The Six Aspects

Leon was a dancing fire-eater in a wicked city. Every day he danced and breathed tremendous plumes of fire on the sad corner of the dirty street where he made his shoddy home, singing songs of celebration and triumph. Every day his majestic spectacle of flame and agility and music was met with a mix of derision and pity. Jeers, small change thrown in contempt, spitting, and sneering offers of "actual employment." But Leon didn't mind. He saw them mostly streaming to and from the arena with their miserable lives, gambling and shoving and drinking and retching. He knew his path was true and dignified, and theirs was strewn with waste and regret. So he kept dancing and collecting his coins.

One day Leon was walking home with a particularly full purse. He'd written a new song the night before, and his regulars were so taken with it that they'd doubled their donations. Some had even danced along with him. He ended the day with a formidable stack of coins, and stepped lightly as he jingled his way home.

Leon's good fortune had not gone unnoticed. As he rounded a corner, a blackjack appeared as if from nowhere and struck his temple - he crumpled to the ground. Rough voices bickered with each other and rough hands turned him over, rifling through his pockets and his tunic, and he could feel the purse ripped away from his belt as he fell into darkness.

In the distance, a tiny flame appeared. To Leon it seemed as if he flew to it at great speed over a great distance, with blackness rushing by and a dim glow on the far horizon. The flame drew close and stopped, and pulsed.

Fire Dancer. A woman's voice filled his senses - quiet, yet towering.

You will make a new home in the ashes of today.

Leon tried to ask what this meant, but his mouth produced no sound.

When you breathe your next flame, you will know that you are Chosen.

Leon tasted dirt, and his brow was wet and cold. He opened his eyes to see that a gutter was dripping filth onto his forehead. Night was still deeply fallen. Leon touched a hand to his temple and his skull rang like a bell. Lurching to his feet, Leon decided the strange dream was the dazed babbling of a battered mind, and nothing more. He dragged himself home.

The next day, Leon set up for his first dance. Strangely, a massive crowd had gathered at his corner. Perhaps word about his new song had spread. He saw familiar faces, and heard familiar voices. He saw people who had spat in his face, and laughed at his craft. Leon thought suddenly of his dream. As if in response, the woman's voice whispered in his ear. I am Rajdo. You are Chosen.

The crowd gasped. All eyes were on Leon, and he heard a small crackling noise. He looked up. A small tongue of flame flickered on Leon's brow, but he felt no pain. The crowd was silent and afraid - the only sound was the fire.

Leon set his arms and bent his legs, poised to begin his song and dance.

"I wrote this two days ago. Today I will give it a name. This is the Song of Rajdo."

Leon drew a deep breath and with his song he unleashed a roaring column of fire. It leapt from his mouth and tore through the sky, splitting in a hundred directions and arcing from rooftop to rooftop. The crowd scattered in a panic, but their screams were swallowed in Leon's song. Booming down every road and through every alleyway, windows shattered and wood splintered in the deafening thunder of his voice. The wicked city was devoured utterly by flame and sound and ruin.

When the smoke cleared, and the city was rendered into a sweeping field of grease and ash, only Leon remained, still dancing. Rajdo spoke to him again.

Lord of Bards! Dance your way through Adrullan. Teach my song to those who will learn. Raise your voices as one!

Leon heard Rajdo laughing, and the flame on his brow glowed brighter. He danced and sang and threw fire for no one, and the land trembled with his voice.

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