Barron's Prey

Barron

Chapter 1

Fire pulsed around him, nipping at his sides, flowing over his arms, but whereas everyone else burned, he stood standing; unscarred, unharmed, but not unfeeling.  He could feel their pain, could feel their agony, and no matter how hard he tried pushing it back onto them, it scalded his body.  He could fight no more, couldn't handle the pain, but he had to.  This was his mess, his darkness, and if he didn't stop to let it hit him, he'd never remember the mistakes he made, never remember why he had to leave.

Barron jerked awake, but the images still flew through his mind.  Sweat drenched his body, a welcome feeling after having the flames lick at his skin.  He swung his feet to the ground, happy to see that the room didn't sway around him.  More than the room had swayed when he first had that particular dream, but now, it was such a familiar sight that he had come to expect it each night.

Every night for two weeks, the same dream plagued him.  Every night for two weeks, he'd wake up in the middle of the night, not being able to fall back asleep.  He pushed the dream to the back of his mind, knowing that it was better off there.  He would remember, that was never a question, but he wouldn't dwell on it. He wouldn't try to change things in the past, not when the future would be just as dark.

Standing from his bed, he stretched his back and winced when something popped.  When the dreams had started, other things had begun too, like training.  They all knew something was coming for them, something darker than anything they had faced before.  What?  They didn't have a clue.  Why?  Barron often wondered, often felt as if he knew, but he wouldn't voice his opinions, not until he knew, without a doubt, that he was right.

His feet padded against the floor, the sound so quiet that only shifters walking by his room would be able to hear.  Soon, he was standing over the sink in his bathroom.  Already knowing what he'd see once he glanced into the mirror, he didn't bother looking up.  Cold water ran through the faucet, and Barron knew that once he let that water run down his face, the last of the flames would be gone. 

He reached blindly for the small hand towel by his sink, and as he brushed the water from his face, he couldn't help but look up.  Red eyes stared back at him, mocking him with his past.  No matter what he had tried at the beginning, Barron could never rid himself of those eyes.  At first, it had been a hardship, seeing what he once was in the past, but now, he reveled in it, reveled in the fact that he had changed.

He stared at himself, forcing himself to remember what he had done, to remember what he had gone through to become the person he was now.  He stood there, watching as the red slowly diminished before turning into the light blue everyone else knew so well, and before he could remember too much, he let out a small chuckle.

The past was a dark image that flashed through his mind at night, but it no longer ruled him.  It taught him, made him into who he was today, but it also gave him an advantage.  It made him familiar with what was coming, what was stalking them at this exact moment, taunting them with its power, but never showing itself.

Barron stretched once more as he cleared his mind.  In the early morning, he was one of the very few people who would be awake, but thanks to recent events, he wasn't the only person.  There were others, some who felt what was in the air, some who just woke up at four in the morning for the fun of it, but Barron knew that there'd be others awake in this overly large compound Ally liked to call a cabin. 

Before, the thought of others being awake would have kept him in his room, would have left him lying in bed, thinking of ways he could do his duty without making contact with any of them, but now, he actually looked forward to the reminder that there was still life out there, that there were still people fighting for what they believed in.