The training hall still buzzed faintly with the remnants of Kael and Varion's earlier clash. Scorch marks scarred the floor, and the faint metallic scent of mana hung in the air.
Sofie stood at the center, fists clenched, heart pounding.
Across from her, Varion Ignar — her father, the legendary Warden of Flames — watched her with arms crossed, his expression calm but warm, a rare gentleness in his battle-hardened face.
"You're in a rush, little flame," Varion said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But that's alright. It just means your spirit's awake."
Sofie's chest tightened, but this time, it wasn't fear — it was determination. She opened her mouth to speak, but Varion raised a hand, gently stopping her.
"First... listen."
The kindness in his voice steadied her nerves.
Varion stepped closer, moving with the patient grace of a seasoned warrior.
"The power inside you — that element — it's not just about wanting it badly. It's about understanding the cycle. Mana and Will."
Sofie blinked. "...Will?"
Varion extended his hand outward. A flicker of flame sparked to life above his palm — controlled, steady, burning with a vibrant orange core.
"Mana is the breath of this world. It saturates the air, the earth, everything you touch. But Mana alone is wild."
His eyes locked onto hers, steady and strong like a lighthouse in a storm.
"Without Will — without your command — the element remains feral. Fire must choose you, just as you must master it."
Sofie nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
Varion tapped two fingers lightly against his chest — over his heart.
"Your core is here. Right now, it's a small ember. To awaken it, you must feel the mana around you... and pull it inward."
He circled around her with measured steps, his voice deep and reassuring.
"Gather it patiently. Feed your core like tending to a fragile flame. Rush it... and you'll only burn yourself."
Sofie closed her eyes, breathing in, breathing out.
Focus.
Feel.
She reached inward, searching for that flicker of warmth Varion spoke of.
At first — nothing.
But slowly... she sensed it.
A thread of heat, curled deep in her chest, tiny but alive.
"I feel it..." she whispered.
When she opened her eyes again, Varion was smiling — a proud, genuine smile.
"Good," he said. "You've found the ember."
He stepped back, motioning with his hand.
"But now, you must nurture it."
The flame above his palm flared higher, doubling in size with a simple breath.
"Draw mana from your surroundings — not by force, but by trust. Guide it into your core. Grow stronger — but stay in control."
Sofie sucked in a breath, her heart hammering with a mixture of excitement and terror.
Kael leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Varion's gaze never left Sofie.
"Now," he said, voice firm but encouraging, "show me."
The hall fell into silence.
No distractions.
No doubts.
Only her — and the fire waiting to be born.
Sofie closed her eyes, grounding herself.
Slow breath in.
Slow breath out.
Reach.
Feel.
The atmosphere shifted — a faint tugging sensation, almost like invisible threads reaching back toward her.
She pulled.
The mana came hesitantly at first, flowing toward the ember in her core.
She wove it in carefully, remembering Varion's words.
The ember flared brighter, spreading warmth through her chest.
A faint shimmer of light danced across her skin, as if the fire inside her was desperate to be free.
Varion watched silently, pride gleaming in his eyes.
Sofie's breathing quickened, the power rising too fast.
The heat spiked, wild and unsteady.
Her hands trembled.
"Control it," Varion's voice came — calm, reassuring. "It's yours. Not the other way around."
Sofie gritted her teeth, pressing her palms together over her heart.
Forge it.
Tame it.
The raging fire inside her smoothed into a steady, pulsing burn.
When Sofie opened her eyes again, her body was bathed in a gentle emberlight, flickering softly like the glow of a forge at twilight.
Varion exhaled, a soft chuckle escaping him.
"You've done well, little flame."
But there was no rest yet.
"Now comes the hard part," Varion said, stepping back and clapping his hands sharply.
A series of training constructs — simple metallic mannequins — rose from the ground all around Sofie, their surfaces gleaming in the warm light of the room.
"Fire is not just passion," Varion continued. "It's control. Precision. Fury at the right moment."
He gestured toward the dummies.
"Your goal is simple: Ignite, control, and strike. But you must only burn the target's center, nowhere else. If your flames lose discipline — you'll know."
Sofie stared at the constructs, nerves threatening to creep back into her heart.
"Remember," Varion said, his voice low and firm, "Mana answers Will. And Will answers the Heart."
She nodded, grounding herself once more.
She extended a hand, focusing all her intent into the gesture.
The ember in her core pulsed in response.
Mana flowed through her veins like molten gold.
A burst of flame sprang to life above her palm — wild and vivid.
Sofie narrowed her eyes, adjusting her breathing, shrinking the fire, sharpening it to a tight, controlled spear.
Without hesitation, she thrust her hand forward.
The flame shot out — a searing lance — and struck the first dummy dead center, punching a clean hole through its chest with a satisfying hiss of vaporized metal.
Sofie's eyes widened — I did it—
But her control wavered. The flame flared outward, spilling to the sides — catching two other dummies and setting them ablaze.
Varion clicked his tongue lightly.
"Too much excitement," he said. "Good strike, but control, Sofie."
Sofie flushed in embarrassment but bit down her frustration.
Again.
This time, she inhaled deeply, summoning the flame more carefully.
The second blast was smaller, tighter — it hit the next dummy clean through without a single stray ember.
Varion smiled, folding his arms.
"Good. Again."
Again.
And again.
Sofie repeated the motions, sweat dripping down her brow, her breathing heavy. Every fiber of her being screamed in protest, but she pushed harder, the ember in her chest growing stronger, hotter, more obedient with each cycle.
After what felt like an hour, Sofie staggered backward, gasping.
Her palms were raw from the heat. Her legs ached.
But when she looked at the field of dummies...
Only the centers were scorched clean through.
Not a single wasted ember.
Varion approached, placing a strong hand gently on her shoulder.
"You've taken your first step," he said, voice proud and deep.
Sofie, chest heaving, allowed herself a rare smile through the exhaustion.
One step closer... she thought, to standing beside him.
Beside Klaus.
Sofie wiped the sweat from her forehead, chest still heaving, her body buzzing with the lingering heat of mana. Pride and exhaustion warred within her — but before she could savor the moment any longer, a familiar, lazy voice cut through the air.
"Not bad, little ember," Kael drawled from his spot near the wall, a lopsided grin plastered across his face. "For a first-timer, you only almost blew yourself up... what, five times?"
Sofie whipped her head around, shooting him a glare, cheeks flushing red — from embarrassment this time, not the fire.
"I did not almost blow myself up!"
Kael smirked wider, pushing off the wall with exaggerated slowness.
"Sure, sure. We all saw it. That last blast? I'm pretty sure Dad flinched."
Sofie's jaw dropped, indignant.
Varion, who was sipping from a metal flask near the training console, paused mid-drink. His lips twitched — the tiniest, betraying upward curve — before he quickly masked it with a stern cough.
Sofie turned her glare toward her father accusingly.
"You didn't flinch, right?!"
Varion coughed again, hiding the smile in his eyes.
"Focus, Sofie," he said, clearing his throat gruffly, voice ever so slightly rough from suppressed amusement. "The true training begins now."
Kael snickered under his breath, wandering off toward the entrance with a lazy wave.
"I'll leave you to it, sis. Try not to burn the whole place down before dinner."
"Kael!" Sofie shouted after him, but he was already gone, laughter echoing faintly down the hall.
Turning back around, Sofie found Varion watching her with that rare, softened gaze — the look he reserved only for family, when no one else was watching.
"You did well," he said simply. "Better than most in their first awakening."
Warmth bloomed in Sofie's chest, deeper than any fire.
Varion's expression shifted, becoming serious once again as he stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.
"But if you truly wish to stand among the strong," he said, his voice dropping into a low, steady cadence, "you must endure a harsher path."
He walked past her toward the center of the training ground.
Sofie followed, heart pounding with a new, sharper excitement.
Varion turned and raised a hand. A series of pillars erupted from the floor, forming a ring — each one topped with a burning brazier. The flames inside were not normal fire; they shimmered with a dangerous, deeper orange, almost molten in nature.
"This," Varion said, motioning to the circle, "is called the Trial of Embers."
Sofie's breath caught.
"The flames here are drawn from the deeper ley-lines beneath the estate," Varion explained. "Mana in its rawest, most volatile form."
He gestured again, and the pillars flared higher, bathing the room in a molten glow.
"You will step into the center," he continued, voice unwavering. "The fire will try to consume you. Not physically — but spiritually. Your Will, your Mana control, your very Core — they will all be tested."
Sofie's hands trembled slightly at her sides — but not from fear.
From anticipation.
"You must endure for as long as you can. Breathe with the flames. Wrestle them into submission if you must. But if you lose yourself..."
He pointed at a glyph embedded in the floor — an emergency failsafe.
"I will pull you out."
Varion's eyes locked onto hers, steady and intense.
"This is no longer about awakening. It's about forging."
Sofie swallowed hard, nodding.
"I'm ready."
Varion stepped aside, giving her a clear path to the ring of flames.
"Then step forward, little flame," he said, a faint proud rumble in his voice. "Let the fire recognize its heir."
Sofie clenched her fists once, twice — and then moved.
The heat rolled over her in waves as she crossed into the circle, sweat immediately breaking out across her brow.
Inside the ring, the air grew thick — molten — pressing against her skin, her lungs.
The embers in her core stirred wildly, matching the raging mana surrounding her.
Sofie dropped into a wide stance, grounding herself just as Varion had taught.
Breathe.
Gather.
Command.
The flames surged higher, roaring with chaotic hunger — and Sofie gritted her teeth, her whole body trembling as she fought to rein them in.
Outside the ring, Varion stood motionless, arms crossed — a statue of patience and silent pride.
Endure it, Sofie, his gaze seemed to say. Show them who you are.
And Sofie — surrounded by infernos ancient and wild — closed her eyes...
…and fought to carve her Will into the very heart of the flame.
The heat clawed at her mind first.
Sofie clenched her teeth, the roaring of the flames swallowing everything — sound, breath, thought. It was like being trapped inside a living volcano, every inhale scraping fire across her lungs.
Focus... breathe...
Varion's earlier words rang inside her skull.
The fire around her didn't feel like simple flame anymore. It was alive — a beast of ancient memory, testing her resolve. Each lick of molten heat dragged at her Core, trying to unravel it, to reduce her Will into ashes.
Her knees buckled for a moment.
But Sofie forced herself upright, fists trembling at her sides.
Then — visions began to blur before her.
A battlefield of fire and ruin.
Armored titans wading through oceans of flame.
A massive, blood-red sun dying over a shattered skyline.
Sofie gasped, staggering a step, her head pounding.
It wasn't her memory.
Whose... whose memories are these?!
The fire wrapped tighter around her, seeping into her skin, burrowing into her bones. It was showing her something — a legacy — a powerline that ran deeper than her own short life.
A whisper — old, ancient, thunderous — brushed her ear.
"Burn or be burned, child of cinders..."
Sofie gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached.
No.
She wouldn't be consumed.
Her Core pulsed — wild and uneven, but strong — and she seized the surging mana, grappling with the raw, furious flame trying to unmake her.
Outside the ring, Varion's arms were folded, but his knuckles had whitened. His expression stayed stoic — but his eyes were razor-focused on Sofie, calculating every tremor, every heartbeat.
Minutes bled by like hours.
The fire pushed harder, testing, searching for weakness.
Sofie felt her legs lock, muscles screaming in agony, but she didn't move. She could almost hear the fire thinking, as if wondering why this fragile girl still stood against it.
Because I'm not fragile, she thought fiercely.
I'm not running away anymore.
Another vision flashed.
A colossal phoenix wreathed in white flame.
Its cry — defiant, endless, beautiful — split the heavens.
Tears sprang unbidden to Sofie's eyes — from the heat, from the pain, from something deeper she couldn't name.
She opened her mouth — not to scream, but to roar back.
And in that moment, the fire shifted.
Not against her — but around her.
The raging inferno that had threatened to consume her bowed, just slightly, as if acknowledging her Will. The heat didn't lessen — it would never lessen — but it accepted her presence.
Sofie's entire body glowed now — not burning, but shimmering with a fierce, internal light.
She staggered out of the ring — breathless, half-collapsing, but still conscious.
Varion was there instantly, catching her under the arms before she hit the ground.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Sofie sagged against him, the world spinning.
Then Varion's deep voice rumbled, so soft she almost thought she imagined it:
"Well done, little flame."
Sofie tried to grin — and only managed a weak nod.
In the distance, Kael clapped mockingly slow from the doorway.
"Not bad," he called out. "You're officially a crispy marshmallow now!"
Varion shot Kael a dry look over Sofie's head — a look that promised a less playful spar later — and Kael hastily retreated with a laugh.
Sofie chuckled hoarsely, the sound raw but genuine.
And inside her Core — where once only fragile embers had fluttered — a new, steady flame now burned.
Her real training... had only just begun.
Sofie sagged slightly, gasping for breath, but her heart thudded with pride.
The small flame had vanished from her palm, but the heat still lingered inside her chest — steady, alive.
She had done it.
She had taken the first step.
Varion studied her silently for a moment, arms crossed, his stern gaze softening just a fraction.
"You've taken your first step, Sofie," he said, voice deep and firm. "From here on, it's endless struggle. Endless refinement. The flames within you are a gift — and a curse. If you cannot master them, they will master you."
Sofie nodded fiercely, wiping her forehead. "I'm ready."
Kael sauntered over, ruffling her hair — which immediately earned him a swat.
"Relax," he said with a wink. "You're still basically a baby phoenix."
Varion shook his head, but the faintest ghost of a smile touched his face.
"Tomorrow," he said, turning away. "We begin real combat training.You'll learn to shape that fire into weapons. Into shields. Into wings."
Sofie barely heard him.
Her mind was already drifting — back to the strange moment when she had been inside the flames.
That voice...
That warmth.
A phoenix — she had seen it, she was sure.
Not just imagined it.
A being of pure flame, wings stretched across an endless sky, its voice resonating within her Core.
The memory sent a shiver down her spine — not of fear, but of something deeper. A pull. A calling.
"Sofie," Varion's voice cut in, pulling her back to the present.
She blinked, startled.
He was standing a few feet away, studying her carefully, a slight crease between his brows.
"What troubles you?" he asked.
His voice wasn't stern this time.
It was low. Almost... fatherly.
For a second, Sofie thought about telling him.
About the voice, the phoenix, the strange feeling of destiny winding around her Core like molten chains.
But the words stuck in her throat.
She forced a small, strained smile and shook her head. "Nothing. Just... tired."
Varion watched her a moment longer, as if he didn't quite believe her — but in the end, he simply nodded.
"Rest then. Tomorrow will be far harsher."
Sofie exhaled slowly, the weight on her chest loosening just slightly.
Kael, completely unaware of the deeper tension, slung an arm around her shoulder and smirked.
"You'll need it," he said cheerfully. "Trust me. Dad's idea of training makes normal people cry blood."
"Shut up, Kael," she muttered — but a small laugh escaped her lips despite herself.
Varion turned away, his cloak sweeping behind him, but Sofie caught the brief flicker of a smile he tried — and failed — to hide.
Tomorrow, the real battle would begin.
But for tonight... she allowed herself to breathe.
And deep inside her, the flames answered. Waiting. Watching. Hungering for more.
---
Klaus's vision blurred as he struggled to comprehend the unfamiliar landscape before him. The land stretched endlessly, cracked and barren, with the occasional gust of wind sweeping over the lifeless terrain. The air itself felt different—distant, almost cold, despite the pressure building in his chest.
"Where did the Echo teleport me to?"
The thought crashed into Klaus's mind like a wave, his body tense as he surveyed the strange land around him. His eyes darted left and right, scanning the horizon for any sign of life. There was nothing—just endless, desolate ground stretching before him. The wind whispered ominously, as if it too was uncertain of this place.
The stillness was suffocating, yet in the depths of his mind, a low, powerful voice echoed again.
"Rise, Stormborn… Bring the Aetherions back to glory."
The words hit Klaus like a thunderstrike. They were like a command, an order coming from something deeper than the Echo. It felt ancient, primal—an undeniable truth that resonated in his very soul.
The Aetherions. The name stirred something inside him. A forgotten legacy. A bloodline of warriors—storm-binders—powers that could bend the elements to their will. And now, he was the last.
His breath hitched as he realized the magnitude of his situation. The last of the Aetherions.
Suddenly, a sharp, unyielding thought cut through his confusion. "I will rise."
No more hesitation. The wind had chosen him, and with that choice came a new, unspoken burden. He had no time for answers now. The Aetherions would rise again.
His body tensed with raw power, and the wind answered him, howling at his back. The energy coursing through his veins was enough to make him feel alive, the elements at his command.
Still, he had no answers. Where was he?
He took a deep breath and let the wind guide him. As the storm roared around him, Klaus moved forward, driven by a single instinct—to fulfill the promise of the Aetherions, to rise, to bring them back to their former glory.
As he pushed onward, Klaus noticed movement in the distance—figures, faint but noticeable. They were walking toward him, but something about their stance seemed off, as if they were waiting for him.
He slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as the wind whispered warnings into his ears. Ambush.
His instincts flared. With no time to waste, he broke into a sprint, closing the distance between himself and the figures in mere moments. They were scouts, he could tell by their dull, ragged armor—disorganized, perhaps not used to facing someone like him.
The leader of the group, a tall figure with a heavy scar across his face, stepped forward, hand resting on the hilt of a sword at his side. "Hold," he commanded, his voice raspy. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Klaus stopped in his tracks, his body perfectly still as the wind began to swirl around him, crackling like the calm before a storm. His expression was icy—cold, unblinking, and completely unreadable. His eyes, sharp like a predator's, bore into the leader without a hint of emotion.
There was no reply. Not a word. Klaus simply stared.
The leader faltered slightly under Klaus's unyielding gaze, but his hand gripped his sword tighter. "Answer me!" he barked, his voice rising with aggression.
But Klaus remained silent. His focus was unwavering, his eyes piercing through the leader like a blade. There was an aura of authority about him—an overwhelming presence that was impossible to ignore.
The leader's frustration grew. "You dare remain silent?!"
The other scouts shifted nervously, sensing the tension in the air. But it was too late. Klaus had already moved.
In the blink of an eye, he was on the leader, his body a blur of motion. The wind followed him like an extension of his being, a force as destructive as any weapon.
The leader tried to swing his sword, but Klaus was faster. A sharp gust of wind erupted from his outstretched hand, knocking the blade from the leader's grip with ease. Klaus twisted his body, his foot sweeping the leader's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.
Before the leader could recover, Klaus was already spinning in the air, his body twisting with the wind. A gust howled behind him as he shot forward, slamming his palm into the chest of another scout. The force of the impact was like a bolt of lightning—strong enough to send the scout flying backward, crumpling into the dirt, unconscious.
Klaus barely acknowledged the bodies sprawled on the ground. His focus remained on the remaining scouts, who now seemed unsure whether to flee or fight. But there was no room for hesitation.
With a deep breath, Klaus extended his hands outward, palms open. The air around him began to vibrate, crackling with raw power. He had mastered the wind, and now it would show.
The ground beneath his feet trembled as the wind began to twist and bend around him, moving in impossible patterns. The air surged with energy, forming sharp blades of wind that sliced through the air at impossible speeds.
With a single movement of his hand, Klaus directed the wind forward. The gusts screamed like a banshee, tearing through the remaining scouts with terrifying precision. The wind cut through their armor and clothing like paper, leaving deep lacerations across their bodies.
The scouts didn't stand a chance. They were caught in the storm of his power, unable to defend themselves against the fury of the wind that Klaus commanded. In mere moments, the battlefield was silent, save for the howling wind still swirling around him.
Klaus stood tall, his chest rising and falling with each controlled breath. His eyes were cold, his expression unreadable. He was a force of nature—untouchable, unstoppable.
The wind stilled around him, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. Klaus glanced down at the fallen scouts, their bodies strewn across the barren land, and then turned his gaze toward the horizon.
Without a word, he began to walk forward, the storm of his power at his back.