The Phenex estate's private library was ancient. Even the oldest devils still breathing dust through these halls whispered about its origins how some of its scrolls were scribed before the Great War, before the factions, before the old kings fell.
It was here that Riser spent most of his days now, trading bursts of fire and air time for ink stained fingers and long hours of quiet thought.
At six years old, his mind was already sharp but more than sharp, it was hungry.
A hunger that just can't be Quenched
"I don't understand why it has to be this way," Riser muttered, eyes darting across an open grimoire. He stood before a thick bound tome twice his size, diagrams of spell circles glowing faintly on the parchment. "Sigils are limiting."
He traced one with his finger an ancient symbol that channeled fire into a spear. The construct was precise, predictable, and refined through generations of devil magic. But it required preparation. Repetition. Time.
Riser didn't want time he wanted instinct. Flame summoned by thought. Power expressed through will.
He turned to another page a high-level spell that allowed controlled combustion, designed to melt armor or rupture magical barriers.
Still too rigid. Still too slow.
"Why can't magic answer my intent without the need for sigils?" he whispered.
He closed his eyes.
He imagined a flame, not in a circle but in motion. A river of blue fire coiling from his fingertips like a whip. No chants. No glyphs. Just desire made real.
A soft snap echoed through the library.
He opened his eyes.
In the air before him, blue flame danced untethered to any structure, unshaped by runes.
It faded moments later, but he felt it.
A spark of magic born not from tradition, but imagination.
I have a Phoenix Body, but that is not enough I need a Phoenix Will
That evening, Riser approached his father once more. Lord Phenex stood beneath the obsidian arch that led to the dueling grounds, quietly observing a pair of older retainers sparring with spears wreathed in controlled flame.
"I want to train my body," Riser said plainly.
Lord Phenex turned, arching an eyebrow. "You already train. Your flame control improves every week."
"I mean physically," Riser clarified. "Fists. Strength. Speed. I want my body to match my fire."
Lord Phenex studied him. "Most devils rely on magic more than muscle. You know this."
"I do," Riser nodded. "But I also know our blood heals us. Rapidly. If I get hurt I recover. If I break I mend."
He clenched a fist. "That means I can go further. Train harder. I can become something no one expects."
There was a pause. Then a slow smile crept onto Lord Phenex face one that hadn't touched him in years.
"Come," he said. "I'll show you where your grandfather trained."
The Forgotten Hall Deep beneath the estate, past sealed doors and phoenix shaped locks, Lord Phenex led Riser into a vast subterranean hall. The air was heavy with heat, and the walls shimmered faintly with old magic. Here, lava flowed through carved channels. Blackstone pillars rose like monoliths. Training dummies of iron and obsidian stood still and waiting.
"This place was made for pushing limits," Vulcan said. "You think regeneration is a blessing. It is but it's also a curse if misused. Burn too often, too deeply and you stop feeling pain. You lose caution. You forget that wounds carry lessons."
Riser nodded solemnly something that must not be forgotten enless one looking to become completely reckless. Only a fool would take such a path.
"I understand. But I want to feel it. I want to learn where the edge is."
Lord Phenex stepped back.
"Then begin."
Mind Over Flame, Body Over Pain to adjust one must be willing to push it to the limits and I am ready to. No I needed to push it.
Over the following weeks, Riser balanced time between the library and the training hall. He read scrolls on elemental theory especially texts speculating on pre-sigil casting, a technique considered mythical or unstable by modern scholars. He studied stories of beings who used their intent to shape the world.
He continued to practice the ability to levitate with his flames while pushing his body into physical drills striking iron dummies with bare fists, running across lava heated platforms, and jumping from pillar to pillar in midair bursts of blue fire.
Injuries came. Bruised ribs. Cracked skin. One time, his ankle gave out after a hard landing, sending him tumbling across the stones.
Each time, the flames inside healed him. Not instantly, but swiftly enough that pain was fleeting lesson preserved, damage erased.
He kept his training a secret. Only Lord Phenex watched. Not even Ruval knew the depths of Riser's pursuit.
Rumors continued to ripple. Gossip is one of many things devils like to do
Though Riser's training remained hidden, his presence did not.
The noble houses noticed his absence from the usual gatherings. The younger heirs whispered about the boy prince who never showed his strength in public, yet somehow drew respect even from older devils.
There were no grand displays. No tournaments. But something about the silence around Riser was beginning to unsettle the nobility.
One particularly sharp eyed noble from the Glasya-Labolas family commented at a gathering, "It is not the loud fires we should fear but the ones that burn quietly. They are the ones that never go out."
The Heart of the Flames will never be burned out as long as I live.
In the nursery, Riser sat beside Ravel once more, watching her sleep.
She was growing fast golden curls already forming, her skin soft and warm with their shared blood. Her tiny breaths came with little sparks now, signs that her demonic power was beginning to awaken.
He smiled.
Someday, she would have to learn to control that power.
And when she did he would be ready. To protect her. To teach her. To be the shield and sword of the Phenex name.
He looked down at his hand. Blue flame danced across his palm no circle, no incantation.
Just pure unrelenting will.