The soothing snoring sound of his parents faded into the background as Jaylen snuck out of his house. His backpack weighed him down, and he felt he was betraying his family by running away. But some other part of him felt only relieved, as he didn't have to be a praetor anymore. Especially with a stranger. How would they rule together if they didn't even know each other? His father's logic was both stupid and infuriating, yet Pompeii was still standing, completely unharmed to the praetor's decisions. 

He cursed himself for his blind eye, the stupid disability he had. Why did he have to be different? He tried not to dwell on it as he left, but he just couldn't. Why did I have to be born this way? Was there any reason? He wondered.

As he wondered, the memories of Pompeii flooded his mind—the roar of the crowd in the amphitheater, the scent of fresh bread from the market, and the ominous rumble of the earth beneath his feet. He remembered the ash, the heat, and then darkness. Pompeii was his old home, back in his last life, the life that still traumatized him. He felt his blindness was a reminder of what happened that day. Maybe the ash had messed with his retina, or some other part of his eye, but that was really unlikely.

The wind suddenly picked up, which was strange, as it was a calm night just a minute ago. Then the wind howled, Little Pyroclast, so fragile yet so powerful. He looked around, trying to find the voice, but failed.

"Hello?" No answer. He tried again, this time louder. "Hello?!" Pyro, be brave, It whispered again. And that was it before the wind left.

The whispers of the wind faded as quickly as they had come, leaving Jaylen alone with the echoes of the voice that seemed to know him—know him in ways no one else did. The night was still once more, but the air around him thrummed with a latent energy, as if charged by the words of the unseen speaker.

Jaylen stood motionless, his heart pounding against his chest. The name 'Pyroclast' reverberated in his mind, a moniker that felt both foreign and intimately familiar. He was no stranger to the whispers of the unseen; they had often guided him in his dreams, dreams where he walked through a city engulfed in flames, yet untouched by the scorching heat.

"Be brave," the wind had said. Bravery was not the absence of fear, Jaylen realized, but the will to move forward despite it. With a deep breath, he stepped into the unknown, the darkness of the night a mere shadow compared to the darkness he had known in Pompeii.

As he walked, the ground beneath him began to tremble, a gentle vibration at first that grew steadily into a rhythmic pulsing. It was as if the earth itself was speaking to him, guiding him. Jaylen followed the pulsations, each step bringing a flash of memory: the laughter of children playing in the streets of Pompeii, the solemn prayers of the priests, the vibrant murals that adorned the walls of the temples.

The pulsing led him to the ruins of an old temple, one that had not been touched by time or tourists. The stones were warm under his hands, and as he pushed against the ancient door, it gave way with a sigh, revealing a chamber lit by a soft, blue light.

In the center of the chamber stood an altar, and upon it, a single feather lay. It was as blue as the deepest ocean, and it seemed to glow with an inner fire. Jaylen reached out, his fingers barely grazing the feather when a voice, clear and resonant, filled the chamber.

"Jaylen, son of Ixchel, you have been called."

The voice was powerful, yet it carried a warmth that enveloped Jaylen like a comforting embrace. He turned towards the source, and there, materializing from the light, was a figure robed in feathers of blue and green. It was the goddess Ixchel, her eyes reflecting the wisdom of the ages.

"You are more than what you have become," Ixchel spoke, her gaze piercing through Jaylen's soul. "You carry within you the fire of creation and the strength of the stars. Your journey has only just begun."

With those words, the goddess reached out, her touch igniting a flame within Jaylen's blind eye. It was not a flame of pain, but of awakening. Visions of his past lives, his divine heritage, and the countless worlds his mother had shaped flooded his mind.

Jaylen knew then that his blindness was not a curse, but a gift—a mark of his godly lineage and a source of untapped power. With Ixchel's guidance, he would learn to wield this power, to become a beacon of hope and a bridge between the gods and humanity.

As the goddess faded into the light, Jaylen was left with a sense of purpose like he had never known. He was Jaylen, the Pyroclast, and his story was just beginning.