Intermission 1: Get Rich Quick
When I was twelve, I was friends with a rich girl in Etheria.
Our friendship began in the same place many childhood friendships begin: The school cafeteria. I remember it perfectly. They were serving pizza that day, and my usual table had been taken by the fat kids since it's closest to the pizza line.
I sat at what I thought was an empty table, but this was where the rich girl usually sat. It turned out that we had a lot in common: Favorite color (blue), favorite food (does ice cream count?), favorite day of the week (actually, this is Saturday for pretty much everyone).
We weren't in any of the same classes, so I never spoke to her much, but I couldn't stop thinking about her money.
My family was planning to move north after my dad lost his job, and I hated the cold. I liked it in Etheria. If I could get enough money to pay off the mortgage, then maybe we could stay.
I was twelve at the time, so it never crossed my mind that we'd still have to pay for things like electricity and water.
On the rich girl's thirteenth birthday, she had a huge party. I managed to weasel my way into getting an invite. The moment I was out of sight, I ran upstairs and looked for anything valuable. I hadn't brought a bag or anything, so I ended up stuffing a ring and a cell phone into my coat pocket.
Okay, so I didn't know how much a mortgage was at age twelve. Sue me.
But this is where it gets interesting: Right as I was about to make my escape, I caught fire.
A stray lightning bolt had decided that it was my time to die.
But I didn't. I stood there in searing pain as absolutely nothing happened. It wasn't until much later that I'd find out that the ring belonged to a fire mage.
Maybe the mayor's house also caught on fire at the same time or something, because the firefighters didn't show up until it was far too late. I'm pretty sure no one died in the ensuing house fire, but I wasn't there to see it. I was at home, hiding the ring and cell phone inside my closet. I never did work up the courage to sell them.
But the feeling of fire flickering across my skin never left me. In a few years, I would work up the courage to transfer some of the ring's magic to the cell phone.
I succeeded eventually, but not before accidentally replacing an entire street with lava and incinerating half the neighborhood.
That's why they call me Napalm.
Literally. You know, because of the fiery cell phone? Call me.
