POV: Minhyun

The guard is back with the same white mask over his face. I don't try to get up; I know my body wouldn't be able to if I did. He knows, too. He leaves the food beside me and brings a cup up to my lips. I can't even do that much on my own anymore.

He leaves after feeding me without saying a word, just like every day. Same as always.

With a bit of effort, I manage to turn my head enough to see to my left. The mirror, slightly buried in the dark dirt that covers everything, holds my prison's reflection.

I expect to see myself pale and puffy-eyed, thin, dirty, with rags for clothes and covered in filth. But no. Appearance is important. My clothes are neat and I look as healthy as ever. Aside from the sadness in my eyes, there's nothing to show that I've been caged in at all.

Hours pass. Each second is like an eternity. The dim and unwavering lighting, the dirt underneath my feet, is always the same. The plants don't grow no matter how much time passes. This place is stagnant... it's all horribly artificial.

Until, finally, they arrive.

The first sign is their shuffling footsteps, nervous and anxious. Then the whispers, a shout. And then they appear, armed with cameras, with their luxurious clothes and gasps of 'oh' painted on their curious faces.

They all look at me expectantly, waiting to be shown what they've came to see. And I, of course, can't deny them a show.

I close my eyes and drop my hand to touch the dirt by my side. Even reaching that far is difficult for me. I concentrate until I can feel things flowing around me. The fog finally moves, pushed by the wind surrounding me, wind which I've created. The ground trembles slightly, lifting a few grains of sand and dirt enough to dance within the soft breeze. Shapes are formed in the air.

And then everything halts again. The fog returns and the sand falls to its original place. That's it. No water, nothing of fire. Definitely no strong winds or sudden earthquakes. That's all forbidden. That's all dangerous.

But this is enough. Cameras flash and click, amazed shouts fill my ears. This small show is all they needed to be wowed.

They leave just as they came. Together, crowded close, in tiny steps and with their cameras held in front of them. To the next show they go.

            POV: Aron

I see the red glow from the corner of my eye and jump forward, landing on the next metal bar. Another flame approaches from below. I move to the side. More fire awaits and I dodge it again. I'm out of breath but I can't stop. I climb all over the huge metal structure in my attempts to get away from the flames, jumping from one bar to another. The fire surrounds me, embraces me, so close that I can feel it over each centimeter of my skin. The metal is hardly better. It hurts, burning my skin, but it's not as bad as the fire.

More flames; I move again. I'm nearly at my limit.

I know I have to go back but the fire closes in around me. A new wave of it moves in close, forcing me forward, closer to the edge. No, I can't go that way. Outside of this metal structure is only more fire.

I jump backwards, catching the bar above me with my arms to escape the fire that just barely misses me as it passes.

It does, however, catch my jacket. The fabric goes up in flames, at my skin. And once again there's that familiar pain. That excruciating pain that sharpens every one of my senses to the point where I can even pick up the scent of burning flesh.

I rip it off quickly, letting it fall to the far away floor. The brisk movement causes me to lose my balance. I fall back, the solidity of metal disappearing from underneath my feet.

I'm going to fall. I'll collide against the floor if the flames don't get to me first. Either way, I know I won't die. I'm much too value for that. I'll only feel the pain.

At the last second I manage to grab one of the bars. I can feel the force behind the fall in my arm as well as the exact point that the bone is popped out of place as my weight falls on it completely.

But that's no excuse to stop. I drag myself up even with a dislocated arm, jumping once again over familiar metal bars, waiting to meet the next attack.

I don't have to wait long. The wave comes from above this time, forcing me to move forward. I don't rest, don't halt. I can't. Not when I can still feel the heat from the flames chasing after me.

Finally, it ends.

The flames come to a halt and, exhausted, I let myself fall into a more relaxed position where I am. Not giving a thought to the burns on my back nor to my dislocated shoulder. Distantly, I can hear the applause and admiration of the audience. As always, they're beyond impressed.

The guide calls for their attention and they leave. I'm alone once again.

It takes effort to ignore the ache in my body, but I manage to overcome it long enough to reach ground-level. The cage of burning metal that surrounds this structure continues to keep me from any attempt of leaving.

The medics arrive after a while with their white coats and identical masks. The flames part just enough for them to enter. They remove my clothes and smear creams and potions over my skin that, in a few hours, will have cured each and every one of my mild burns. They bandage up my back and the palms of my blistered hands. I can do nothing but grit my teeth as they grab at my arm.

And, despite my attempts to swallow it back, I scream.

My cry of pain bounces between the metal bars. Obviously they didn't care enough to be gentle while pushing my shoulder back into place.

Once they've dressed me with new, spotless clothes, they leave as well, leaving me sprawled across the floor. There's nothing left for me to do but recuperate enough strength to face the next show.

Seconds before falling unconscious, I see a paper plane approach my prison. A carefully folded little plane of paper. It doesn't reach me though. Once it gets close enough to the wall of flames it lights up and drops to the ground in ashes. Just like the ones before it.

            POV: Ren

I won't do it. I won't get up. I won't obey them so easily dammit!

I hear the doors open and approaching footsteps.

No. They can't obligate me to do anything.

Two masked guards grab me by my shoulders and force me to my feet.

I said no!

But, of course, I can't use my abilities to get them away from me because that's exactly what they want.

The both of them hold me up while the 'tourists' take pictures and wait, staring expectantly and excited to be given a demonstration of my talents.

But I refuse to do it. Not again.

The mirrors around me reflect every angle, every centimeter of my image on their surfaces. Hundreds of replications of my very own tall and slim figure as I hang limply between the guards sustaining me. Messy blond locks fall around my shoulders, silver clothes giving off their own reflections and light, my expressionless face, the chains that hold my hands and feet to this metal display. Through these mirrors I can see everything.

Including the fists that pound against my back and ribs.

I can't hold it back anymore. I can feel the rush through my veins seconds before it escapes from my control. A strong wave of light floods from my body, forcing the guards to back away.

Excited chattering leaves the spectators and the sound of cameras follow along quickly to forever immortalize the unimaginable. They all think this is some kind of show. Some kind of display. Nothing more than a spectacle for their amusement.

It's not for me. I fall to my knees, dejected. Tired with the fact that they do whatever they please with me, that they manipulate me at their whim.

I curl up into a ball like I had been before, just waiting for them to leave.

I have to be stronger. I have to resist. I can't keep letting them do what they want with me. I can't let them get what they want all the time. I won't allow it anymore.

But, in reality, I know that everything will be the same tomorrow. I doubt I'll ever be strong enough.

Something ever so softly bumps into my bare shoulder. I sit up a bit, surprised, and glance behind me to find what that something had been.

On the ground beside me, right on top of the circular scaffold to which I'm tied, I find a small paper plane.

A smile almost crosses my lips because I know who sent it.

I have to twist around in order to reach it with my cuffed hands. Once it's in my grip, I read what's written and tighten my fingers around it. With a piece of coal, I scrawl down a response and hold it up until I can feel a gentle current pulling it. And the plane floats back to where it came from.

This time, I can't help but smile widely.

We're close. We'll make it.

            POV: Baekho

I quickly hide the note and pencil in a corner of the room, in a gap between the floor and wallpaper, when I sense someone approaching. Right after, I return to where I ought to be, retying the gag and with a few hummed notes I close the cuffs that attach me to the chair.

The curtains open as a group of curious people enter behind a guide. One by one they come in and stand around the platform in a circle, right behind the safety fence.

The two guards with them come to my side and remove the gag before rejoining the circle of spectators. The guide moves forward to claim a chair right in front of me.

"Alright, Baekho. Sing for us."

Those are his words but behind them is a whole lot more. I see a silent promise of pain in his expression, a hidden threat in his eyes. Someone will be punished if I don't do my part.

If this man had any ability, it'd be killing with a single look. Luckily for me, he doesn't have one. Although, even if he can't kill with his glares, he does have the power to kill me. Or, at least, the power to order someone else to kill me. Which is even worse because when you have to kill someone you think twice but when you only have to give the order you can be much more cruel. And those eyes just radiated cruelty.

It's always an internal battle with the same outcome. I don't want to give him what he wants. I don't want anyone to get hurt either.

Ducking my head, I sing. Only a simple note, one that's sweet and clear and that makes everything in the room vibrate.

The curtains flutter, the clothes and hair of the people watching curve into interesting shapes. Everything moves at my will.

I have to resist the urge to strangle the guide with the collar of his own shirt. I know it wouldn't amount to anything.

The note rises an octave and everything moves faster, more violently. There's no wind. Everything appears to be moving all on its own.

Gradually, I quiet down. I return to my silence and glance over the faces of my audience.

Fear. They're much more intelligent than their guide. They've noticed the potential danger.

The guide, satisfied, stands and gives the 'tourists' a signal to leave. The tour has ended and he takes them to the exit.

The guards trail behind long enough to reunite me with the gag before hurrying after the group.

I wait until they're gone and, when I sense that they've to the next hall, I hum a few more notes to undo the cuffs around my wrists and ankles. I finish the note I had been writing and fold it into the shape of a plane. Holding it close to the other two that I've already written, I toss them away from me, using my voice to direct them to their destinations.

One of them burns, I can feel it as it disappears from my control. It's the one for number 2, the guy in a cage. I never manage to get my notes to him.

The note of the sleeping boy makes it though. He reads it and buries it with the rest. The boy of light writes a reply and holds it out in front of him so that I can grab it again.

With an absentminded smile on my lips, I drag it back towards me.

I smile because I know this will work. We'll stand up to our captors.

But I also smile because my little one has responded. His notes are the only thing that gives me the strength to continue on with this. I've never seen him and it's starting to seem like something very necessary to me.