Back in his room, Noah sat in his usual spot and picked up a match. He stared at the stick, focusing his will.
"Burn."
Nothing happened, but he wasn't surprised. He had expected it to be difficult. He had patience and wasn't going to give up.
And so a week passed in the blink of an eye. Every day, whenever he had a moment, Noah stared at that match. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner—he carried it with him everywhere, even to the bathroom.
The second week passed, then the third, then the fourth. A month went by, and Noah's patience was starting to wear thin.
"Damn it, why won't it burn?" he complained, tossing the match aside.
Noah was trying to develop a new kind of magic: he wanted to create fire. Not with the Incendio spell, but free fire, controlled directly by his own magic.
Who would have thought that creating fire from nothing was so difficult? Noah had been attempting it for a whole month, and not a single spark had appeared. He had the idea to use the match as a focus, thinking that if he could produce even a tiny spark, it would count as progress.
And so he spent hours staring at the match, trying to ignite a spark or heat the tip enough to catch fire.
"What am I doing wrong? Just wanting the match to burn isn't enough?"
The magic he wanted to create had to come from nothing but his intention. It was truly a challenge.
Learning magic on your own was difficult, especially when your goal was practically revolutionary.
"Maybe I should ask for help?" he thought.
He considered asking his parents, but then he had a better idea.
Grabbing paper and a quill, he wrote a short letter explaining what he was trying to do and the problems he had faced.
"Grinny!" he called.
In an instant, the house-elf appeared in his room.
"Yes, young master?"
"Could you do me a favor? Deliver this letter to Uncle Nick," Noah said, handing it over. "I would send an owl, but I'm in a bit of a hurry."
The elf smiled brightly, nodded, and disappeared with a snap of her fingers.
Noah stared at the spot where she had vanished, sighing as he thought about teleportation magic. "Really useful," he murmured.
It didn't take long for Grinny to return with a response.
Noah thanked her and dismissed the elf before opening the letter eagerly. He was immediately surprised by the reply—it wasn't much.
"Hey, kid, maybe that's the problem with geniuses. They overcomplicate things in their own heads. Let me help you. You just need to ask yourself two questions: WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO? AND DO YOU KNOW FIRE?"
'What do I want to do?'
The question echoed like a drum in his mind.
He set his mind to reasoning.
What did he want to do?
He wanted to light the match.
No.
He wanted to create fire.
That was the answer.
The match was just a shortcut. A simple spark would ignite it. Increasing the temperature would also work. Either way, once it was lit, he would have fire.
Fire… Fire… Fire.
"What is fire?" Noah murmured.
Did he know what fire was? Of course—he cooked in his other life and had used fire magic before. Candles at the orphanage, all of that was fire. But did he understand fire?
How many times had he truly felt it?
No one lived constantly being burned or surrounded by fire. Maybe a firefighter understood fire. But him? The most he had ever experienced was a burn from the orphanage candles. Did he really understand fire?
Of course, he knew fire was hot and bright. But if he stopped to think now—how hot was it really? Was it orange? Red? Yellow?
No matter how hard he tried, he realized he didn't truly understand fire.
And not knowing was exactly what made him see his mistake. How could he create something if he didn't know what he truly wanted to create?
Magic was the manifestation of a wizard's will—but wasn't it also the manifestation of what was in their mind? Ideas that, to many, might seem like madness?
Didn't he have the power to change reality with his will? To create from his imagination?
So how could he create fire if he couldn't see it?
In his mind, there was no clear enough image of what fire was. He needed to change that.
Once again, he picked up the match. But this time, he didn't just stare at it. With a swift motion, he struck it against the box.
Now he had fire.
A small flame quickly consumed the matchstick. Soon, the flame burned the rest of the stick and went out, singeing his fingertips.
Noah grabbed another match and did the same. Soon his fingertips were slightly red. But it wasn't enough.
Grabbing a torn piece of cloth, he ran to the bathroom. Striking another match, he set the cloth on fire. The flame quickly spread across the fabric, consuming it.
He held his hand above the flame and felt the heat. As he lowered his hand, the heat intensified.
His hand began to ache, but he didn't stop.
He grabbed the fire with his hands and felt it.
"Shit!" he shouted, dropping the cloth.
Now, he felt the fire.
He looked at his burned hand and the nearly destroyed cloth. Fire devoured everything!
Noah grabbed more clothes and burned them again, watching the flames and occasionally placing his hand in the fire to feel the heat.
"This is going to take some time," he smiled, squeezing his aching hand.
"Grinny!"
In an instant, the house-elf appeared. She opened her mouth to speak, but seeing Noah's red hand, she froze.
"Is young master Noah hurt? Do you want Grinny's help?" she asked, worried.
Noah shook his head. "No need, it doesn't hurt that much. But I want you to bring me something."
"Just say it, and Grinny will bring it," she replied.
Noah thought for a moment. "I want some candles, cloths, and unused paper. They can be old and torn."
Grinny nodded and left. Shortly after, she returned with everything he had asked for: a large bundle of candles, sheets, and old clothes.
"Grinny also brought this," she said, pushing a jar of burn ointment and some bandages toward him.
Noah smiled as he took the jar. "Thank you, Grinny."
The elf smiled, her ears twitching, before disappearing.