The First Spark

Hibiki sat cross-legged on the cold forest floor, eyes shut, breath steady. The elf’s voice was calm but firm.

“Feel it.”

The air around him was still. No movement, no sound except for the occasional crackle of the dying fire. He could feel the dirt beneath his fingers, the wind brushing against his skin, the distant rustling of leaves. But he felt nothing else.

His brow furrowed. “I do not sense anything.”

A sharp flick to the forehead made his eyes snap open. The elf crouched in front of him, unimpressed.

“You are thinking too much,” she said. “Magic is not logic. It is not numbers or patterns. It is instinct.”

Hibiki scowled, rubbing his forehead. “That does not make sense.”

“Neither does fire,” she replied. “Yet it burns.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she had already turned away.

“Close your eyes. Try again.”

Hibiki sighed, shutting his eyes once more. He took a slow breath, letting the world fade away.

Minutes passed. Or perhaps hours. Time became meaningless.

Then, something shifted.

A warmth. A flicker at the edge of his consciousness. It was faint, like a whisper he could barely hear.

His heart pounded.

“I feel something,” he murmured.

“Do not grab it,” the elf warned. “Let it come to you.”

Hibiki obeyed. He remained still, letting the warmth grow. It curled around him, wrapped inside him, as if it had been waiting for him all along.

And then, it happened.

A spark.

The air around him trembled. His fingers tingled, his skin prickled with unseen energy. He gasped as something surged within him, something raw and untamed. His hands burned—not with pain, but with power.

His eyes snapped open just as a small flame flickered to life in his palm.

It danced in the night air, tiny yet impossibly bright. His breath caught in his throat.

“I did it,” he whispered.

The elf watched him closely. “Keep it steady.”

Hibiki’s excitement wavered. The flame flickered, unsteady. His heartbeat quickened. He clenched his fist, trying to hold onto it.

The fire vanished.

His chest tightened. “I lost it.”

The elf nodded, as if she had expected this. “Magic is not about control. It is about balance. You do not force it. You guide it.”

Hibiki stared at his empty hand, frustration bubbling inside him. But beneath that frustration was something else.

Hope.

He had felt it. Touched it.

Magic was real.

And it was his.

Days turned into weeks.

Hibiki trained relentlessly, pushing himself past exhaustion. The elf was merciless. If he collapsed, she made him stand. If he failed, she made him try again. And again. And again.

The flame in his palm became stronger, more stable. Then came the wind, swirling around him in response to his call. The earth beneath his feet trembled when he focused. He was no longer just surviving.

He was growing.

One night, after another grueling session, he collapsed onto the ground, panting. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his body aching in ways he never thought possible.

The elf crouched beside him. “Good.”

It was the first time she had said that word to him.

He managed a weak smirk. “Does this mean I am strong now?”

She tilted her head. “No.”

His smirk faded. “Figures.”

She stood, gazing at the stars. “Strength is not a destination. It is a path. And you have only taken your first step.”

Hibiki lay there, staring at the sky. His fingers twitched, aching for more.

The ember inside him had been lit.

And one day, it would become an inferno.