Yes, I know! I have, like, 10 stories to update. But, hear my excuse, Frosted is nearing the end, so this is kinda taking its place. I'm working on the second last chapter for Frosted now, but something is missing, don't know what, but I'll work it out.

Meanwhile, enjoy the first chapter!

He opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by flames. He gasped as he backed up. The flames edged ever closer.

Jackson heard a whoosh behind him, followed by a scorching heat. From what he could see in the corner of his eyes, more flames had erupted behind him.

The seven year old began to panic. What was he even doing here?

He could people shouting and the sound of metal clashing with metal. A battle. Through the flickering fire, he could make out men in heavily clad armour, fighting village folk. As Jackson peered closer, he realised the villagers all had white hair. He stood on his toes, trying to see if he could spot something else.

Bad idea. He tripped forward and had to reel back immediately to avoid falling face first in the flames. "Help." He whispered as the flames pressed closer. They licked his skin gently, flickering brightly and coming closer.

The young boy barely had space. Everything around him was burning and it was getting harder to breathe. The smoke choked him, trying desperately to pull the life from him.

Jackson could hear victorious yells. Someone had won the battle. He didn't know who. He was too busy trying to find a way to safety.

"Search the village!" He heard a voice order. "Make sure no more are left!"

Footsteps scattered and Jackson heard the man talking to someone else. Judging by how far their voices were, Jackson could tell they were close. As the fire came impossibly closer. This was his only chance.

"Someone!" He shouted, desperately. He heard the talking cease. They hadn't left? Had they? "Please, help me!"

"Stay here." It was the man who had been yelling orders earlier who spoke to his companion. His heavy footsteps came towards Jackson...

..Then turned away!

"I'm over here!" Jackson called, shrieking as he realised the large shirt he was wearing had caught on fire.

"Keep shouting!" Jackson was told. But the boy couldn't make sense of it. His mind was becoming blank and fuzzy. Spots appeared in his vision and he struggled to stay on his feet.

He kneeled down as carefully as possible, realising he could breathe a bit easier, the closer he got to the ground. So he lay down on his stomach, breathing coming easier. That was when he called.

"Help! I'm down here!" He ignored the burning clothe of his oversized shirt in favour of the silhouette of a man that had appeared in front of him.

"Goodness!" The man gasped. He kneeled beside the boy, ignoring the fire which beat against his fireproof armour. He slapped the flames off of Jackson's shirt. The seven year old himself was ready to fully black out. "Come on, kid. Stay with me." The man picked him up, and proceeded to get him out of the burning inferno.

Jackson fought for consciousness as he heard his saviour talking to his companion. "He needs medical attention, now! I found him laying on the ground, calling for help."

"General, was that all he was wearing?!" Jackson thought the man must be the General. He looked weakly at his clothing. The only thing he wore was the shirt, which went down to his knees.

"Indeed. The shirt was burning when I arrived."

He was handed to the other man, who lay him down on the soft grass. He moaned at the pain which shot through his body. The man pulled shirt up so he could see his thighs. Horrible, swelling burns were revealed on his left leg. The way they twisted down his leg was horrific. The shirt was quickly pulled back down. The burn, however, went all the way down his left leg.

Jackson closed his eyes, not wanting to see the twisting monsters that curled on his leg. "Who are you?" He whispered, directing the question to the General.

"My name is General Kozmotis Pitchiner. What's your name, my boy?"

Jackson frowned, his eyes still shut. He could remember his first name, but Kozmotis had told him his last name. It would be polite to tell the man his last name. 'Overland.' The thought blossomed in his head and it felt right.

"Jackson Overland." He told the General.

"Everything's going to be alright, Jackson. Do you know what happened to your family?"

He had a family? He couldn't remember having a family. Jackson didn't think he had one. When he told this to the General, the man frowned.

"We'll find somewhere for you to stay. It might take a while. But we will." Kozmotis looked down at the shivering boy. He pulled his red cloak off and but it over Jackson, before picking him up. "Until then, you can stay with me."

Jackson snuggled into the armour of the General, ignoring the pain that shot up his leg. "Thank you.. He whispered, feeling himself drift off.

He vaguely noticed people talking, but he only made sense of one sentence.

"..most likely be stuck with a permanent limp.."

Jackson didn't mind. He could live with a limp. And anyways, he knew Kozmotis would make sure he was alright. He had no reason to fear.

With this thought in mind, he fell asleep, blissfully unaware of the pain.

10 Years Later

He woke to a pounding on his door. "Jackson! Get up and unlock your freaking door!"

Jackson groaned. "Geez! Calm down. I'm coming!"

He stopped by the mirror and looked at his reflection. Brown tussled hair topped his head, going perfectly with the chocolate brown of his eyes. He lifted his tanned hand to muss up his hair even more before heading to the door.

He unlocked the door, being careful to take his time.

"Jackson Overland!" The deep baritone yelled on the other side. "I swear if you don't-"

He never finished his rant as Jackson swung the door open, hitting him in the face.

He pushed the door aside, growling, "You did that on purpose!"

"Of course not." Jackson gave him a gleaming smile of innocence, which was met with a snort of disbelief.

"Sure. Did you pack like I told you to?"

The older male was pleasantly surprised when the 17 year old pulled out a packed rucksack. "You think I'm stupid." Jackson whined.

"Yes. Either that or ridiculously mad."

Jackson ignored the insult as he began to bombard his older brother with questions.

"Where we going this time? What you going after? Can I come with you this time?!"

The raven haired man rolled his eyes.

"We're going to Soviet. One of my men reported a Cossack. Apparently, he snatched their entire months supply of food. And no."

"What!?" Jackson groaned. "Why?!"

"You know exactly why." Jackson was told.

"Can I get a reminder?"

The raven haired man sighed, as if he went through this often.

"Because.. as my brother, you will be targeted to use against me."

"I can handle myself!" Jackson protested as they grabbed a little bit to eat before heading outside.

"Of course you can." Was the sarcastic reply.

"C'mon, Kozzy!"

Jackson got a small slap to his head, which didn't hurt much, but he couldn't help but make a big deal out of it.

"OW! That hurt!" He faked, pretending to wipe away tears.

"Well maybe, if you called me by my proper name, then maybe, I wouldn't have to remind you like that."

Jackson pouted. "Fine! Let me come, Kozmotis! I promise I won't get in the way! I just wanna help."

Jackson clambered onto the black horse after Kozmotis, who was ready to set off.

"And you'll be helping by staying inside the camp with my men."

"Your men are boring. They never even talk to me." Jackson started as Kozmotis gently kicked to horse, prompting it to trot.

"They aren't there to amuse you." Kozmotis reminded him. "They're there to protect you."

Jackson sighed dejectedly before reaching into the saddlebag and pulling out a piece of wood and a whittling knife.

The wood was chipped, signifying previous progress. As Jackson whittled in a depressed silence, he noticed a rustling coming from the woods. He looked up at Kozmotis, who either didn't notice or was ignoring it. Jackson decided it was the former. His brother would never ignore movement coming from the shadows. Being constantly on the hunt for dangerous creatures didn't allow for ignorance.

Jackson peered more closely, realising that the rustling had stopped.

The boy shrugged it off, continuing whittling the half-made flute.

"So, Soviet?" Kozmotis nodded. "North or South?"

"North. And before you ask, no. Nothing you say will change my mind."

Jackson groaned. "Come on! I'm not a seven year old anymore!"

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?"

"The 'no' part."

They continued to bicker, the suspicious movement in the wood, forgotten.