Phoenix Force

Auzra was now six years old, and his powers were no longer just lingering hints of something greater—they were becoming undeniable. Joker had always known the kid wasn't normal. He had known it from the moment he found him, a fragile infant wrapped in tattered cloth, untouched by the inferno that had swallowed everything else. A baby who had not only survived a devastating fire but had seemingly been reborn from it.

For years, that quiet warmth had been a constant presence. It was different from the wild, destructive nature of flames that Joker had come to know all too well. It wasn't the searing heat of an uncontrolled blaze, nor was it the ruthless hunger of an Infernal's fire. It was something softer, something that steadied the air around him. He couldn't explain it, not fully, but whenever Auzra was close, that warmth seemed to keep him grounded, as if it could anchor him in a way nothing else ever had.

But now, that warmth was shifting. It was no longer just a comforting presence—it was power. Raw, untamed, and waiting to be honed. And power like that? It won't go unnoticed. It never will.

Joker had spent his life slipping through the cracks of the system, operating in the shadows, always aware of the forces lurking just beneath the surface. He knew what would happen if Auzra's abilities were exposed. The moment the wrong people found out what he could do, they would come for him. The church, the White-Clad, even the Fire Force—none of them would be able to ignore a boy with flames that could heal and erase.

That was why Joker needed a plan.

He wasn't a teacher. Hell, he had barely been raised properly himself. His own childhood had been nothing but cruelty and survival, one brutal lesson after another, each one shaping him into the man he had become. He had never been someone to guide or nurture, never been the type to mold someone else into something stronger.

But Auzra wasn't just anyone.

And if the kid was going to make it in this world—if he was going to survive—then he needed to learn. He needed control. He needed to understand his abilities, to wield them with precision rather than impulse.

And so, whether he liked it or not, the training began.

…

Joker stood atop the crumbling rooftop of a long-forgotten building, a cigarette loosely hanging between his fingers as he gazed down at the city sprawled beneath them. The distant glow of neon signs flickered in the darkness, their artificial light failing to chase away the ever-present shadows of the backstreets. The scent of smoke and damp concrete filled the air, blending with the faint, lingering traces of something burning—an almost constant presence when Auzra was around.

A few feet away, the boy sat cross-legged on the cold, uneven surface, his small frame illuminated by the silver glow of the moon above. His white hair shimmered under its light, a stark contrast against the dark expanse of the city skyline behind him. Despite the chill in the night air, Auzra didn't shiver. He never did. There was always that faint warmth radiating from him, subtle yet undeniable.

Tonight was different.

Joker exhaled slowly, the last remnants of smoke curling from his lips before he flicked the cigarette away, watching as the ember faded into the darkness below. He wasn't here to babysit. He wasn't here to coddle. Auzra was getting older, and it was time for him to understand exactly what he was—what he could become. There was no more room for blind faith or half-truths. The kid had power, and power, if left unchecked, had a way of drawing attention. The wrong kind.

Joker turned to face him fully, hands slipping into the pockets of his coat. His voice, as casual as ever, cut through the silence.

"Auzra."

The boy looked up, emerald eyes sharp, curious.

"Show me what you can do."

Auzra nodded without hesitation, his movements precise as he rose to his feet. The night air stirred around him, but he seemed unaffected by the cold, his presence radiating an almost imperceptible warmth. Slowly, he lifted his hand, fingers slightly curled, and with a mere thought, a flame flickered to life in his palm. It wasn't like the searing reds and blues of ordinary pyrokinetics; no, this fire was different. A golden-orange glow pulsed gently at its core, shifting like liquid light, as though something deeper, something more than mere combustion, was contained within its flickering form.

Joker observed in silence, his lone visible eye narrowing slightly as he took in the peculiar nature of Auzra's flames. They didn't simply burn—they moved, reacted, breathed. It was unlike anything he had seen before, and that was saying something.

He let out a slow breath, watching as the fire curled and reshaped itself in Auzra's grasp. "Your fire isn't like the others," he muttered, more to himself than to the boy. "Try shaping it."

Auzra furrowed his brows in concentration, his small frame perfectly still as he willed the fire to obey him. The flame stretched, elongating as if responding to an unseen command. Slowly, it twisted and coiled, its form shifting into something more defined. Joker watched, his smirk barely visible beneath his collar, as the fire molded itself into the shape of a bird—tiny, delicate, its wings fluttering as if caught mid-flight. The creature chirped, its sound eerily soft, a whisper of embers before it dissipated into the night air, vanishing as though it had never been there.

Joker chuckled, shaking his head in quiet amusement. "Not bad, kid." His gaze lingered on the empty space where the firebird had been moments ago. "Yours not just fire," he mused, his voice laced with something unreadable. "It can support life—it can heal"

Auzra tilted his head slightly, his emerald eyes reflecting the soft glow of the ember dancing between his fingertips. "Life?" he echoed, his voice laced with uncertainty. It was a concept he had never considered before. Fire was meant to consume, to reduce things to ash. That was the law of nature, wasn't it?

Joker smirked, reaching out and ruffling the boy's already messy white hair. "Yeah, kid. Life. Your flames don't just destroy—they heal ,like creation." He let his hand drop back to his side, watching Auzra closely. "That's what makes you different."

Auzra lowered his gaze, watching as the ember pulsed gently against his skin. He had always felt that his fire wasn't like the others he had seen. It didn't rage uncontrollably. It didn't hunger for destruction. It was… alive, in a way he couldn't explain. It responded to his emotions, to his thoughts, as if it understood him. But he had never understood it—never known why it was the way it was.

His small fingers curled around the ember, extinguishing it in his palm. He looked back up at Joker, uncertainty flickering in his expression. "Then… what am I supposed to do with it?"

Joker huffed a laugh, turning away to gaze at the distant cityscape. "That's for you to figure out, kid. But if you wanna survive in this world, you'd better learn how to control it."

Auzra nodded, determination settling in his chest. Whatever this power was, whatever it meant—he had to understand it. Because deep down, he knew… this was only the beginning.

…

The next phase of Auzra's training wasn't about power—it was about control.

Joker had seen what happened to pyrokinetics who lost themselves to their flames, letting their emotions dictate their abilities until they became nothing more than conduits for destruction. He wasn't about to let Auzra become one of them.

They trained in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, a place already charred from previous exercises. The scent of burnt wood and lingering smoke clung to the air, a reminder of the consequences of losing control. Tonight's exercise was simple in theory, but Joker knew that simplicity was often deceptive.

He leaned casually against a crumbling wall, arms crossed as he gestured toward the dimly lit space where small candles were scattered in uneven rows. Their flames flickered weakly, barely illuminating the darkness.

"Alright, kid," Joker drawled, a lazy smirk playing at his lips. "Your task is simple—light only the candles I tell you to. No more, no less." His eyes gleamed with something unreadable. "Think you can handle that?"

Auzra didn't hesitate. He gave a firm nod before extending a hand, his fingers twitching slightly as he concentrated. A thin tendril of golden fire slithered through the air, like a serpent obeying his command, and coiled neatly around the wick of the first candle. The flame roared to life before settling into a steady glow.

Joker tilted his head. "Not bad. Next one."

Auzra moved without hesitation, his fire jumping smoothly from one wick to another, obeying his every thought. Joker continued pointing at random candles, making the pattern unpredictable, forcing Auzra to stay sharp. He handled it all with precise control—until Joker did what he did best.

The knife came out of nowhere, whistling past Auzra's head with lethal accuracy. It didn't touch him, but it was close enough that the rush of air sent his hair fluttering. His body reacted before his mind did. His heart leapt, and in that split second of surprise, his control snapped.

The reaction was immediate. A pulse of golden fire exploded outward, engulfing half the room in a sudden burst of heat. Candles shattered, their wax melting instantly as flames surged across the warehouse floor.

Auzra gasped, his breath hitching as he scrambled to pull the fire back, but before he could, Joker was already moving through the flames, completely unfazed. He emerged from the inferno with that same infuriatingly calm expression, his gloved hands tucked in his coat pockets.

"Lesson here?" Joker asked, arching a brow.

Auzra clenched his fists, his teeth grinding together in frustration. "Control," he muttered.

Joker's smirk widened. "Good." He motioned toward the remaining unlit candles, his voice smooth but firm. "Do it again."

Joker wasn't going to let Auzra get comfortable relying on raw power. Strength meant nothing without precision. In a fight, a single missed shot could mean the difference between life and death. If Auzra wanted to survive, he needed to strike exactly where he intended—no hesitation, no wasted movement.

Tonight's lesson was all about control.

Joker stepped forward, his boots echoing against the concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse. In his hands, he held five small paper targets, each marked with a single dot at the center. He moved methodically, pinning them around the space—some within clear view, others hidden behind crates, and one placed at an almost impossible angle.

Auzra watched, already tensing.

Joker dusted off his gloves and turned, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "Alright, kid," he said, straightening up. "Here's the deal. You're going to hit only the center of each target. No burning the edges. No missing."

Auzra nodded, his hands balling into fists as he prepared himself.

Joker's smirk deepened. "Oh, and if you do miss—" He pulled a knife from his coat and flicked it effortlessly, embedding the blade into the ground just inches from Auzra's foot. The kid jumped, eyes wide.

"—You do ten push-ups."

Auzra gulped. His arms already ached from the last training session, but he wasn't about to back down. He took a slow breath, steadying his mind, and raised his hand. A tiny ember ignited at his fingertip, glowing a rich gold.

He locked onto the first target—the closest one. With a sharp flick, the ember shot forward, cutting clean through the center of the paper. The dot vanished, leaving behind a perfectly circular hole.

Joker tilted his head. "Not bad."

Auzra allowed himself a small breath of relief before shifting his attention to the second target. This one was farther, positioned at a slight angle. He adjusted his aim, narrowed his eyes, and let the flame loose.

It hit—but slightly off-center.

Joker's smirk returned. "Push-ups, kid."

Auzra groaned but didn't argue. He dropped to the floor, pushing himself through the ten reps without hesitation.

The next few targets were trickier. The one behind the crate forced Auzra to manipulate the path of his flame, curving it midair. The last one required near-perfect timing, hitting the mark just as Joker tossed the paper into the air.

By the time the exercise was over, Auzra was breathing hard, his arms trembling slightly from the extra push-ups he had earned along the way.

Joker studied him for a moment before giving a single nod of approval. "Good enough," he said, though his tone carried an unmistakable challenge. "But next time, I expect perfection."