Morning sunlight filtered through the towering pines, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor. The boy trudged beside Matteo, his wooden sword tapping rhythmically against his hip. Each step felt longer than the last. 'Why do we have to go so far?' he asked, his voice tinged with impatience.
Matteo's gaze remained fixed ahead, his voice calm. "Because some places hold more power than others," he said. "The energy we seek flows through the world like rivers beneath the surface. Certain places—places like where we're headed—are where those rivers converge. They amplify everything: the flow of the world, your connection to it, and your ability to listen."
The boy frowned, kicking at a loose pine cone in his path. "But couldn't we practice anywhere?"
Matteo stopped, turning to face the boy. His dark eyes seemed to pierce through the shadows, sharp with a knowing glint. "We could," he said. "But you don't want to waste effort fighting against the current when you're still learning to swim." He gestured ahead to where the trees thinned. "This place will help you feel the flow. Trust me."
Finally, they emerged into a clearing. The towering pines formed a natural boundary around the space, their spindly shadows stretching across the forest floor. At the center of the clearing stood a large, flat stone, weathered smooth by time. The boy stopped, his gaze drawn to the stone's surface. Sunlight filtered through the branches above, casting golden streaks across it. The air here felt different—alive with a faint hum that seemed to resonate in the boy's chest.
Matteo stepped forward, his movements deliberate. "This," he said, gesturing to the stone, "is a place where the world speaks louder. The energy that flows through it can help you feel what you've been struggling to grasp."
The boy approached hesitantly, running his fingers along the stone's surface. It was cool and smooth, but there was a strange sensation beneath his touch—almost like a faint pulse. "It feels… alive," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Matteo nodded. "The world is alive, boy. Elementum is proof of that. It's not just about summoning fire or bending air. It's about understanding the rhythm of the world, the connection between all things. Once you learn to listen, you can begin to guide that rhythm. Not control it—guide it."
The boy furrowed his brow, his fingers lingering on the stone as he tried to make sense of Matteo's words. "How do I guide it?"
Matteo crouched beside him, resting a hand lightly on the stone's surface. "By first understanding your place in it. You're not separate from the flame or the wind or the earth beneath your feet. You're part of the same current. The elements don't serve you—they don't serve anyone. They respond to connection, trust, and respect."
The boy frowned, still unconvinced but intrigued. He stepped back as Matteo rose to his feet. "Let's begin."
The boy stepped closer, his wooden sword hanging at his hip. "I've been practicing," he said quickly. "I thought maybe—"
"You thought maybe you'd control it today," Matteo interrupted, finally looking up. His dark eyes held the boy's gaze, sharp yet calm. "You thought fire would bow to your will because you want it to."
The boy hesitated. "Isn't that the point?"
Matteo chuckled, low and knowing. "No, boy. That is never the point."
He motioned for the boy to sit, setting the lantern between them on the flat stone. "Fire is a relationship," Matteo began, his voice carrying a cadence that felt both instructional and intimate. "It is alive, just as you are. It hungers, it breathes, it consumes. To master fire, you must understand it—not force it."
The boy frowned, his brow furrowing. "But you lit that candle without touching it. Isn't that control?"
Matteo shook his head. "That was agreement. The fire chose to answer because I spoke its language." He leaned forward, his gaze intense. "Elementum is not mastery over nature. It is harmony with it. The Archons of legend, those who could summon storms and reshape mountains—they did not command the elements. They knew them. They understood their flows, their moods, their truths. It is through understanding that we gain power."
The boy listened, captivated despite himself. Matteo's words seemed to resonate with something deep and unspoken, a truth he couldn't yet name.
"Close your eyes," Matteo instructed, his tone softening. "And breathe."
The boy obeyed, his breathing slowing as the sounds of the forest enveloped him—the rustle of leaves, the faint creak of branches, the distant murmur of the fjord.
"Do you feel it?" Matteo asked.
The boy frowned. "Feel what?"
"The flame," Matteo said simply. "It is there, waiting. Quiet your thoughts. Let it come to you."
The boy tried, his focus narrowing. For a moment, he thought he sensed it—a faint warmth, a whisper of energy just beyond his reach. But as soon as he grasped for it, the sensation slipped away, leaving him with nothing but the cool air and his own frustration.
"I can't," he muttered, opening his eyes.
"Of course you can't," Matteo said, though his tone was not unkind. "You are still trying to control it. Stop reaching. Let it find you."
The boy's jaw tightened, but he closed his eyes again, determined.
Matteo watched him, his expression unreadable. Beneath the calm facade, his thoughts churned. The boy was stubborn, and stubbornness could be both a blessing and a curse in Elementum. Fire responded to conviction, yes, but also to clarity. Without balance, the flame would always elude him—or worse, consume him.
"You remind me of myself," Matteo said quietly.
The boy opened one eye. "You couldn't do it either?"
Matteo smirked. "I nearly burned my hand off the first time I tried."
The boy's lips twitched, though he quickly hid the smile.
"Fire is the most impatient of the elements," Matteo continued, his tone growing philosophical. "It demands respect, but it gives little in return. Water flows. Earth waits. Air whispers. But fire? Fire roars. It is a reflection of your own will, and if you do not respect it, it will consume you."
The boy frowned. "But if it's so dangerous, why bother learning it?"
Matteo's gaze softened. "Because Fire is a boundary, where light meets shadow and creation meets destruction. It warms the coldest nights, but it hungers for what it consumes. Without it, the world would be dark and still; yet every spark demands respect, for its brightness depends on what it leaves in ashes. To master fire is to walk that line, to guide its energy without being consumed by it. Fire is neither good nor bad—it is what we make of it."
The boy considered this, his thoughts tangling with questions he couldn't yet voice.
"Again," Matteo said, leaning back and gesturing to the lantern. "Close your eyes. Breathe. Feel."
The boy took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs before releasing it slowly. He let his thoughts drift, focusing on the faint warmth of the sun on his skin, the gentle rustle of leaves overhead.
And then, for the briefest moment, he felt it—a flicker of warmth that wasn't the sun, a pulse of energy that seemed to hum in response to his focus.
His eyes snapped open, his breath catching. "I felt something!"
Matteo's lips curved into a faint smile. "Good. Now, let it find you again."
The boy tried, but the sensation was gone, like a dream slipping away upon waking. Frustration bubbled in his chest, but Matteo raised a hand.
"Patience," the merchant said. "The flame is like a shy animal. You cannot chase it. You must let it come to you."
They continued for hours, the boy's efforts met with fleeting moments of connection that flickered and vanished. Each time, Matteo offered quiet encouragement, his voice steady and calm.
When the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the clearing, Matteo leaned back and studied the boy. Sweat beaded on the boy's brow, his shoulders tense with effort, but his eyes burned with determination.
"You've done well," Matteo said finally, rising to his feet. "The flame knows you now. Tomorrow, we will see if it answers."
As the boy walked back toward the village, the fading light painted the fjord in hues of gold and crimson. His wooden sword swung at his side, a familiar weight that now felt lighter somehow. The flame was waiting—just beyond his reach—but for the first time, he believed he could find it.
And when he did, he would make it his.
In the clearing, Matteo watched the boy disappear down the path, his expression contemplative. He turned to the lantern, lifting it gently. The flame inside flickered, its light steady but alive.
"You'll find your way," he murmured, though it was unclear whether he spoke to the boy or to the fire itself.
He placed the lantern back on the stone and let the shadows of the forest envelop him, the air thick with the promise of untamed energy and unspoken truths.