Morning arrived with a silver glow filtering through the leaves of the Celestgrove. Evan awoke to birdsong threaded with magic—notes that harmonized with the pulse of the forest itself.
A soft chime rang in his ear.
[AETHERWELL RESONANCE DETECTED]
You are attuned to a primary magical domain.You recover mana and stamina 2× faster while in Eldrathar.
Evan rubbed his face. "Great—maybe I won't collapse after two spells. If I can cast even one."
He stepped out of the guest hollow, stretching. The air smelled of pine, sweet nectar, and something faintly electric—like storm energy lingering behind the dawn.
Lyriana waited at the platform railing, arms folded, eyes scanning the forest. She wore a ranger's attire today instead of armor: light leather, emerald-woven cloth, twin blades at her hips, and her bow slung across her back.
When she turned to him, her expression was neutral—but he saw a flicker of warmth. Or maybe the forest light played tricks.
"You rise late for someone who holds an Emberheart," she said.
"It was either sleep late or die trying to figure out how to make fire appear on command."
"Wise choice. Dead students accomplish little."
"Do I dare ask how many of your students died training with you?"
"Only two."
"…Seriously?"
"...Perhaps more."
He groaned. "Fantastic. I'm going to die."
"You won't," she said lightly.
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I will not allow it."
There was no arrogance in her voice—just certainty. Steady, unshakable, quietly fierce.Evan felt something warm settle in his chest.
"Come," Lyriana said, gesturing for him to follow. "Your training begins at the Ember Pool."
The Ember Pool
They descended through a series of rope bridges until they reached a secluded glade. A circular pool of crimson water shimmered beneath a cluster of giant ember-trees, their roots glowing with internal flame.
The air here was warm—no, alive—pulsing in rhythm with the Aetherwell below.
Lyriana knelt beside the water. "This is where your kind of magic begins."
"My kind?"
"Yes. The Emberborn draw from fire and life together. Yours is a rare hybrid—dangerous, empowering, unpredictable."
"Like a toddler with a blowtorch?"
Lyriana blinked. "I do not know what that means."
Evan waved it off. "Never mind."
She stood and motioned to the pool. "Sit."
He obeyed, lowering himself cross-legged at the edge.
Lyriana circled behind him. "Close your eyes."
He inhaled.
The warmth of the Ember Pool wrapped around him. Sparks drifted across its surface like tiny drifting stars.
"Magic is not something you command," she said softly. "It is a conversation. A negotiation between your soul and the Aether."
"I was told I have an affinity," Evan said. "Doesn't that make it easier?"
"It gives you a door. It does not open it."
He exhaled slowly.
"Feel the Aether," Lyriana said. "The Ember. Listen to it."
Evan focused. At first, he felt nothing except heat on his skin.
Then—Something stirred.A thrum.A pulse.A heartbeat that wasn't his.
He reached for it instinctively.
Flame erupted in his mind.
Evan jerked back with a gasp, almost stumbling into the water. "What the hell was THAT?!"
Lyriana caught him by the arm. "You reached too quickly. The Ember rejects arrogance."
"I wasn't arrogant—I was listening!"
"You were grabbing," she corrected calmly. "Try again."
He sat again, breath steadying.
"It's like speaking to a proud creature," Lyriana murmured. "It respects strength, but not recklessness. Approach gently."
"Anything else it likes? Compliments? Snacks?"
Lyriana sighed. "You are hopeless."
But her voice held a faint hint of amusement.
Evan tried again.
He inhaled, letting his mind settle. The ember-thrum returned—warm, alive.
He didn't grab this time.
He opened himself to it.
And the Ember… answered.
Heat swirled up his arms, gentle instead of burning. Images flickered behind his eyes—sparks blooming into flame, seeds sprouting into life, stars igniting.
A flame kindled in his palm—small, wavering, but real.
Evan gasped. "Lyriana! Look—!"
She stepped in front of him quickly, eyes wide.
"That… is not normal," she whispered.
"You mean beginners don't usually do this?"
"No," she said softly. "Most elves spend years before they can ignite their first flame."
Evan stared at his flickering ember, stunned. "Then how—?"
Lyriana studied him carefully. "Aurelia did more than bless you. She restructured your soul around the Concept of Ignition."
"Meaning?"
"Everything you touch, everything you learn… will grow faster. Burn brighter. Transform more easily."
"Is that good?"
"It is powerful," she said. "But power without discipline burns its wielder first."
Evan nodded, letting the flame fade. "Teach me."
Lyriana's eyes softened. "I will."
Training shifted from meditation to movement.
"Magic without physical control is useless," Lyriana said. "Your flame responds to your body's balance, tension, and breathing. If you panic, it panics. If you set yourself aflame… well."
"Well?"
"We jump into the river and hope you still have eyebrows."
"That's… oddly specific."
She smirked. "Experience."
They practiced:
Balance on twisting tree roots
Sprinting silently across soft moss
Leaping between narrow branches
Dodging swinging vine-targets
Evan failed spectacularly at all of them.
He tripped, fell, swung from a vine accidentally, and face-planted into a mossy patch that smelled faintly of mint.
Lyriana stood over him, unimpressed. "You move like a startled goat."
"It's only my second day alive! As a twenty-year-old! With magic!"
"Excuses."
"Reasonable explanations!"
"Still excuses."
He groaned.
Lyriana eventually offered him a hand and pulled him up.
"You are unskilled," she said plainly. "But not untalented. There is a difference."
"Thanks… I think."
"You adapt quickly. That matters more than grace."
"Tell that to my bruises."
"They will toughen."
"I liked them untough."
"Too late."
Evan blinked. "…Do elves make jokes?"
"Rarely."
"Was that a joke?"
"…Perhaps."
She walked away before he could respond.
The Forest's Trial
As they trained, a distant howl echoed—deep, resonant, and not animal.
Lyriana stiffened, drawing her bow in one smooth motion.
Evan froze. "What was that?"
She lowered her voice. "A fleeting shade. A spirit creature drawn to disruption in the Aether."
"You mean… me?"
"Likely."
"Oh fantastic. First day with powers and I'm already attracting monsters."
Lyriana's eyes searched the treeline. "Shades normally avoid the Celestgrove. But the Emberheart you carry burns loudly. And something else stirs beyond our borders."
She nocked an arrow. "Stay behind me."
Evan stepped beside her.
She glared. "I said behind."
"If it's after me, hiding behind you won't help."
Lyriana opened her mouth—then closed it, begrudgingly impressed. "Very well. But do not die."
"I'll do my best."
A soft crackle of energy answered from the shadows. The air thickened. Leaves shivered though no wind blew. The forest suddenly felt colder.
Then—
A shape emerged.
A deer-like creature formed from black mist, its antlers crackling with unnatural static. Hollow eyes glowed with winter-blue light.
A Wraithbuck.
Lyriana whispered, "Stay still. It sees heat and movement."
Evan tried not to tremble.
The Wraithbuck stepped forward, its form flickering like smoke. It sniffed the air.
It smelled him.
Lyriana whispered, "When I strike its core, you run."
"No."
"Evan—"
"I'm the one it's drawn to. If I run, it chases me. If I stay, you get a clean shot."
Her jaw clenched. She hated that he was right.
The Wraithbuck's antlers glowed brighter.
Evan's heart pounded.
His Emberheart pulsed in answer.
He felt the ember within him—gentle, ready, waiting.
He inhaled…
And flame flickered across his fingertips.
Lyriana glanced at him. "Do you know what you're doing?"
"Nope."
"Good. That makes two of us."
She drew the string back.
The Wraithbuck prepared to charge.
The forest held its breath.
And Evan followed the ember.
Heat surged through his palms, flame coiling.
When the Wraithbuck lunged, Evan thrust his hand forward.
A burst of crimson fire erupted—wild but bright—forcing the creature to rear back as Lyriana's arrow shot forward, piercing its flickering chest.
A howl shook the grove.
The Wraithbuck dissolved into cinders and mist.
Silence returned.
Evan panted, collapsing onto one knee. "Did… did we win?"
Lyriana lowered her bow. "Yes."
He smiled weakly. "We make a pretty good team."
Lyriana hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yes. We do."
Recognition of the Grove
Upon returning to the village, whispers spread quickly.
"He carries an Emberheart.""He fought a Wraithbuck.""Lyriana stood with him."
Some elves still eyed him with distrust, but their looks shifted—now tinged with curiosity, even respect.
At the central platform, an elder approached—tall, elegant, with leaves braided into her hair.
She touched two fingertips to Evan's forehead. "The Celestgrove recognizes your flame, outsider. You may walk its paths without fear."
A soft chime echoed.
[REPUTATION: ELDRAHAR — NEUTRAL → ACCEPTED]
Evan blinked as the elder departed. "That was easy."
"Laenith is gentle," Lyriana said. "Not all the council will accept you so quickly."
"So what do I do?"
"Show them who you are. Earn their trust."
He nodded. "I can try."
Lyriana turned to him, expression softer than he'd ever seen. "Your efforts today… were worthy of respect."
Evan blinked. "Thank you."
She opened her mouth as if to say more—but a sudden tremor rippled through the ground.
The lanterns flickered.
Leaves rustled without wind.
A shadow passed over the village.
Lyriana and Evan both looked skyward.
Darkness swirled above the treeline—forming the outline of something tall, skeletal, wreathed in crackling blue light.
A cold whisper echoed across the forest:
"Ignition-bearer…"
Lyriana grabbed Evan's arm.
He felt ice in his veins.
The Pale Warden had found him.
Even from miles away, its presence shook the forest.
And it was coming closer.