#oc handler

"There has been an accident", the Agent explains. His name is Finch like the bird. He gets that a lot he says, when Handler asks. He does not look like a bird. He has the title Agent, with no promotion under his belt, because he’s young and they send the young ones to handle the annoying tasks. It’s a particularly irritating brand of Pebbles hypocrisy to send the most inexperienced Agents to fetch magical professionals. 

“This cult you see”, Agent Finch says. He seems to shrink further into himself the more Handler looks at him. “There was a summoning. As far as I understand, but their uhm.. chosen one..”, he mumbles the phrase, as if the simple act of retelling the events could somehow make him complicit. “she couldn't  take it. You know? Just went boom. We found the splatter later, what wasn’t burned anyway. Terrible thing.” He pauses as if he is recalling what he’d seen, then he shakes his head and continues. “Anyway, the .. the magical thing’s here now right? And they got trouble being here right? Yeah. You know.. you know. So it went out, searching. Destroyed a few houses on the way until it found something that could hold it. Huge fire.” Handler frowns, he doesn’t want a part in this in the first place and the involvement of fire magic strengthens his resolution.

“I do not think I am the right person to discuss this with. I’m sure you will find someone working with the Archives who will be delighted to take on the case.”

“That’s the thing. I was already there. The Archives sent me here.” Handler’s frown deepens. The archives were thoroughly reliable, there was no reason for them to refuse a task like this. 

“And why on earth would the Archives refuse a prime magical research subject?”

“They said it’s cause … the fire thing- it didn’t go in an object. It’s in a person. It’s unethical to work it they said. Cause it’s just a little kid too.”

Handler’s blood freezes. A child in a fire. An old memory slips from the neat space it had been sorted into and unfolds itself. Another fire and another child. He shivers, even though it’s warm out, the palms of his hands suddenly feeling unpleasantly damp.

“I’ll take a look, let me just fetch my stuff. You are interested in containing it, yes?”

—

The Agency is a short tram ride away. Agent Finch stands upright and stares anywhere where Handler is not. He can’t help but wonder if this is because he is adept with magic or because Finch has another problem with him. Handler does not spend enough time in Pebbles to know which prejudices they teach their children here. It could be anything from his choice of dress, the way he carries himself or even just how he exists in this tram. It was so often hard to tell which part of him offended today, and in the grand scheme of things it mattered so very little. 

The Agency building, at least the one Handler is brought to, is cocooned in an intricate web of magic negating wards. These types of spells are usually near to invisible, but here they are layered so thickly on top of each other that Handler’s adept eye picks them up almost immediately. He speaks to several people and signs several agreements before he is finally allowed to see the kid, Amber. Agent Finch is gone by now, replaced by a woman his senior. Lieutenant Vidal is less nervous but carries a more open disdain for Handler and this whole situation. She is unhappy with the magic in the kid she says. Handler should remove it or the kid might turn out like him. He withholds his comment.  

It does not take long to arrive at the holding cells, there is a whole section of the building dedicated to them. Most of them are closed, but a few have windows to enable a look at the person trapped. The cells are tiny little things, claustrophobic by design, with intricate lines of spells etched into the walls. It is impressive in its duplicity. Handler is brilliantly adept in the art of written spells, there is no misplaced pride in admitting that, it is simply the truth. Yet some of these connotations escape his own knowledge. The design was conceived by a true master of their craft and he can’t help but wonder if they had been commissioned for these atrocities or if the coward actually believes in this.

"This one." They have stopped in front of a door without a window and Lieutenant Vidal picks a key and opens the lock. The inside is similar to the other cells, though there is a much wider array of spells embellishing the wall. The bed has been reduced to a heap of ash. 

Pressed as far away as possible from them is the boy. His small frame is circled by flames, they lick up the walls and dance around him. It looks almost protective. How absurd.

Amber’s hair has taken on the consistency of the flames too and his eyes are glowing, making it impossible to see his iris or pupils. There is something so wild about it, that Handler almost asks the Agent if she is sure that this is an elven child and not an incarnation of fire itself. 

But then he sees his posture, recognizes the way Amber is pressing himself against the wall, as far away as possible from the open door. He can almost smell it, the fear, the desperation and even though Amber seems so otherworldly his face is still small and soft. He can’t be much older than six. 

Handler feels a sensation like cool liquid running down his spine. It forms a tight ball in his stomach. 

"How long has he been in here?"

"Few days."

Amber doesn’t look physically hurt or mistreated but Handler can hardly give credit to the Agency for this, it appears that the fire nourished him while he was locked away in his box.

"I could kill you, you know? Take him out and burn this whole place down."

"They'd build a new one."

"I suppose they would."

They're both quiet after that. For a bit. Handler sorts his thoughts but then Lieutenant Vidal speaks up once more. 

“There’s nothing we could have done. He keeps burning. No one can get near him. Believe me we fucking tried.”

“I suppose”, Handler just says again. “I suppose you have.”

He does not look at her when he steps inside the room and draws the door shut with him. It’s difficult isn’t it, making laws, upholding them. It’s difficult when things like this happen anyway.

The fire reaches for him and Amber tries to crawl further away. It's strong, Handler thinks, it's surprising it hasn't killed the kid yet. His clothes begin to blacken in the heat, but Handler had made sure to spell them into fire resistance. His body should be fine too, after all the first spell he ever carved into his skin was to protect him from it. 

The room, once the door is closed, is nauseating, he likes his freedom and he knows that if that lock clicked shut he could not get out. Not with these spells. It's terrifying if he has to be perfectly honest. He keeps those thoughts to himself though and instead smiles at Amber and sits down on the ground. 

"My name is Handler Hook", he tells him. "I'm here to help you."

It takes a long time until Amber moves. Handler doesn’t want to touch him, so he sits on the floor and tells him stories. About his day, about what he’s done, the magic he can cast and how he can help Amber. Only when he demonstrates a few simple magic tricks does the kid relax. He wonders if anyone else has actually tried to talk to him, or if they had all just seen the creature of fire and turned their heads before it could turn back into a child. 

It was detrimental of course, that to help the kid he had to hurt him once more. To regulate the magic within him Handler had to either remove the fire or contain it with a spell. If Handler had the time, resources and motivation he would always opt into removing it. This assured that magic could cause no further problems and the victim was able to lead a more or less normal life. In this situation though he could quickly tell that there was a risk he was unwilling to take. While the kid's body had endured the fire astonishingly well, Handler feared that in the few days the magic had nested inside this small body it might have already burned out whatever is inside. Should Handler forcibly remove the fire, there was a high chance it would leave an empty husk. 

So containment it was. The fire seemed to like Amber after all. This meant the magic stayed, maybe one day the kid would even be able to use it, though for now he’d just seal it completely shut. The essential problem was that to secure magic as powerful as this in any kind of vessel it is necessary to write the spell directly and permanently onto the container. Which was in this case, the body of this child. 

He carefully takes out the tattoo pen he had brought and shows Amber his own scarred and tattooed arms. He tells him it will hurt. That was part of magic he says, the price they had to pay.

“But it will only hurt once. I promise. Afterwards you will be better. Afterwards it will be like this.” And he carefully takes the kids little hand and presses it down on his very first magical scar. The fire around Amber’s hand flickers then fades until it’s reduced to a soft glow.

"See?"

Amber nods. 

There are a lot of things Handler could be thinking about but he keeps circling back to this room. With dread he realizes that once he begins tattooing and the fire surrounding Amber dimms that there is no other source of light in here. Any person with no access to light magic would be stuck in a completely dark room. It’s a good thing to be angry at, it’s a good thing to distract himself with.

To his credit Amber makes almost no sound, though Handler can hear a little sniffle every now and then. He doesn’t know if he prefers that over a full on tantrum but as long as Amber sits still it’s easier to achieve the accurate linework this spell requires.

Somewhere in the middle of it he stands up to demand a lamp and some food for himself and the kid. He hands him the sandwich once he’s sure it will only be warm and not burned to a crisp.

___

"It's done."

He sighs with relief as he puts down the last line and Amber’s fire is firmly sealed. The only source of light in the room is now the electric lamp he was given. 

"You were very brave." 

Amber turns to him, his hair now lays flat, though a little tangled, on his head, framing his face and making him look thinner than he is. It’s still a burning orange and Handler can’t tell if that’s his natural hair color or if this is the fire’s influence. 

When tries to get up a sudden tug on his robe stops him. There's a little fist balled into the fabric and Handler looks into those big eyes. They have pupils again, but they also still have a soft glow attached to them. Not enough to light the room, but visible nonetheless. He'd been quiet all this time but now his small face is scrunched up in terrible emotion and Handler sits back down. 

For a moment the little face overlaps with another, one that he usually can not recall without the aid of a picture. Handler had been told what happened to Amber's parents. It’s like they all swapped fates; this little boy and his little girl. Himself and his mother. Maybe this was supposed to be some kind of redemption. One he would not have to fight tooth and nail for.

"It's okay now”, he says, like he had desperately wanted to all those years ago. “I'll take care of it." 

ref