw a different side of him.

“What is the meaning of this?” He looked out at the Magisters, eyes widening. Behind them he caught sight of me. “Leones! He has nothing to do with this.”

By now the Magisters were almost at the portico, close enough that I wondered if my father would be able to cut them down. He was like a warrior from legend, facing these demons in their white robes. They stepped forward and his sword wavered. Another step forward and he lowered the blade, a lost expression on his face.

The woman trailed her fingers along a colonnade as she ascended the stairs.

“What a lovely home.” Her voice drifted out from behind her mask, soft and melodic. “This is the pride and joy of a family. Of a husband, a wife, their precocious son. Fifteen servants. Four rotating tutors. Productive citizens, living an idyllic life in an idyllic city. And what have we asked of you people? Have we taxed you unfairly?”

“Do not pretend,” my father said. “Do not pretend what you do is right. Wanton slaughter of those who disagree with you. What heinous crime have I committed, that you kill these people for simply being around me?”

The woman nodded then gestured back towards me; the soldier dragged me forward by the arm. When I tried to struggle, he seized me with his other arm as well, holding me in a vice-like grip. As I stumbled up the stairs I noticed her touch had left charred streaks along the columns.

She strolled forward until she was almost face to face with my father.

“What heinous crimes have you committed?” The woman glanced my way. I could almost sense her smug smile behind her mask. “The most heinous of all. You questioned Archon Nony. Your little secret meetings with your other collaborators. Writings denouncing his divine lineage.”

“It’s a historical discussion. There have been other Archons who could control fire. There are many powerful creatures in the world with powers similar to him. I simply compiled research on the topic of the Archons and whether others could become as powerful as them.”

The woman raised her hand to her mouth and laughed. “Such ridiculous heresy. You don’t even try to deny it. Even if we were to pretend it’s not heresy, what qualifications do you have to make that assumption? You’re a cloth merchant. The things the Archon can do makes us look like children burning ants with a lens. Without the Archons we would be slaves to the Goetia. Demon food.”

My father shook his head. He looked beaten, lost, the idea of him being a fighter no more than an illusion. “I can stop looking into it. It was just something I found interesting. Is this...is this all really necessary? Killing innocents over research?”

The woman turned my way. I pulled my head away as she reached out but the soldier held me in place. Her fingers traced along my jaw and cheekbones, suffused with a pleasant warmth that made me think of Everett’s smoldering corpse. “You must think me heartless. I have a daughter. She’s a bit younger than you. Oh, the things I would do to protect her…”

My mind was blank. From what I had gathered my father had been collecting research on the Archons and similar figures. Even among the Archons Nony was known to be eccentric, not even allowing paintings or any other depiction of himself. A smarter or braver person could have said something to her. Could have done something to convince her to leave. All I could do is look back at her and her surprisingly gentle eyes.

“Perhaps your father really does just have an academic interest in the Archons. They really are such mysterious beings, somewhere between human and a law of nature.” She straightened up and brushed her robes. “But do not question them. Ever. They’re the reason you lived such comfortable lives, in this pretty little manor near the sea. All these lemon trees and chirping birds. A thousand years ago they bred mankind like livestock. There were no happy families. We didn’t even have a language.”

Farther into the manor there was a scream. Probably one of the maids attempting to escape out of a side door. That’s when father struck. The saber chopped deep into the woman’s shoulder with a meaty thunk. Before he could swing again the male Magister pointed and the world flashed orange. When my vision cleared I saw father had fallen to one knee; his forearm was incinerated, ending in little more than a charcoal stick. The saber had half-melted into a bar of liquid steel.

The woman leaned against a column, rivulets of blood dripping from beneath her sleeve as her arm hung uselessly at her side. She touched the gaping wound in her shoulder. Flesh sizzled as she cauterized the wound. She took a deep breath to gather her composure then nodded at her companion.

My father looked at me, his face pale and eyes unfocused. He managed to twist his mouth into a parody of a grin. His lips mouthed ‘sorry’ at me. A moment later flames washed over him, so intense the soldier had to drag me back a couple paces. He did not scream. Such heat scours away everything, even the sensation of pain. The fire consumed him with a merciful swiftness, reducing him to a blackened skeleton. He collapsed not far from the body of the maid who had attempted to escape.

“He should have suffered more,” said the woman.

“You should have talked less.” The male Magister glanced at the soldier who was holding me. “Put the boy inside. Make sure the perimeter is secure. We’ve spent enough time on this.”

With a grunt the soldier pried open the front door and shoved me toward the manor. The knowledge of what was coming broke through the haze. I grabbed the man's arm, trying to pull him closer, or maybe pull myself out. His other fist buried itself in my gut, knocking the wind out of me. I kneeled, dry heaving, hardly noticing him plant his boot against my forehead until he shoved me backwards into the foyer.

The door slammed shut.

Waiting for my breathing to return to normal, I looked around. Disconcerting how normal everything looked inside the entranceway. I had walked through the foyer a thousand times, past all the plants and tapestries, and it looked the same as ever. For a moment I found it easy to pretend nothing had happened. Everett had ended his lesson early. I would walk to the kitchens where the cook would prepare me a midday snack. Everything was fine.

“Leones!” One of the maids noticed me and hurried over. “What’s happening? What happened to your father? Nevermind that, come. We’ll figure this out, don’t you worry.”

Recovered enough, I shoved myself to my feet and tried the door. It refused to budge even after I put all my weight behind it; the maid even added her own frantic strength, with no result. The door began to feel warm to the touch.

"Another exit," said the maid, panting.

Her hands were clammy with sweat as she led me deeper into the manor. Smoke drifted around us. The manor was made of stone but nearly everything within it was flammable. Tapestries adorned the walls, the furniture was wood, and my mother’s green thumb had given rise to a host of plants and ivy. Perhaps we could have contained a normal fire but the divine magic of the Magistrate could consume even the stone foundation.

The maid sniffled and wiped her nose. “I don’t want to die.”

"You won't."

She offered no response as she dragged me deeper into the manor. Smoke roiled past us in a dense fog. The maid inhaled it first and doubled over, coughs wracking her body until tears streamed down her face. Burying my face into my sleeve, I fell to the floor and crawled beneath that dark miasma. The maid followed suit, still attempting to cough out the poison in her lungs. The heat was insiduous, at first like the midsummer sun and rapidly becoming an unpleasant warmth that drained my energy. I thought of Everett, the maid, and my father---burned to nothing in moments. It almost seemed like a merciful death compared to the smoke and building heat.

I caught sight of flames spreading into the room. They raced along the vines of ivy growing along the walls. It touched a tapestry and that too went up in flames. The conflagration ate through the room, insatiable, turning my home into a land of oranges and yellows and black smoke. I whimpered as my skin reddened from the heat. I turned to the maid and saw she had given up. She had collapsed to the floor, head buried in her arms, letting out the occasional rumbling cough. Wisps of smoke drifted from head as her hair curled and burnt.

I never even knew her name.

My biggest regret was that I would not see my mother one last time. No, my biggest regret was that I was a weak child. All of our destinies had been snipped away because we had provoked monsters infinitely more powerful than us. I laid there with my eyes closed, wishing I was one of those monsters. Wishing I could save my family.

My body tingled with a numbness that let me ignore my inflamed skin. I opened my eyes, determined for some reason to face my death with dignity. Not that anyone would remember the stubborn heroism of a teenager buried beneath a spreading inferno. It was impossible to see past the waves of roiling smoke. The heat sapped the moisture from my eyes as I stared at death.

Smoke swirled above. The pattern seemed impossible; I felt as if my vision was fragmented, as if I were watching everything through a dark prism. I could sense something beyond the smoke. It was a promise of power. If only I could reach up I could grab some tear in reality and reshape it with my will. Perhaps what I sensed was the realm of death, purgatory breaking through to welcome me in.

Slowly I raised my hand. It took everything I had to move my fingers a few inches. There was a stubbornness deep within me I had never noticed before, an explosion of will that refused to die. I tapped that power to lift my shuddering hand into the miasma of smoke.

Heat exploded outward. The flames licking the room flashed into an inferno that consumed everything, a brilliant sky of orange piercing through the miasma.