Two years after Raza’s birth, Ravel was born. It felt almost like a cruel joke from the universe, considering the low birthrates among devils—as if fate itself was saying, “Oops, the first one was a mistake, here you go.” The difference in reactions could not have been clearer.
While Raza was cared for only by his mother and acknowledged by his brother Ruval and his father, Ravel’s birth was a grand celebration. The Phoenix clan gathered for a lavish party to welcome the newest family member. Rhea noticed the disparity but chose not to bring it up, deciding it was better to stay silent for now.
After the festivities, in her chambers, Ravel and Raza were placed together in the crib—brother and sister, both sleeping soundly. Rhea watched them with a hopeful smile, wishing that her children would grow up close.
Regulus spoke from behind her, lying on the bed. “Ravel cried all night. Honestly, I thought she’d never fall asleep. This one’s full of energy.”
Rhea’s smile faded slightly. She was quiet for a long moment, then said softly, “You never said anything like that about Raza when he was born.”
“Rhea, that’s—” Regulus started, but couldn’t finish. He knew it was pointless to argue. He sighed and left to get some fresh air, leaving Rhea alone with her thoughts.
Years passed. Raza was now eight years old. As he grew, he realized more and more how different he was from his family—the color of his hair, the powers he possessed. He noticed that his flames were dangerous, that anyone who touched him would be burned.
Most of his family avoided him. Only his mother remained constant, always there for him, never seeming to mind the burns. She healed, thanks to her Phoenix powers, but Raza still didn’t want to bother her. He believed that if he could learn to control his powers, maybe the others would accept him too, just as his mother did.
Raza and Ravel were close for a short time, but eventually, even she grew distant. He understood it was because of his powers—probably the same reason Riser avoided him as well. So, in secret, Raza began to train himself. He tried different ways to keep the flames calm, to release and withdraw them, experimenting in hopes of control.
Finally, after much effort, he succeeded. On a weekend, he discovered he could keep his power in check. He touched various objects with his bare hands, and nothing burned. When he realized this, his heart soared—no more fear for those around him.
Bursting with excitement, Raza hurried to find his family. He found his mother, Riser, and Ravel together in a room. “You guys, you’re not going to believe this—I’m not burning things anymore! I managed to control my powers!” He took off the gloves he usually wore and touched the door to show them it was true.
Rhea leapt up and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, both laughing in relief and joy. But Riser only scoffed, “So what?” Did Raza really think they’d accept him just because he could control his powers now? He was still a bad omen—who knew what he really was, or why he was different?
Rhea called out Riser’s name in a warning tone, but Ravel sided with Riser, saying Raza still felt weird—different. Riser went further, calling Raza a mutant or a freak, insisting he didn’t belong in the family. Rhea moved so fast she slapped Riser, who simply glared back and huffed. Calling to Ravel, Riser left the room, his sister following.
Rhea was left, filled with emotion. Then she heard a quiet sob—Raza was crying. He asked if he was a mistake, if that was why everyone avoided him. Rhea hugged him fiercely, telling him he wasn’t a mistake. Raza insisted he was just so different—black hair, black flames—what was he?
Rhea held him close, both of them crying. She promised he was her son, and that things would get better. She urged him to be strong. Raza wanted to believe her—he really did.