Training began at dusk.
Edran set Aric inside the stone circle, warning Mira not to cross the runes. "The fire will fight back. If you interfere, it may claim you too."
Aric closed his eyes. Heat welled within him, a sun behind his ribs. He tried to contain it, but the more he fought, the harder it pressed.
"Do not resist," Edran's voice echoed. "Shape it. Command it."
Flames erupted around Aric, swirling into a vortex. His skin cracked with light, his veins glowing like molten iron. He screamed as the power tore through him.
The fire became voices—dozens, hundreds—crying out in anger, pain, triumph. He saw battles long past, kings crowned and broken, cities burned to ash.
And through it all, a single voice:"You are mine."
When he collapsed, gasping, Mira rushed to him despite Edran's warning. His skin was cold, his eyes glazed with firelight.
He whispered hoarsely: "Someone… something… is inside the flames."