The door of the training hall closes behind us with a dull, heavy rumble.
The air is different here. Heavier. Saturated with heat and lingering mana. Every wall bears the scars of past battles: blackened cracks, glassy impacts, flames frozen into the stone. Burned training dummies line the sides—some half-melted, others snapped clean in two.
No one speaks.
Students train in silence, focused. The kind of silence that doesn't calm you.
The kind that crushes.
I clench my fists slightly.
Brask steps forward, eyes shining despite the tension.
— Damn… he breathes. This looks like a battlefield.
I nod.
— Let's go to the back.
He agrees immediately.
We cross the hall toward a more open area, far from prying eyes. I set my bag against the wall, pull off my jacket. The heat strikes my skin. I breathe slowly, deeply.
Mana is already flowing. I can feel it. A familiar pressure behind my chest. Steady. Calm.
Brask positions himself in front of me.
— How do we do this? he asks. Full force… or easy?
I study him for a moment.
— Real training.
He grins.
— I like the way you talk.
We begin without a signal.
He attacks first.
Fast. Direct. His fist shoots toward my face. I step back, block, pivot. The shock runs up my arm. He hits hard. Brutally. Not elegant, but effective.
I counter. A short strike to his side.
He takes it, grunts, keeps going.
No fire.
Our footsteps echo against the stone. Blows chain together. Brask keeps pushing forward. Even when he gets hit. Even when he misses.
He almost never retreats.
I unbalance him, slam him to the ground.
He rolls, gets back up instantly, breathing hard.
— You're tough, he mutters, wiping blood from his lip.
I don't answer.
The pressure inside me rises. Mana stirs. Fire waits.
Brask feels it too.
— You can go ahead, he says. I'm not holding you back.
I close my eyes briefly.
When I open them, the fire appears.
Not an explosion.
A dark red flame—dense, compact—wrapping around my hand like an extension of my arm. It barely crackles.
It obeys.
Brask takes a step back, inhales deeply…
Then his own fire bursts out. Wider. Wilder. Bright orange. Unstable.
We rush at each other.
Heat erupts.
Flames collide, repel one another. I feel my mana draining slowly, controlled. I compress the fire, force it to remain dense. Stable.
Brask attacks head-on again. Always.
I slip to the side. My flame stretches, hardens for an instant, taking the shape of a short blade.
A red fire sword—imperfect, but sharp.
I strike.
His shoulder burns. Not enough to seriously injure him. Just enough to mark.
He clenches his teeth, answers with a wave of uncontrolled flames that forces me back. The ground cracks beneath the impact.
He's powerful.
But he wastes his mana.
I focus.
Every shape costs something. I can feel it. Molded fire pulls harder on my reserves. I breathe. One step. A turn. My flame reforms—simpler. More compact.
I strike again.
This time Brask drops to one knee. His fire flickers. His mana wavers. He breathes too hard.
— Damn… he exhales.
I could keep going.
I don't.
I let the fire fade. The blade dissolves into red sparks. The heat slowly falls away.
He looks at me, surprised.
— Why did you stop?
— Because you're not my enemy.
Silence.
Then Brask laughs. A raw, breathless laugh—almost nervous.
— Seriously… you really are something else, Arin.
He rises with difficulty, sits against the wall. I do the same, a little farther. My heart is still racing. Mana takes time to settle.
The silence returns, but it isn't heavy anymore.
It's different.
Less hostile.
As if the hall has accepted our presence.
I can still feel warmth in my arms. A dull internal burn. My mana isn't empty, but it's worn down. I feel it folding back slowly, like a tired muscle.
Brask lets his head fall against the wall.
— I've never seen anyone control fire like that, he says at last. Not here, anyway.
I shrug slightly.
He chuckles weakly.
— Or maybe you're just… not normal.
I don't answer.
He turns toward me.
— Doesn't it get to you? The Academy, the nobles, their stares?
I stare at the blackened ceiling.
— Yes.
— Then why do you act like it all slides off?
It takes me a few seconds.
— Because if I start reacting… I won't stop.
He nods slowly.
He understands more than I expected.
— Me… if I don't react, he says, I don't exist.
His words hang between us.
I look at him.
— Why did you really agree to train with me?
He blinks, surprised.
— Because you didn't look away this morning.
— A lot of people didn't.
— Yeah, but you… you didn't smile either.
A brief silence.
— The nobles, he continues, they look like they own the place. The commoners, like they should be grateful to be here. You looked like all of this was beyond you.
My jaw tightens.
— It is.
He inhales deeply.
— I grew up in a town where fire was a luxury. We didn't use it to fight. Just to survive. To warm. To cook. To protect.
He raises his hand, staring at it.
— Here… they use it to rule.
Something knots in my chest.
— Fire isn't the problem, I say. It's what we choose to do with it.
Brask gives a tired smile.
— Ever thought about becoming an instructor? Or a philosopher?
— No.
— Good. You suck at comforting people.
A short laugh escapes me despite myself. Brief. Almost involuntary.
He stares.
— Hey… you smiled.
I look away.
— You imagined it.
He straightens slightly.
— Aydan… have you ever lost someone?
My body tenses before I can stop it.
— Yes.
He doesn't ask who.
He doesn't ask how.
— Sorry.
I nod once.
Silence again.
Students move in the distance, flames dying, reigniting. The hall lives around us, but I barely notice.
— You know, Brask says, if I'm still here in a few years… I'd like us to meet again on a real battlefield.
I look at him.
— Why?
— Because if I have to fight for something… I'd like it to be beside someone who doesn't just control his fire…
…but himself.
I hold his gaze.
— If we end up there, I say, then a lot of things will have gone wrong.
He smiles sadly.
— Or we'll have survived.
I stand slowly. My muscles protest.
— We should stop for today.
— Yeah.
We gather our things. As we leave the area, I feel several eyes on us. Not hostile. Not admiring either.
But I have the sense someone is watching from far away.
Brask notices too.
Outside, the daylight hits too hard. The air is cooler. Cleaner.
Brask stretches.
— Hey.
I turn.
— Thanks.
— For what?
— For not treating me like a commoner… or like a noble.
I stare at him for a few seconds.
— You're neither. You're just Brask.
He smiles for real this time.
— And you're really weird, Arin.
— You already said that.
— Yeah. But now I'm saying it with respect.
We walk off in opposite directions.
I take a few steps… then stop.
I look at my hand.
No flame.
But I can still feel it. Dense. Silent.
For the first time in a long while, I understand something simple:
I won't become stronger alone.
And that thought, strangely…
reassures me as much as it worries me.