The sparring circle glowed faintly under the runes etched into the stone floor, sealing its fighters inside. Students ringed the edges, murmuring in excitement.
Elira stepped forward, the practice staff firm in her hands. Across from her, Adryan rolled his shoulders, flame flickering lazily around his palm as though it were second nature. His crimson cloak, the same shade as hers, stirred in the breeze.
"You ready to burn, Phoenix girl?" he asked with a smirk.
Elira forced her grip tighter. "Don't underestimate me."
The instructor barked, "Begin!"
Adryan moved first, a sweep of his hand conjuring a wave of fire. Elira leapt aside, heat licking her skin, then struck with her staff. He blocked with a conjured shield of flame, laughing.
"Not bad." He pivoted, his strikes smooth, controlled, as if he'd been training for years. Each blow forced her backward, sparks scattering into the air.
Elira grit her teeth. She wasn't weak. She couldn't be.
She inhaled, reaching for her flame—steady, careful. A burst of golden fire answered, swirling around her staff as she swung. The impact sent Adryan sliding a step back, surprise flashing across his eyes.
Murmurs rippled through the watching students. Golden flame was rare, beautiful—and dangerous.
Adryan's smirk sharpened. "So you do have something interesting." His own fire surged brighter, twin streams spiraling from his hands.
They clashed again, flame against flame, staff against shield. The sparring circle roared with heat, but neither yielded. For every strike he landed, she countered with instinct, her body moving as though it remembered dances she had never learned.
Then, just for a heartbeat, her control slipped.
The golden fire flared higher, reshaping itself—not a simple flame, but wings, four vast arcs of burning light that stretched wide before collapsing back into embers.
Gasps erupted around the circle.
"What—was that?" someone whispered.
Elira froze. Her chest pounded. She hadn't meant for that to happen. She didn't even understand how it had happened.
Adryan lowered his flames, staring at her with something between shock and hunger. "You're… different."
The instructor stepped in quickly, raising a hand. "Enough!" His voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Spar over. Both of you—well done."
Elira's flame sputtered out, leaving her shaking. She bowed quickly and retreated from the circle, Kaela rushing to her side.
"Those wings—did you see them?!" Kaela exclaimed. "That was insane!"
Lyssandra's eyes narrowed. "It was… unnatural. Even for phoenix flame."
Selene's golden gaze lingered on her for a long moment before turning away.
Elira said nothing. She didn't know what to say. She had never seen fire act like that before.
Later that day, in Royal Studies, Professor Veylen spoke again of legends.
"…Dragons, though often romanticized, are not real. At least not as full beings. What remains of them exists only in fragments—half-nature, born into mortals who carry echoes of their power. But true dragons? Pure dragons?" She shook her head. "Myth."
Elira stiffened in her seat. Myth? Then what about Vaelith? He had always claimed to be dragon-born, scales faint on his skin when the light caught. If dragons were only myths, how did he exist?
Her thoughts spiraled, tangled between flame and memory.
Then… what am I?
That evening, back in Phoenix Wing dormitory, her roommates gathered in the common room. The fire in the hearth burned warm, and Kaela sprawled across a couch, reenacting the spar with exaggerated flourishes.
"You should've seen her—flames everywhere, like she was some kind of ancient fire goddess!"
Lyssandra sipped tea, unimpressed. "Exaggeration does not suit you."
Selene, silent in the corner, spoke finally. "But she's not wrong. There was something in your fire today that I've never seen."
Elira looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers as if she might still see embers there. She forced a laugh. "Probably just a trick of the light."
But no one seemed convinced. Not even herself.
When she lay in bed that night, her Arcanum Band glowing faintly on the nightstand, she whispered to the ceiling:
"If dragons are myths… then why does my fire feel like it's trying to remember something I don't?"
The silence gave no answer. But in her chest, the golden flame stirred, restless and alive.