The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the castle's western wing, casting golden slats of light across the marble floors. Caleb stood alone in the corridor outside his father's study, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. He'd been summoned at dawn—no reason given, only a curt message carried by a stone-faced servant. That alone was enough to unsettle him.
The heavy oak door creaked open.
"Caleb," said Lord Garron, his voice as firm and clipped as ever. "Walk with me."
They made their way through the outer halls, boots echoing in silence. The air was cool, tinged with morning dew, and the scent of burning sage wafted faintly from the castle hearths.
"I hear you've awakened fire," Garron said, not turning.
"Yes, father," Caleb replied. "Two days ago. Fireball."
A small nod. Approval? Dismissal? It was impossible to tell with his father. "Good. Then it's time I see what you've learned."
Caleb swallowed, keeping pace. His heart thundered louder than their footsteps. He'd only just begun to feel the magic settle within him—to command it was another matter entirely.
They reached the old training yard—a stone-walled square behind the barracks. Its scorched earth told stories of generations past, where knights and mages alike had honed their edge.
Garron folded his arms behind his back. "You may begin when ready."
Caleb stepped into the ring, the hem of his tunic brushing ash. He took a breath, recalling the incantation. He could feel the mana coiling inside him, like smoke in his lungs, hot and alive. He whispered the words under his breath, and pushed.
A small flame flickered into being in his palm—shimmering red, unstable.
"Project it," Garron instructed. "Don't cradle it like a child."
Caleb nodded, steadied his hand, and hurled the spell toward the training dummy across the yard.
The fireball spiraled mid-air, then suddenly veered left, exploding against the wall with a thunderous crack. A wave of heat rolled over him.
Garron's expression remained unreadable. "Again."
He tried again.
This time the flame grew faster, burning too hot, too bright. It roared from his palm, tearing through the air toward the target—and exploded prematurely, showering embers across the field. A low whistle of wind scattered them harmlessly, but Caleb staggered back, hand stinging.
"Your emotions are bleeding into the casting," Garron said, stepping forward now, his voice lower. "Fire magic isn't raw power, Caleb. It's intentional. Control. Let the mana shape the flame. Don't let the flame shape you."
"I'm trying," Caleb muttered.
"Try harder."
Caleb clenched his fists. He wanted to shout, What do you know of this fire inside me? But he bit his tongue. He could feel his pulse racing, and with it the fire inside, flaring unbidden at his fingertips.
"Again."
He raised his hand once more—and this time, the fire roared from his palm before he even called for it.
It struck the ground just meters away, exploding in a ring of flame. Heat seared his cheek. The air rippled with the force of it. A startled servant watching from the wall scrambled away, his sleeve catching a spark.
Caleb turned toward his father, chest heaving.
Garron stared at the burn marks on the stone, his jaw tight. "Enough."
Caleb's magic still buzzed through his veins, wild and hot, like a storm yet to break. "I can do it. Let me try again."
Garron shook his head. "You're not ready."
The words struck harder than any blow. Caleb stood frozen, flame fading from his hands, replaced by cold humiliation.
His father turned away, back rigid. "We'll speak again another day."
Caleb watched him walk off, shadows swallowing the edges of his cloak. A tightness curled in Caleb's chest—not just shame, but anger. Why won't the magic listen? Why can't I—
He didn't finish the thought.
Instead, he left the training yard in silence.
***
The hallways were quieter than usual. Afternoon light slanted through stained-glass windows, painting golden reds across the stone floor. Caleb moved on instinct, winding his way toward the lesser gallery, his feet guiding him more than thought.
He stopped when he heard voices.
The corridor above the Hall of Banners had always offered a clear vantage down into the chamber below. Hidden by the ornate balustrade, Caleb crept closer, peering through the gaps.
His father stood below, not in the ceremonial attire he wore for court functions, but in his traveling cloak. Around him stood a half-dozen other nobles—heads of allied houses, some mages, some warriors.
"This isn't just isolated," one said grimly. "Attacks near the Northern Vale, two whole caravans gone. No survivors."
"And another at Velarion's border," added a thin, silver-haired woman. "Twisted creatures—gnarled limbs, frost breath. Not natural."
Garron's voice was sharp, though quiet. "Then it's confirmed. The veil is thinning. If this continues, the academy won't be able to keep up with the threat."
Caleb's heart pounded. The veil? The academy?
"And the public?" asked a younger lord.
"We keep the festival," Garron said. "The new mages must go through their rite. The people need symbols of strength, not panic."
There were nods of grim agreement.
Caleb felt as though the stone under him had shifted. The monsters he thought isolated to the woods… were everywhere. Spreading.
And no one knew.
He remained there long after the nobles had dispersed.
***
That night, he sat alone in the courtyard, staring into the flame of a solitary torch. It danced gently, almost playfully, but every flicker reminded him of earlier—how the fire had betrayed him, or perhaps how he had betrayed it.
The words of his father echoed: You're not ready.
But the fire within him disagreed. It stirred with every beat of his heart, wild and waiting.
He clenched his fists.
They think this is too much for me. They think the monsters will break us.
He thought of the men who had died in the caravans. The frost-breathing beasts. The veil, whatever that meant. And he thought of the academy—too slow, too bound by tradition.
He stood.
"I may not have control," he whispered, "but I have fire. I have power."
The torchlight glinted in his eyes.
"I'll burn every creature that dares set foot in these lands."