Azric - "Control your fate. If they fear you, make sure they remember exactly who you are."
She had been there for almost two weeks.
Two weeks of destroying training clothes,
burning her fingers, and struggling unsuccessfully to control the fire.
The others were whispering.
By then, most freshmen had learned to
summon their element, conjuring water or wind as needed. Even those lacking
elemental abilities had mastered physical fighting or theoretical exercises. It
seemed that everyone made progress.
She was the only exception.
Elemental magic was simple. Your
elemental affinity—fire, water, earth, or air—was innate, responding to your
call. That's what the rule stated. Most individuals had the ability to generate
their element, drawing on the world around them. Being near water grants the
ability to bend it, even for those whose core affinity is fire. Earth-bonded
recruits could shift stone, even call wind in a pinch. Only your true
element responded fully and one type of power ever belonged to you.
Fire power belonged to her. That's what
they said, following her first uncontrolled flare. The flame mimicked her rage,
twisting and turning in a furious dance. The way heat chased her breath, like
it recognized the taste of her. Aisara didn't believe the fire was hers. It
seemed to her that it wanted to devour her from the inside out.
Aisara, arms crossed, was standing on the
training grounds. Though the midday sun was scorching, it failed in comparison
to the flickering from their hands. She made an effort not to notice how easily
the others summoned their fire or the satisfied smiles on their faces.
She had nothing.
Lysara's voice carried over the field,
smooth, instructive.
"Fire mastery comprises several levels.
At its most basic, you'll summon sparks, control candle flames. The second
level, heat projection, allows you to direct fire. Third, full-body
ignition—you become fire itself. And beyond that…"
A secretive smile played on her lips,
"Well. That takes a special talent."
Aisara wanted to make a spark. Beside
her, Lina bounced, brimming with excitement. "This is going to be amazing." She
turned to Aisara. "Come on, let's do this together." Aisara forced a nod. She
tried. Again and again.
Everyone around them already advanced,
producing streams of fire, sending small embers dancing in the light. The
training yard had gone quiet.
Aisara remained in the center, fists
clenched, face flushed—not with exertion, but with frustration. She'd
tried again. And again—nothing.
Taking a big breath, she summoned the
flame as instructed, but instead of rising from the surrounding air, it
snapped to life. Flames burst from her hands, wild and immediate,
curling into a ring of fire that swallowed the dry grass, scorched the edge of
the training mats, and licked up her sleeves.
She yelped and staggered backward, trying to regain her composure, but the fire
wasn't listening.
Her vision was blurred; her fingers felt
like they were on fire. Somewhere, someone shouted, and then Lysara was there.
Calm. Silent. Moving faster than anyone else. With a practiced flick of her
wrist, she shrugged off her long black cloak and wrapped it around Aisara's
shoulders, smothering the flames. Lysara's voice cut through the stunned
silence.
"Lunchtime. Everyone needs to leave,
except Lina and Aisara." No one argued.
Someone chuckled, then was hushed as
others exchanged glances and murmured. Aisara kept her eyes down, clutching the
cloak tighter around herself. Lina perked up, hoping for praise. Lysara
stepped closer, brushing a hand over Aisara's shoulder, offering, reassuring.
"I'm so proud of you both. Today, you proved you are capable and learning. As a
sign of faith in your abilities, I'd like for you to light the lanterns in the
dining hall this evening."
"That's a great honor!" Lina was
delightedly dancing. The words didn't land right away. It took Aisara a breath,
then two, to register what that meant. "Tonight?" Lina asked, trying to hide
her excitement. Lysara nodded. "It's tradition. The fire ceremony is symbolic.
Discipline, endurance, honor." Her gaze flicked to Aisara. "You'll light the
central flames in the hall."
Aisara stopped moving. Me? Of
all the recruits. Of all the days. After all the disaster. Her voice barely
found her throat. "Is that… wise?"
"That's our decision," Lysara stated.
"You'll represent the flame. Not because you've mastered it—" Her eyes held
steady. "But because you're still learning not to fear it."
Lina's shrill cry caught people's
attention. She flung her arms around Aisara, clinging just long enough to claim
credit.
"Did you hear that? We did it!" She was already halfway across the courtyard,
skipping like a child with a secret off to brag.
There was no smile from Aisara. Dread
coiled low in her stomach, thick and bitter. She'd failed at igniting fire and
now, with her name tied to Lysara's, the stakes had risen. One more public
mistake wouldn't be humiliating, it would be fatal. She needed somewhere quiet,
far from laughter and eyes and whispers. She slipped down a side corridor,
searching for shadows and silence. Where she could try to not fall apart when
she failed. Aisara stepped deeper into the woods, away from the Academy.
She found an abandoned field behind the supply stables that had once been part
of old sparring ground, grass worn flat by time, now overgrown at the edges,
half-swallowed by creeping ivy and wild roots.
It was perfect. Aisara stood in the
center, the wind still, the silence sharp.
Taking a deep breath, she rolled her
shoulders back and tried once more.
Nothing happened. "It shouldn't be this hard!"
Raising her wrist, she curled her fingers, attempting to conjure the flame,
focusing her power into her palm. A momentary flash of brightness that
died.
Taking another breath, she attempted a slower, steadier inhale.
The warmth built in her, coiled through her veins, and for a moment, a flame
curled at her fingertips. It was small and weak.
Mustering all her strength, she pushed
harder.
A flame flared beautifully, strong, before a gust of wind caught it, snuffing
it out instantly.
"Shoot! Come
on! Please—just work."
It rose suddenly. Not like in training—wilder.
Like something ancient had heard her and answered back in force.
Fire erupted from her hands, her feet, her breath. It flooded the field,
swallowing dried grass, licking the trees, curling around her like it wanted
her skin for kindling. The heat cracked her lips. The tunic caught at the hem.
Her hands burned again.
"No-no, no, no, no" The panic hit just as
hard as the flame. She couldn't stop it the fire from spreading. She
tried to rein it in, to pull it back. She had no control. The flames responded
to her emotions, feeding on her panic, growing wilder, reaching out with greedy
hands.
Smoke-like shadows, buffeted by the wind, poured from the treeline, curling,
swallowing, and coiling low and wide. They didn't rush her. They circled,
calculating, coiling between her and the blaze. Ciaran stepped through the
fire, and the flames parted for him. The shadows curled at his feet, swallowing
the fire as he walked, his face unreadable, eyes locked on her.
"Ciaran, listen-"
"Concentrate, Aisara."
Her pulse pounded. She tried. Her fingers trembled. The fire still burned.
Ciaran took another step forward.
"You let emotion control your power. It will consume you." His voice
dropped, and he leaned closer. "Focus on me. Nothing else." His
silhouette appeared through the wall of heat.
"Take a deep breath. Are you listening?"
Aisara's knees wobbled. She clutched her arms, trying to stop shaking.
"You're not dying," he said, walking
toward her—straight through the fire. "You're not being consumed. You're
holding too tight. Let it go." His shadows kissed the edges of her
flames. Not suffocating. Not harsh. Snuffing. Absorbing. Whispering the fire
back into stillness. One by one, the tendrils of flame dimmed. He stopped
in front of her. His expression unreadable. His shadows pulsed once more and
then receded. The flames flickered, faltered, and then died. The last tendrils
of shadow slid across the clearing, snuffing out the embers. The heat faded,
leaving only the charred remnants of grass and trees. Aisara stared at the
damage. Her clothes were gone. The fabric had burned away, leaving only ash
curling at her feet. He didn't say a word. He didn't check if she was injured
or what had happened. He didn't even ask why she did it, just reached
down — slow, silent and peeled his own shirt over his head.
His movement exposed shadow-lined muscle
scars down his ribs, the controlled tension in every part. He stepped forward
and, without permission, pulled it over her head. It was still warm and
smelled like steel, wind, and storm. She didn't speak. Didn't meet his eyes.
Her gaze stayed down, locked on the scorched dirt. But he wasn't letting her
hide. He reached out, hand rough beneath her chin, and lifted her face to
his.
"Are you fucking crazy?" The words hit
harder than the fire ever had.
"You could have died or killed someone
else." She tried to turn her face away, but he held her there. Her gaze lifted,
fury sparking her exhaustion.
"Excuse me?"
A shadow crossed Ciaran's face. "You
don't practice alone. Ever." He stepped back, hands on his hips, jaw tight like
he was swallowing every word he wanted to hurl at her. She stood there, arms
crossed over his shirt, ash streaking her cheek, heat still clinging to her
skin.
"Are you done? Because I had it
handled."
He laughed at her in disbelieve. He
turned back to face her eyes narrowed, expression flat and closed his eyes like
he was praying to every god who hadn't already abandoned him. "Handled?"
he repeated, voice low.
"Yes."
"You were on fire, Aisara."
"Briefly."
"You burned down half a field."
"That's an exaggeration. It is still
standing."
He moved closer to her. "Handled," he
muttered again, half to himself. "You believe that?"
"Why? Are you worried about your shirt?"
"Actually—" His fingers moved down
slowly. Two fingers brushed the hem of the shirt where it grazed her thigh —
soft, precise, deliberate. "I'm thinking of taking it back." Her breath
caught. She couldn't help it.
"If you touch me, you'll be burned."
His eyes met hers, but there was no
smile, no gentleness in them.
"You promise?"
She gave him a shove, hard enough to make
his foot slide back a half step in the ash. He didn't stumble, but his shadows
twitched behind him, like they didn't know whether to defend or devour. He
leaned forward slightly, voice low, lethal, intimate.
"The King made you my problem now and I
don't want to kill you. Or I should I say not just yet."
Then he walked away.
And her skin burned where his shirt still
clung to her thighs.
His voice dropped one last time.
"Get back to the Academy."
He left her standing in the ruins caused by
her own carelessness.