Davina, who had been quietly observing from the side, finally spoke up. "You make it sound like magic is just about taking and giving. But that's not all there is to it."
Kol turned to her, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Oh? Enlighten me, love."
Davina crossed her arms. "Magic is also about connection. About intention. It's not just a cold transaction—it's alive."
Kol chuckled, the sound low and smooth. "Ah, the idealism of youth." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "You're not wrong, darling. Magic is connection—threads linking all living things. But don't mistake the thread for compassion. It doesn't care how you pull, only that you pull with precision. In the end, nature doesn't care about sentiment. It only cares about balance."
Bonnie frowned. "Then why do some spells require emotions? Why do we feel magic when we cast?"
Kol's smile curved, sharklike. "Because emotions are energy. They're raw, chaotic, unrefined power. Passion fuels a spell; rage strengthens a curse; grief," he said softly, almost fondly, "can drag the dead back for one last dance—temporarily, anyway." His grin widened. "Magic likes a bit of drama."
Rebekah smirked. "Like you don't."
Davina wasn't satisfied. "But if that's the case, why do some spells work better with a coven—with a group?"
Kol's smirk softened, the teacher peeking through the predator. "Because magic also responds to will resonance. One witch alone can control the current, but together, their frequencies align. Power multiplies. It's why covens exist—to share burden and amplify reach. A coven doesn't make you stronger—it makes your intention louder."
Bonnie's voice was quiet, sharp. "And why do you prefer to work alone?"
For just a heartbeat, Kol's smile faltered. Then he shrugged. "I have… trust issues."
Rebekah rolled her eyes. "That's an understatement."
Davina leaned forward, restless energy flickering in her aura. "So, are we actually going to practice something, or are we just going to listen to you monologue all day?"
Kol laughed—a rich, amused sound. "Oh, I like her." With a flick of his fingers, a candle on the table flared to life. "Fine, little witch. Let's start simple. Control the flame. Make it grow, make it shrink, but do not extinguish it."
Bonnie and Davina exchanged glances before focusing on the candle.
Caroline leaned back, lips quirking. "This should be fun."
Rebekah grinned. "Oh, absolutely."
Kol folded his arms, watching. The flame trembled faintly, tugged by their will. Bonnie's magic pressed against it—forceful, deliberate. Davina's, however, slid around it like silk, coaxing rather than commanding. The difference was immediate.
"Good," Kol murmured. "Now, make it dance. Heighten it. Bend it. Shape it. But keep it alive."
Bonnie furrowed her brow, lifting her hand. The flame obeyed, stretching upward like a spear of gold before curling back into itself. Davina's moved more gracefully, weaving and dipping, mimicking a serpent's sway.
Rebekah leaned closer. "Is it just me, or does Davina's flame move more naturally?"
Kol smirked, pleased. "Very observant, sister. Bonnie forces the flame—structured, deliberate, effective but rigid. Davina invites it—she syncs her rhythm to its pulse. One dominates, the other harmonizes."
Bonnie shot him a look. "So what, I'm doing it wrong?"
Kol chuckled. "No, little witch. You're both right. One method commands; the other persuades. Magic isn't about right or wrong—it's about alignment. The more your intent mirrors the element's nature, the less it resists."
Davina smiled faintly. "So magic resists?"
Kol turned, pleased by the question. "Of course. Magic has inertia. Every element has memory. Fire remembers hunger. Water remembers depth. Earth remembers pressure. Air remembers movement. When you shape them, you're not creating—you're negotiating."
He gestured lazily at the flames. "You can force obedience, but it's like wrestling gravity. Sooner or later, it wins."
Bonnie exhaled, closing her eyes, reaching deeper. The flame sharpened, its hue brightening toward white-hot. Heat shimmered around it, the air distorting. Her energy was steady, but aggressive—control through dominance.
Davina, meanwhile, softened her presence. Her flame dimmed, glowing amber, its warmth pleasant, nurturing. Not consuming. The air around hers felt alive—calm, responsive.
Caroline tilted her head. "That's… different. Bonnie's feels like a wildfire. Davina's is like a hearth."
Kol nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Fire mirrors its wielder. Destruction or warmth—it's a reflection of intent. Fire doesn't ask what you want. It asks what you feel."
Bonnie bit her lip. "And what if I wanted to do the opposite?"
Kol's smirk sharpened. "Ah. Curiosity—good." He turned his hand over, the flame at his fingertips shifting color, deepening from orange to violet. "Every element has polarity. Fire's is cold. Heat and cold are not opposites—they're points on the same axis. Manipulate one, you manipulate the other."
Davina frowned. "But we don't have a water source here."
Kol snapped his fingers. Droplets condensed from the air, hovering above each flame. "Magic is not about what you have, but what you comprehend. Understand the essence, and you can manifest it. Materia sequitur mentem—matter follows mind."
Bonnie looked from the suspended water to the fire, hesitant. "So how do I change fire into water?"
Kol raised a brow. "That's the question every true sorcerer asks. You don't change it by extinguishing it—you change it by redefining its function." He smiled faintly. "You convince reality it's mistaken."
Then, with casual ease, Kol extended his palm. A pale blue flame flickered to life—silent, luminous, utterly still. It gave off no heat; instead, frost began to spread across his skin. The room temperature dropped, frost etching delicate patterns on the table. The fire didn't burn—it consumed warmth itself.
"This," he said softly, "is a restructured element. Fire that devours heat instead of producing it. Cold fire. The alchemists called it Ignis Contrarius."
Bonnie and Davina stared, mesmerized.
Davina whispered, "You inverted its nature."
Kol nodded. "Precisely. Fire isn't bound to heat, just as ice isn't bound to cold. Both are expressions of energy—kinetic or potential. Control their intent, and you control their form."
Bonnie frowned thoughtfully. "But how? How do you convince an element to change?"
Kol smiled faintly, extinguishing the blue flame. "By speaking its language."
He raised a finger, and faint glyphs appeared midair, rotating slowly. "Every element has resonance—a frequency. When your magic's vibration matches that resonance, it listens. Not because you're stronger, but because you're in tune."
He gestured toward the candle. "Fire's resonance is movement—constant oscillation. Water's is rhythm. Earth's is stillness. Air's is freedom. When you align your spell's frequency to theirs, they obey naturally."
Davina's brow furrowed, fascinated. "So that's why covens chant in rhythm—they're matching frequency?"
Kol's grin turned approving. "Exactly. Chanting synchronizes collective will. It's physics masquerading as ritual."
He looked to Bonnie. "Now—try again. Don't fight it. Persuade it."
Bonnie focused. Instead of forcing the flame down, she softened her will, letting her breath guide her rhythm. She envisioned stillness—preservation, not consumption. The flame wavered, stilled, and then shifted. For a fleeting second, it turned pale blue before fading into nothing, leaving a thin line of frost on the rim of the candle.
Davina gasped. "She did it."
Kol's eyes gleamed. "Not transformation yet—but cessation. You convinced it to stop being what it was. That's the first step toward elemental transmutation."
Rebekah, watching from the corner, grinned. "I have to admit, this is far more entertaining than I expected."
Caroline crossed her arms. "Okay, but how is any of this useful in an actual fight? You can't exactly lecture fire into submission mid-battle."
Kol laughed, the sound rich with amusement. "Ah, my dear Caroline, that's where instinct replaces intellect. Once you understand the principle, you don't think—you feel. You'll command fire as easily as you breathe."
He turned back to Bonnie and Davina. "Now, let's make this interesting. You've learned to tame it—let's see if you can weaponize it."
He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing with a faint magical pulse. "Outside," he said, nodding toward the courtyard. "We need space."
Rebekah raised a brow. "You're not making them fight you already?"
Kol's grin was feral. "Of course I am. You expect them to learn by talking? Magic is instinct as much as intellect. They'll learn faster if their survival depends on it."
He gestured for the door to open on its own. Wind swirled around him, carrying sparks of blue flame in lazy circles. "You two will duel me—using only flame. No sigils, no rituals. Just raw elemental will."
Bonnie swallowed. Davina smiled, fire flickering at her fingertips.
Kol's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Lesson two," he said, stepping outside, "is about control under pressure."
He turned, blue fire blooming along his arms like living frost. "Let's see if you can make your flames dance when the fire dances back."
Caroline huffed. "And I suppose you're going to go easy on them?"
Kol laughed, sharp and unbothered. "Darling, I am going easy on them. If I weren't, they'd be nothing but cinders before they finished their first spell."
Bonnie rolled her eyes, muttering, "Comforting." Davina, though, looked intrigued. "Alright," she said, squaring her shoulders. Determination burned in her eyes. "Let's do it."
They followed Kol outside.
The night was cool and heavy, the air thick with moisture. The clearing beyond the mansion was surrounded by whispering trees, their branches creaking softly under the silver wash of moonlight. The ground was damp with the scent of moss and earth — grounding, quiet, waiting.
Kol stretched his arms lazily, as though about to conduct an orchestra. "Let's begin, then."
He snapped his fingers.
A small spark bloomed in his palm — flickering, alive — then unfurled into a golden serpent of fire, coiling around him like a living thing. The flames moved as though aware, rippling with each breath he took, their edges tinted faintly blue with power.
"Elemental ignition," Kol murmured, almost to himself. "Always start with rhythm."
Bonnie and Davina exchanged a glance.
They separated instinctively, each taking position on opposite sides of the clearing. Their magic shimmered faintly in the air — Bonnie's like a steady pulse of heat, Davina's like threads of lightning just beneath her skin.
Davina struck first. She flicked her wrist, the air snapping as she expelled her will forward — a thin arc of flame slicing toward Kol's chest. The heat distorted the air around it, but Kol barely shifted. He sidestepped casually, the flame missing him by inches and dissipating in a harmless spiral of embers.
Bonnie followed immediately. Her fingers carved a sigil midair — three quick slashes and a circle — and a whip of fire burst forth, glowing faintly blue at its tip. She cracked it toward Kol's legs, the sound cutting through the night like thunder.
He spun, fluid and effortless, the whip slicing through empty air.
Kol grinned, almost delighted. "Oh, come now, little witches. That's child's play."
With a flick of his wrist, the serpent of fire coiled outward, unraveling into a broad wave that surged toward them like a cresting tide. The air roared.
Bonnie's reflexes snapped into place — she thrust her palms forward, summoning a shimmering barrier of condensed flame. The shield rippled, its edges bright and molten. Kol's fire hit it, splitting into two currents that swirled around her before rejoining behind her back, the sheer pressure of it sending her stumbling backward.
Davina didn't wait. She'd been watching him — studying his rhythm, the subtle pauses in his movement, the way his magic responded to his body language. Instead of another linear strike, she altered her approach. Her fingers danced in rapid succession, summoning six orbs of fire that spun around her like satellites.
"Vector casting," Kol murmured, eyes gleaming. "Impressive."
Davina sent the orbs flying — one after another, each from a different trajectory, their paths erratic and unpredictable. Kol pivoted, weaving through them as if he could feel their intent. His fire serpent flared, intercepting a few midair, consuming them whole.
"Better," he called out, voice echoing through the clearing. "But predictable."
He raised a hand, and the surviving orbs paused mid-flight — then turned.
Bonnie's eyes widened. "He reversed the flow—!"
Before she could react, their own fire attacks came racing back toward them.
Bonnie cursed, twisting her wrist to redirect. Her own flames bent upward, dissipating harmlessly into the night sky, the air humming with displaced energy.
That was when Kol moved.
He slammed his foot against the ground, a pulse of magic radiating outward. The soil glowed faintly red as heat rippled through the clearing, forming a fiery shockwave that rippled like liquid magma beneath their feet.
Davina leapt back, her motion clean and light — but Bonnie was caught in the edge of it. She threw her hands up again, summoning a counterforce, but the concussive heatwave knocked her back a few steps, dirt scattering beneath her boots.
Kol tsked softly, shaking his head. "Still reactive, not proactive," he said. "You wait for fire to move before you act, instead of moving with it."
Davina exhaled sharply, refocusing. "Then let's change that."
She shifted her stance, grounding herself. Instead of forcing her flame, she recalled his earlier words — preserve rather than consume. The fire she summoned this time was different: slower, thicker, its color deepening to crimson. It didn't crackle; it hummed.
Kol's eyes brightened. "Oh? Someone was paying attention."
Bonnie followed suit, drawing in a long, steady breath. She funneled her magic inward, compressing the heat instead of spreading it. Her flames folded in on themselves until they burned a deep, icy blue, the air around her rippling from pressure instead of temperature.
Kol smiled faintly. "Now we're getting somewhere."
He flicked his wrist — a challenge. A roaring wave of flame surged toward them, taller than a man and hot enough to sear the grass black.
But this time, they didn't block.
Bonnie's compressed fire pulled at the oncoming blaze, feeding off its energy. Davina's redirected the surplus, bending the current sideways. The two forces collided midair, creating a burst of white light before collapsing into harmless embers.
Kol didn't dodge. He stepped through the residual glow, unscathed, his aura thrumming. The energy rolled off him like static. He looked genuinely pleased.
"Not bad," he admitted. Then his grin returned — wolfish. "But you're still thinking in definitions."
He stomped again — this time with intent. The shockwave wasn't fire but heat itself, invisible and suffocating. The ground cracked beneath his feet, the air shimmering so violently it distorted his form. The temperature spiked, the night wind vanishing as oxygen itself seemed to thin.
Both witches staggered, sweat glistening on their skin, their flames faltering under the oppressive wave.
Kol rolled his shoulders, voice calm but commanding. "You're adapting well, but you're still thinking like mortals. Fire isn't just heat. Fire is destruction, transformation, hunger, rebirth. It is life's first act of defiance. If you wish to control it—"
He raised his hand. The serpent of flame reformed, circling him again, this time almost translucent — white at the edges, blue at its heart.
"—then you must become it."
Bonnie grit her teeth, her voice hoarse. "And how exactly do we do that?"
Kol smirked, holding up a single finger. "Simple."
The air vibrated. Even the trees seemed to lean back, sensing what was coming.
"Stop trying to control fire," he said, eyes glinting with mischief and power. "Instead…" His voice dropped, deep and resonant. "…command it."
He snapped his fingers.
The world ignited.
A massive pillar of flame erupted from the ground, spiraling upward like a living dragon. It roared with sentience, heat and color bending into impossible hues — white, violet, gold — casting the clearing in shifting light. The trees trembled. The ground shuddered.
For an instant, even the moonlight dimmed beneath the inferno.
Kol stood at its center, utterly calm, his expression one of serene amusement.
"Lesson two," he said, his voice cutting through the roar, "is understanding that fire does not serve the fearful."
He looked at them — sweat-soaked, trembling, alive with adrenaline and defiance.
"Now," he murmured, a smirk curling his lips, "show me if you're still afraid."
The lesson had only just begun.