Kael entered Ravon's stone temple weary, his body aching and heart heavy. The journey through the Ashen Peaks had drained him, and his thoughts spun with confusion and sorrow. Ravon, standing beside the fire pit at the center of the circular hall, radiated quiet intensity. His eyes, a dim ember-red, glowed faintly in the firelight. There was something strangely familiar in the way the flames responded to him—as if they bowed to his presence.
He noticed Kael's lingering gaze and gave a small nod. "I too come from the line of Embroar. Not by blood—but by oath. Your father and I trained together. I walked away with my fire bound. He walked away with his... unchained."
Too tired to protest, Kael dropped to the bedding and drifted into a restless sleep.
---
The next morning, Kael woke to the sound of clashing energies and focused breathing. When he sat up, he was surprised to find that he wasn't alone. Five other figures—young men and women—stood in a semicircle around Ravon, practicing their elemental techniques.
One girl wielded thin streams of wind that cut through stacked stones. Another controlled slivers of earth, shifting their shape like clay. A boy summoned sparks of lightning from his palms, while another worked with a pale blue flame—cold, but precise. These were Ravon's other students.
Kael approached quietly, and Ravon turned.
"So you've seen them," Ravon said. "You're not the only one searching for control."
Kael felt both awe and pressure settling on him. These people already had control over their powers. He had… instability.
Ravon assigned him to a sparring circle, instructing him to summon a controlled burst of flame. But no matter how hard Kael tried—gritting his teeth, focusing his breath—nothing happened.
His palms remained cold.
Again. Nothing.
Ravon watched in silence, offering no words of encouragement.
"Why won't it come?" Kael whispered to himself later that day, staring at his hands.
The days passed. He trained in form, stance, and meditation alongside the others. Yet his fire refused to answer. Whispers stirred around the other students—curious, doubtful.
But Ravon remained silent.
At meals, Kael kept mostly to himself. A boy named Daran, who wielded stone, occasionally offered small encouragements. Elira, the wind-user, observed him from a distance, her expressions unreadable. Though they all shared a space, Kael felt worlds apart.
That night, Ravon sat across from Kael at the fire.
"You're not broken," he said suddenly. "Your fire is not missing. It's buried. Deep in fear and memory."
Kael looked up. "Then how do I bring it out?"
Ravon stared into the flames. "By facing what buried it."
Kael lay down that night with those words etched into his thoughts.
---
One night, Kael lay curled in his bedroll, staring at the faint glow of coals in the fire pit. His dreams came in fragments—his mother's voice, the chaos of Urshifu's attack, the scream he let out as fire burst from his veins.
He saw her again—standing between him and death, shielding him with a torrent of water. Her final words echoed: Run.
Suddenly, the temperature in the training hall shifted. One of the students, Elira, stirred awake. She blinked and sat up.
"Is something burning…?"
The others roused, sensing it too.
Small sparkles of flame—glimmering, floating embers—danced across the room like fireflies. They shimmered orange, gold, and deep crimson, swirling softly around Kael's sleeping form.
Elira gasped. "Ravon!"
The master appeared almost instantly, robes whispering against the stone. He paused at the doorway, eyes narrowing as he saw the embers.
Kael, still asleep, tensed.
His fingers twitched.
"No…" he whispered, his voice raw, trembling. "No… don't hurt her…!"
His body jerked, and then—his hand lifted.
In a brilliant rush, the floating embers whipped together into a spiraling blaze, shooting straight upward like a geyser of flame. The roof cracked with a deafening boom as the fire broke through, lighting the night sky with a torrent of energy.
The entire hall glowed in fiery hues.
Kael's eyes fluttered open—half-conscious. The fire danced around him like it was waiting.
Ravon stepped forward, watching carefully.
"This is no ordinary power," he muttered. "It responds not to will… but to memory."
Kael fell back into a deep sleep as the embers faded.
---
The next morning, Ravon stood before the assembled students, Kael still asleep on the floor behind him.
"You have all trained for strength, for control," Ravon said. "But Kael will train for something greater—understanding. His fire is not born of rage. It is born of purpose. And that... is harder to wield."
Some students nodded. Others looked uneasy.
That day, when Kael awoke, the others gave him space—but this time, not out of doubt. Out of awe.
Kael approached Ravon. "That wasn't control. That was chaos."
Ravon shook his head. "No. That was your soul... remembering who it is."
Kael clenched his fists. "Then teach me how to make it listen."
Ravon smiled faintly. "Then your true training begins."
Outside, far beyond the mountains, a shadow watched the distant scorch mark in the sky—and vanished into the mist.