Kael's dwelling lay deep within the forest a hollow carved
into the trunk of a fallen titan tree, its walls lit by jars of soft blue flame. Alonso slept on woven moss, ate roots and berries, and trained until hismuscles ached.
At dawn Kael woke him with riddles; by dusk, with bruises.
"Magic is not trickery," Kael said, striking his staff upon
the ground. Sparks flared and danced into tiny birds of light. "It is language the speech of the world itself. You must listen before you speak.""I'm listening,"
Alonso gasped, sweat glistening on his arms.
"Then hear this." Kael's staff whirled, slashing through the
air. "Power without control is ruin. Fire without purpose consumes everything, even those you love."
He gestured, and the air shimmered. Visions filled Alonso's
mind: burning cities, screaming voices, a child cradled in smoke."My home,"
Alonso whispered. "What happened that night?"
"Draventh fell to its own greed," Kael said quietly. "Your
father fought to protect you. Your bloodline carries the Flame Sigilone of the seven elemental seals forged before kingdoms rose. The dark mage Varyn hunts
that power still."Alonso clenched his fists. "Then teach me to fight him."
Kael smiled grimly. "Very well. But first you must learn to
lose." Training became torment.
Kael forced him to hold flame until his palms blistered, to
balance on stone while focusing the breath of magic, to listen to the rhythm of rivers and wind. Days blurred into weeks.
Yet beneath pain bloomed mastery. Alonso learned to conjure flame small as candlelight or fierce as stormfire. He discovered that anger made his magic wild, but sorrow made it strong.
Sometimes at night, he dreamed of his grandmother calling
his name. He vowed to find her again to prove he was more than a slave's ghost.