The courtyard outside the Embercrest castle stretched wide beneath the afternoon sun, its smooth stone absorbing heat like a kiln. A dry breeze swept across the open space, tugging at the hems of Caleb's tunic and carrying the faint scent of embers from the torch-lined walls.
A single brazier stood at the center of the training circle, flame flickering restlessly atop it. On the far side, Master Vaelin waited with arms crossed and eyes like carved flint—unforgiving, unblinking.
"This is where all fire mages begin," Vaelin said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You cannot create fire—only control it. Fire weaving is the foundation of all advanced techniques. Without control, you're nothing more than a child playing with a torch."
Caleb's fingers flexed at his sides as he stared at the flame. He knew the theory. He'd read every line. But now, standing before true fire, everything felt heavier—sharper. This wasn't imagination or paper diagrams. This was real magic.
"Reach out," Vaelin ordered.
He raised a hand, cautious. His mind strained with focus, willing the fire to move, to respond.
It barely flickered.
"Too forceful," Vaelin said, shaking his head. "Fire isn't a beast to tame. It's alive—chaotic, yes, but not mindless. Guide it. Don't command it."
Gritting his teeth, Caleb tried again. He eased his will forward, not with pressure but with presence. The flame stirred—a tendril stretched toward him, then collapsed in on itself.
"Better," Vaelin acknowledged. "But still crude. Fire is an extension of you, Embercrest. It doesn't obey force. It follows intent."
Frustration flared hotter than the fire. This wasn't how he imagined it. In his mind, magic would obey—he'd reach out and the flames would leap to serve him. Instead, it resisted him like a limb that wasn't his to move.
Vaelin crouched beside the brazier. With a mere flick of his fingers, the flame rose into a spiraling coil—smooth, effortless.
"When you master fire weaving," he said, watching the spiral dance, "you won't need to fight it. You'll shape it as easily as breathing."
It sounded simple. It felt impossible.
Still, Caleb lifted his hand again. He shoved the impatience down, set the frustration aside. He didn't think about bending the flame—he thought about how it moved. How it pulsed and swayed. He followed it.
The fire hesitated. Then, slowly, it reached toward his hand.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
***
By evening, the courtyard had changed. Where it had been silent for training, now it bustled with activity—servants loading trunks, stable hands tending horses, guards making final checks. At the center stood a dark-carved carriage adorned with the Embercrest sigil. His siblings—Rhydian, Veylan, and Elira—were preparing to leave for the academy.
Caleb stood off to the side, hands clenched at his sides. He should've been boarding that carriage. He should've been going with them. Instead, he would stay behind, training alone, waiting.
Garron Embercrest stood near the horses, his posture rigid and gaze sharp as steel. "The academy is not just a place to learn—it is a test of discipline and strength," he said. "You will uphold the Embercrest name with honor. Work hard. Do not waste this opportunity."
Rhydian, already astride his horse, gave a crisp nod. "Of course, Father." The words came naturally to him, with the same composed strength that had made him the favored heir.
Veylan leaned against the side of the carriage, smirking. "And if we find something worth taking, we'll take it."
Garron exhaled through his nose, the muscles in his jaw tight. "Do not bring dishonor to this family, Veylan."
Elira adjusted the clasp on her cloak with calm precision. "We'll make you proud," she said evenly, her voice measured and controlled.
Selene Embercrest stood nearby, her hand resting gently on her husband's arm. Her eyes, however, turned toward Caleb.
"There is no shame in waiting," she said, her voice quieter than the others but no less certain. "Your time will come. And when it does, you'll be stronger for it."
He nodded, but bitterness curled around the words stuck in his throat.
"I know," he managed, though it came out tighter than he meant.
Rhydian turned in his saddle to glance down at him. "Use the time well. When you arrive, you'll be ahead of those who wasted their first year."
Veylan, stepping into the carriage, gave Caleb a mischievous grin. "Or you can make a dramatic entrance. Show up and blow everyone away."
Elira said nothing, but her golden eyes met his as she passed. There was no mockery in her expression—only cool recognition, as if she expected him to catch up. And perhaps, one day, surpass.
Beside him, Mirelle stood stiffly. "It's not fair," she muttered, arms crossed. "We should be going, too."
Caleb smirked, reaching down to ruffle her fiery curls. "One day," he said. "And when it comes, we'll be better than all of them."
She beamed at that, rising onto her toes. "Exactly."
Their father gave a final nod before stepping back. Arms folded, expression stern, he watched the carriage roll away with the guards trailing behind. Caleb watched too, his eyes fixed on the disappearing crest, the weight in his chest simmering hot with jealousy.
One day, he'd be on that carriage.
And when that day came, he wouldn't just be ready.
He'd be unstoppable.