Opportunities come but once, and Dominic is still waiting for his.

  He was once a gifted child in mathematics and robotics — the kind of prodigy people expected to have scholarships and internships lined up for years to come. Now he's twenty-three, and those doors are nowhere to be found.

  The golden crown was forged from iron, and no one noticed until it rusted to dust.

  Pain lanced through his right arm as he lifted a case of toilet paper to restock the shelf. Sharp enough to steal the breath from his lungs. Dominic clenched his teeth hard, gritting them, refusing to make a sound.

  The case slipped from his grip, bounced twice, and a roll slipped out, then rolled away across the linoleum floor of the grocery store's back room.

  He stared at the roll a second longer than necessary before bending to pick it up with his left hand. A wave of dizziness hit him as he straightened.

  It's nothing, he told himself. You're just tired from two jobs and a little sore.

  He had told himself the same thing three times today. First, when he woke up feverish after barely sleeping. Second, when he slipped at the construction site, he bruised his ribs and arm badly.

  And now, as the pain and the heat settled deeper into his bones.

  He couldn't afford to be sick. His paycheck wasn't in yet. He needed to eat. He needed to pay rent.

  If things were different, he'd be working a better job in some big tech company, and being sick, he'd be in a hospital bed. Maybe he'd call his dad and stepmother, let them fuss, and eat some of his stepmom's infamous chicken soup.

  But that kind of nostalgia was a luxury he couldn't afford.

  He took a slow, deep breath and went back to restocking.

  The air-conditioned storeroom should have been cold; he usually shivered when he was back here.

  Instead, heat kept crawling under his skin, steady and strange.

  He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. His fever had most definitely worsened.

  It's just the flu, he told himself again. But even as he thought it, heat pulsed once, sharp, almost alive, right behind his ribs.

  He froze. What is that?

  For half a second, the fluorescent lights flickered. In the gap between two shelves, a pair of glowing, hollow eyes stared back at him.

  He blinked. Nothing.

  He moved the boxes aside. An empty shelf.

  Am I hallucinating?

  He shook his head and continued working.

  He didn't notice the faint scorch mark on the roll he had just touched. Or the thin trail of smoke that drifted upward, unnoticed, into the vents.

  The streets never slept in Saesburg. The city smelled of exhaust, roast meat, and the faint salty bite of the ocean that never quite reached the neighbourhood.

  Neon signs flickered in Spanish, English, Chinese, and half a dozen other languages he couldn't read.

  Palm trees lined the streets like tired entities, their fronds ruffling gently in the warm summer breeze.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Everyone is busy with their lives; some are in a hurry to return home, while others are heading to the location of their next hustle, and some are on their way to various bars.

  Either way, no one is going to notice the man in a giant hoodie carrying a white plastic bag filled with instant noodles, canned meats, and energy drinks, standing under the street lights, waiting for the bus to arrive with a handful of others.

  The bus arrived, and he boarded it like everyone else, moving to the back, hoping he'd be alone or sit with someone who knew how to mind their business.

  No luck

  A woman with her crying child sat next to him. How irritating...

  He slipped his earphones in and cranks music on high.

  He was tired. Far too tired. His only desire is to fall asleep somewhere nice and warm.

  He yawns tiredly, eyes already heavy, then rests his head against the cool glass.

  The music playing began to slowly fade into a distant hum, like wind through trees.

  He was running. A shoe was missing, small, and his lungs were burning as he desperately gasped for air.

  Smoke filled his lungs. There was nothing in his line of sight that might be chasing him other than fire burning up a forest.

  The flames that once fascinated him now filled him with fear and fright. The flames danced dangerously as trees, which once stood tall and powerful, turned to ash.

  Despite the roaring flames, he heard something running towards him, and as it approached him, Dominic jerked awake with a gasp, his heart hammering against his bruised ribs.

  The bus was still rumbling along, streetlights gliding past in white streaks. The child next to him had finally quieted down, head sprawled against his mother's shoulder. No one was staring, which was a relief. No one had seen him flinch.

  His earphones had slipped out. The music was gone, replaced by the low humming of the engine and the sound of blood rushing through his veins.

  His right arm throbbed worse than before, but now the pain felt layered. Beneath the ache of overwork and bruises was something hotter; it almost burned, the heat from his fever was no longer creeping up on him, but rather it was as if a flame was placed directly under his skin.

  He stared at his hand, but nothing was happening. Yet his skin felt tight like it was shrinking. He opened and closed his hand several times to see if he could still feel it.

  He could, and it was painful to move. He stared at his hand, which was almost luminous under the bus's dim interior.

  He blinked as he frowned in confusion. Get a grip! He told himself as he pinched his nose bridge. You can't be hallucinating while on public transit... Sleeping on one is bad enough.

  The bus lurched at his stop. He stood too fast, dizziness washing over him. As he shuffled towards the door, he stumbled and caught a handrail. For a split second, the steel glowed dull red, like embers under cooling lava. There was a faint hiss, and the smell of scorched paint filled the air.

  He yanked his hand back, placing it in his pocket, and running out of the bus. What is happening? He didn't know what was going on, nor did he know if anyone had noticed it, but he didn't want to wait long enough for someone to notice and have him in trouble.

  The night air should have cooled him once he stepped out of the bus. Instead, it fed whatever was burning under his skin. He walked faster, almost like he was trying outwalk the heat forming in his spine. This can't be happening! He thought as he headed towards the sagging apartment building three blocks away, the plastic bag swinging from his arm.

  Halfway there, headlights swept over him from ahead. A car moving too fast, too close to the pedestrian lane, swerved at the last second, tyres screeching. Dominic stretched out his arm out of instinct, like that would stop the two-ton vehicle from crushing him to mush.

  Then it happened...

  Time seemed to slow down as heat exploded out of him as he was about to be hit.

  Not metaphorically.

  A whip-crack of flames lashed out from his palm, bright, violent, and wild, striking the car's hood. Metal buckled with a scream. The driver shouted. The vehicle veered hard and slammed into a wall across the street, leaving rubber streaks and the sharp stink of burnt oil.

  Dominic stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, breath ragged, staring at his trembling hand with wide eyes. Tiny orange and blue-white danced between his fingers before dying out.

  Across the street, someone groaned as the car's seat flung open.

  Porch lights flicked on. Doors opened.

  Without thinking, he ran away.

  Inside his tiny studio apartment, he slammed the door shut and locked it. He leaned against it, sliding to the floor as his breathing finally began to slow.

  The smell hit him first, burning plastic. He looked down, and the grocery bag had caught fire.

  "Oh shi--"

  The plastic bag melted, spilling noodles and cans across the floor. He tore off his hoodie and smothered the flames before they could spread. Silence returned.

  He stared at his hands. They were no longer glowing, but the heat remained--alive.

  "What the hell?"