✿ Flashback ✿
Alex's mind was in a turmoil.
He had just met the woman that had caused his early birth and his mother's coma.
Or rather, the ghost of the woman.
Had it all been a dream?
Currently, Alex was on his father's back and on their way back to their car that was parked at the entrance to the forest.
The scene around them flew by as his father seemingly flew across the forest. He wasn't afraid at all, even though they were going faster than what a human should be capable of.
Despite the animosity he had borne for his father since young, he knew that his father would never do anything to hurt him nor would let any harm come to him.
His subconscious knew the truth, even if he had been stubbornly denying it and constantly defying his father all this while.
Alex's hands were still trembling a bit at the experience.
Not over the journey, but over the 'meeting'.
When his father had told him that he had someone to meet, never in his wildest dream did he think it would be the person that had caused all of his initial hate towards his father.
First, he had to dress up all in black - and it was a similar outfit as his father (yes, he was annoyed by that as well). They drove for a while, out of the city until he stopped by the side of a road that led to a forest.
Then, he reluctantly climbed onto his father's back and had his first 'flight' whereby his father brought him to this obscure place deep in the forest. After being placed down, he saw an unmarked grave.
The grave of that woman.
He barely heard what his father said after telling him who the grave belonged to. His anger had surged then, nearly blinding him.
This was another thing that he was burdened with, as a 'Smith'.
They were cursed, in a sense, with the blood of a cruel and blood-thirsty man that was easily prone to anger. Their history was dark and bloody, as the infamous Smith Anger would cause uncontrollable masacres.
The problem was, it seemed that only the exceptional ones would be cursed with this. Perhaps, that was the way the playing field was leveled a bit.
It was through concentrated efforts and a huge overhaul of the Family for the Smiths to finally stablise their foundation. Only those who could control their anger (rather than their anger controlling them) would be worthy of being the Head of the Smith Family and be the CEO of Smith Industries..
His father had managed to control his Smith Anger at a very young age. In fact, they had first suspected that despite his high intelligence, he was not cursed with the Smith Anger. He was too matured and abnormal from birth, never throwing a tantrum or getting angry at all.
So his father was a legend for it - but Alex was the exact opposite.
He was the epitome of the holder of the 'Smith Anger'.
All Alex wanted to do right now was to destroy that little stone that was the only indicator that there was a grave there. He wanted to smash it, kick and stomp on the ground. His eyes were red and he started breathing heavily as he tried to suppress his anger.
He wished the person had been alive so that he could make her return the pain that she had given to his mother. Ten-fold.
He was so immersed in his anger that he was shouting at his father when his father talked to him, asking him about his feelings.
The next thing he knew, he had fallen into some deep, dark hole.
Or rather, his entire surroundings disappeared and he faced the ghost of the woman who had tried to kill his mother. And him.
It had been one heck of an experience and a huge step for him.
They had reached their car and Alex got down from his father's back deftly. He went inside and sat quietly, his mind recalling the meeting with the ghost.
Sarah was her name.
She had been nice and polite to him while he had blasted at her. Still, he managed to hear her words and actually listen. Which was a good thing, for she had made him face his feelings of resentment towards his father, and to accept certain hard truths.
Though he handled that meeting well and learned from it, he was still trembling a bit.
He was but a kid, after all. Just 5 years old.
So it was only natural that he would be greatly affected by meeting the ghostly figure of the woman who made him confront the hate that was deeply buried in him.
An adult would be affected, so his reaction was already commendable.
Both of them did not talk at all as Kyle drove towards the city. He parked the car and Alex got out obediently.
He looked around and asked, "Where are we?"
Kyle didn't answer at first and looked at Alex, then he pointed at his face.
Alex sighed and pulled up the turtleneck sweater to cover the lower half of his face. When his father had first told him to do so back at the forest, he thought his father was a bit weird.
Who would they meet in the forest?
Yet, his father had insisted and said not to take things for granted. Alex didn't know what the material was made out of, but it certainly wasn't wool. It was actually quite soft and cooling and there was no difficulty breathing through it.
Alex and Kyle were dressed almost identically: black shirt, black pants.
The only difference was that while Alex worse a black turtleneck shirt, Kyle wore a black singlet that clung to his body like a second skin. It showcased his lean muscular body.
His bare arms showed a dragon tattoo that started from his shoulder to his elbow. Actually, it was two dragons. One black and one red, curling around his arm, starting from his shoulder all the way down to his wrist. Their bodies intertwining with the heads curved down and meeting each other's nose, forming a heart.
This was one of the ways people identified him as 'Ice'.
The other being his piercing blue eyes that no one dared to look into as it seemed to be able to suck the soul out of your body.
Alex looked up at his father and asked, "There. Happy?"
"Very," Kyle replied, grinning.
"So where are we?" Alex asked as he walked beside Kyle.
"Where we are isn't important," Kyle replied, "What we're going to do is."
"So what are we going to do?"
"Beat up people," Kyle told him.
Alex almost stopped walking, and frowned as he glared at his father, "You do realise I'm only five?"
"Ah yes, there is that," Kyle said, "I only started when I was 9. You're right. Maybe you're too young and not ready yet."
Alex's eyes narrowed, "I am not too young."
The corner of Kyle's lips went up a bit as he raised an eyebrow, "Oh? I seem to remember someone saying he's only five?"
"I'm only stating a fact," Alex replied with a straight face.
"That you did," Kyle agreed, "That you did. Before we begin though, you need a street name."
"I get to decide?" Alex asked, his eyes wide.
"Of course," Kyle said, "It's your name after all."
"Huh, he says that now but then he goes and gives me such a mouthful of a name," Alex mumbled under his breath.
Kyle held back his laughter upon hearing his son's complaint.
"So? What is it going to be?" he asked.
"How am I supposed to decide so fast?! Couldn't you have given me a heads-up?"
Kyle rolled his eyes, "I'll call you Ash then. I'm Ice, your mother is Fyre, so naturally, you must be Ash."
"Cinder," Alex declared upon hearing his father, "What sort of name is Ash. It's like something that has burned out and has no value. I am not worthless."
"Cinder, huh," Kyle said with a smile, "That's apt indeed. Cinder is a pyroclastic material, and are fragments of solidified lava. So kinda like the natural product of something that fiery hot which has been cooled down by ice."
Alex gave his father a weird look, "No, I am Cinder because I look like a harmless piece of coal - but can actually burst into flames at anytime."
Kyle's smile got wider, "That too. Which is why I said it's apt."
Alex stared at Kyle's tattoo and asked, "Can I get a tattoo, too?"
The smile on Kyle's face dropped instantly, "No."
"You have one," Alex said, "Sure, the one you have now is fake but under that, is your real one."
"You're only five," Kyle pointed out.
"So? I'm the son of Ice and Fyre. You have a tattoo, Mum has a tattoo…" Alex began when a voice cut in.
"My my my, what do we have here? A lovely father and son duo walking into our domain without paying the entry fee?"
Kyle and Alex stopped, then looked at each other.
"Wow," Alex said in wonder as he turned to look at the group of people that were standing in front of them.
There were five of them, hair dyed in various colours and dressed typically like some gangster from an old movie: ripped t-shirt and jeans, with chains around the belt.
"Look, Father," Alex said loudly, "Stupid people."