A mild walk to the cliffs and he had found a place of perfection and solitude. Mainly perfect for practicing his abilities. There was no one around to hear him or watch him write down notes about himself, as if he were some type fo experiment. No one to interrupt his concentration and nothing for him to truly light on fire. And anything that could be, could easily be pushed into the ocean. A safe place for his talent... for the talent that left things in cinders. A mild way to put what his palms were capable of. He could summon fire, like his father before him and his grand-father and great-grand-father before that. Of course, the generations went on and on. And of course, Khyrs was expected to pass the gene on. Someday at least... he might have children.

If he wasn't nervous around women or people in general. He had only loved one woman and she had betrayed him. Plain and simple. And even before that he was a nervous wreck around the opposite sex. Not that he needed to be with his physical appearance and all. But he was. Khyrs smoothed his dreads back and ran his hand down the long sleeved white shirt he wore. Plain black jeans and tennis shoes completed his attire. Then there were the gloves he wore. They were skin tight and prevented friction against his skin. Useful and always worn, even when wearing his nice teaching clothes. Students often wondered about them and asked. Mr. Edwards would rarely answer.

He slowly removed the gloves, setting them aside and licking his dry lips. Here is where he would practice and get a little stress off his shoulders. After all, he would have to be teaching soon and teens had a habit of making their teacher stressed. Especially 'gifted' students. All wanted to show off their powers, or at least most, and then there were the wicked tongues. He grimaced just thinking about his brother, let alone a room full of kids Joey's age.

He brushed his palms together in one swift movement and fire formed in them. He tossed the fire aside and kneeled down, his hand brushing over a rock and he felt the flame ignite and grow swiftly. A bonfire size and a simple practice. It died down quickly, with nothing to feed on. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Yep, he was still pretty good at what he did. It was then he bit the inside of his cheek and held his hands together, causing sweat to form.

He rubbed the sweaty palms together and a flame rose in his hand. It flickered an odd color and he spit into it. The flame sizzled and grew. Greek fire, indestructible by water. Khyrs clamped his hands over it and the fire died. Needed oxygen though. He sighed and slipped his gloves back on, so no incident would occur while he sat down and pulled a pen and notepad from his pocket, writing directions to this exact place... for future reference and stress relief.