After breakfast, Kaelith slipped outside, the village buzzing with post-festival cleanup. He found Seraphine by the well, her red robes stark against the gray stone, hair spilling like molten copper.
She glanced up as he approached, smirking. "There's the little spark. Parents say yes?"
"Yeah," he said, standing tall as his three-year-old frame allowed.
"Good." She set her cup down, cracking her knuckles. "Let's see what you've got, then."
He followed her to a quiet field beyond Talsara, the wheat swaying under the twin suns. She stopped, turning to face him, hands on hips.
"Show me that flame again," she said.
Kaelith took a breath, focusing. Ignis. A spark flared above his palm, then a small flame—wobbly, but brighter than yesterday.
Seraphine nodded, unimpressed. "Not bad for a brat. But it's weak. You're holding back."
"I'm not," he lied, voice tight.
She stepped closer, towering over him. "Magic's not a toy. It's will—raw, messy. You want fire? Mean it."
He frowned, trying again. Ignis. The flame grew, flickering higher, but it wavered, shrinking back.
Seraphine sighed. "You're scared. Of what?"
He didn't answer. Of losing it. Of the hunger taking over.
She knelt, eye-level now. "Listen, kid. Fire's alive—it feeds on you. Give it something real, or it'll die."
Her closeness hit him—her scent, sharp and smoky, her breath warm. His fangs throbbed, a heat coiling low. He stepped back, flustered.
"Again," she snapped, standing.
He gritted his teeth, pushing past the distraction. Ignis. This time, he let the hunger bleed in—the ache, the want. The flame roared up, a fist-sized blaze, steady and hot.
Seraphine's eyes lit up. "There it is. That's the stuff."
He let it die, panting. The hunger pulsed harder, tied to the magic now.
She smirked. "You've got a spark, alright. Maybe more. Keep that edge—it'll carry you."
They trained for hours—sparks to flames, control to chaos. Kaelith's hands shook by the end, his toddler stamina fading, but he didn't quit. Seraphine pushed, relentless, her voice cutting through his haze.
"Focus, Kaelith. Fire doesn't wait."
He nodded, sweat beading on his brow. Each spell sharpened his will, but the hunger grew too, a shadow licking at his edges.
As the red sun dipped low, she called it. "Enough. You're not half-bad, kid."
"When's next?" he asked, breathless.
"Tomorrow, if I'm still here. Depends on your folks." She ruffled his hair, her touch lingering. "Get some rest."
He watched her stride off, her hips swaying under the robe. His pulse quickened—magic wasn't the only fire she'd lit.
Stop it, he told himself, heading home. She's your teacher.
But Kazu's old habits whispered back, a leer he couldn't shake.
At home, dinner was quiet. Veyra served stew, her movements stiff. Talren ate fast, eyes on his bowl.
Kaelith chewed slowly, the meat tasteless. His ears caught a rustle outside—a giggle, low and feminine.
He glanced at Talren, who didn't flinch. Veyra's spoon paused midair.
"You're late again tomorrow?" she asked, voice flat.
Talren shrugged. "Maybe. Work's piling up."
"Liar," she muttered, too soft for him to hear—but not Kaelith.
He froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. He's stepping out. Like Dad did.
Another memory hit—Kazu's father sneaking in at dawn, lipstick on his collar, his mother's silent tears. Kazu had watched, ten years old, hating them both.
He blinked it away, staring at Talren. The man grinned at him, oblivious. "How'd it go with the mage, little man?"
"Good," Kaelith said, short. "She's tough."
"Better than me with a sword," Talren teased.
Veyra stood abruptly, clearing plates. "Bedtime, Kaelith."
He obeyed, but the tension clung like damp air.
That night, he woke to voices—hushed, sharp, cutting through the walls.
"—saw you with her, Talren," Veyra hissed. "Don't lie."
"It's nothing," Talren shot back. "Just talk."
"Nothing? You reek of her perfume!"
A pause, then a low growl. "You're imagining things."
Something crashed—a cup, maybe. Kaelith sat up, heart pounding.
Veyra's voice broke. "I deserve better."
Footsteps stomped out. The door slammed.
He crept to the window, peering through the shutters. Talren's silhouette vanished into the dark, toward the tavern.
Kaelith's fists clenched. Bastard.
He slid back into bed, the hunger flaring—hot, angry. He bit his wrist, a trickle of blood soothing it, but not enough.
He's like Dad, he thought. And I'm stuck watching again.
Next morning, Talren was gone—off "working," Veyra said, her eyes red. She hugged Kaelith tight, too tight.
"You're my good boy," she whispered.
He hugged back, guilt twisting in him. I'll be better than him.
Seraphine waited by the field, arms crossed. "You're late."
"Sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his wrist.
She didn't push it. "Today, we shape fire. Watch."
She flicked her hand, a flame spiraling into a ring, then a whip. "Your turn."
Kaelith tried, his flame wobbling into a crude arc. It took ten tries, but he got it—a shaky circle, glowing red.
Seraphine nodded. "Progress. You're quick."
He grinned, fangs peeking out. She didn't notice—or didn't care.
They drilled on, his magic growing sharper, his hunger louder. By noon, he could twist a flame into a rough snake, its heat licking the air.
"You're a natural," Seraphine said, smirking. "Might keep you around."
He flushed, her praise sinking deep. "Thanks."
She leaned closer, voice low. "Magic's a lover, Kaelith. Teases you, tests you. Don't let it win."
Her breath brushed his ear, and his fangs ached—not just for blood. He stepped back, flustered again.
She laughed, standing. "Tomorrow, then."