Chapter 10: The Fire Within

Caelan gave a faint smile, leaning back in his seat slightly.

“Ah,” he said. “That.”

Raye leaned forward with interest. “Whatever that was—it wasn’t ordinary. You sent Vaerond flying. I’ve never seen anything like it. It looked like the same force he used.”

Caelan nodded. “You’re not wrong. That was Aura.”

Raye’s brows furrowed. “Aura? Is that… some kind of magic?”

“No. Not magic.” Caelan raised a finger. “Though many mistake it for that. Aura comes from within. It’s the manifestation of one’s will, honed through mind, body, and spirit. It’s a force that flows through us—but very few ever learn to awaken it, let alone control it.”

Raye watched him closely. “So… it’s not something anyone can just learn overnight.”

Caelan smiled again, more earnestly this time. “Exactly. Aura isn’t about casting spells. It’s not a chant or a formula. It’s about channelling your inner strength into something real. Something that shapes the battlefield.”

He tapped the side of his chest. “It begins here.”

Raye crossed his arms. “And you’re telling me you’d teach me that?”

“I would love to,” Caelan replied. “I’ve taught others. Though only a few were able to reach the stage where it becomes useful in battle. Even in my kingdom, only a handful of soldiers—four or five—have reached that level. It takes more than discipline. It takes clarity. Focus. Purpose.”

Raye narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like it’s not just a technique. It’s a way of being.”

Caelan nodded approvingly. “Well put.”

Raye leaned back, absorbing this. “Vaerond used it too. His strikes… it wasn’t brute strength. It felt different. Heavy. Like it shook the air itself.”

“That’s Aura at its most dangerous,” Caelan said. “It enhances the body, sharpens instincts, reinforces weapons—and in the hands of a true warrior—it can become a weapon itself.”

Caelan then explained the concept in more detail

“Aura, in essence, is the force of your life energy made physical. But unlike mana or elemental magic, it’s not something you draw from the outside. It’s born from your own essence—your fighting spirit. The more battle-hardened your mind and soul are, the denser and sharper your Aura becomes.”

“There are stages to mastering Aura. First, you sense it—usually during extreme moments of life and death. Then you learn to contain it, like a flame in your chest. After that… you learn to release it, control it, and finally weaponize it.”

“Some warriors coat their blades in Aura, letting them slice through steel as if it were cloth. Others reinforce their bodies, taking blows that would crush ordinary men. The strongest… well, they can project their will outward. Strike enemies without even touching them.”

Raye was quiet for a long moment.

“And Vaerond… he’s already mastered it.”

“Yes,” Caelan said. “And that’s what makes him terrifying. He doesn’t just use Aura—he’s shaped it into something entirely his own. That blast he used against you… that was Aura shaped into force. Into raw domination.”

Raye’s voice dropped slightly, thoughtful.

“…During that fight… for a moment, I felt something shift.”

Caelan looked over.

Raye continued, “I wasn’t just moving. I felt… lighter. Like my limbs weren’t bound by weight or exhaustion. My strikes landed harder. Sharper. It was like my body finally aligned with what I wanted it to do. No hesitation. Just… force.”

Caelan’s eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

Raye nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his head around it. “It only lasted a moment. But I know what I felt.”

Caelan stood there, visibly stunned. Then, his lips curled into something between surprise and admiration.

“…You’ve already awakened it,” he said quietly.

Raye blinked. “What?”

“You used Aura, Raye. In that moment—your instinct, your desperation, your will to strike back—it all converged.” Caelan stepped closer. “It’s rare, but it happens. In moments of crisis… the body reacts before the mind does. You awakened your Aura subconsciously.”

Raye looked at his hands. “But I can’t feel it now.”

Caelan gave a knowing nod. “That’s because you’ve only touched it. You haven’t learned to command it. Aura is like a blade in the fog. It’s there—but until you learn where to reach, how to grasp it, it’ll always stay just out of reach.”

Caelan began explaining, walking slowly across the room

“The process of awakening Aura consciously starts with three things: Will, Focus, and Breath. You must train your body and mind to align through intense clarity. Aura flows through the core of your being—what we call the Inner Gate—usually centered just below the heart.”

“First, you must find that gate. You sit. You breathe. You listen—not to the outside, but within. Your heartbeat, your breath, your pain, your purpose. You focus until you feel the spark. It’s not always immediate. Sometimes it takes days. Weeks. But once you sense it… you must hold it. Mold it.”

“Then the real work begins. You learn to draw it into your limbs. To coat your weapon. To resist fatigue. To enhance your reflexes. Aura doesn’t just strengthen—it answers your intent. The stronger your resolve, the sharper your Aura becomes.”

He paused and looked back at Raye.

“You’ve already lit the fire. All you need now… is to learn how to keep it burning.”

There was a moment of silence between them, filled with new weight. Then Caelan gave a brief stretch, rolling his shoulders.

“Well,” he said with a half-smirk, “you’ve had quite the day—awakening Aura, fighting Vaerond, collapsing a mountain pass. Not bad.”

Raye chuckled faintly, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

Caelan stepped toward the door, then turned slightly. “Rest, Raye. You’ll need it. When you wake, we’ll begin properly. The road to mastering Aura isn’t easy. But you’re already halfway there.”

He reached for the door handle, then paused again.

“Oh—and one more thing.”

Raye looked up.

“Once you learn to wield Aura at will,” Caelan said, with a glint in his eye, “you’ll start to see why even the strongest blades in the world fear the hands that wield nothing at all.”

With that, Caelan left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

Raye lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

His body still ached, not just from battle—but from the weight of it all.

Twice.

He lost to Vaerond twice.

But the pain of defeat wasn’t what truly clawed at him. It was everything around it. Everything after it.

His kingdom—once proud, once roaring with flame—was silent now. Swallowed by war.

His mother, Her Majesty, and Auren… lost somewhere in the chaos. No home to return to, no place of safety.

His father—the King—chained and humiliated, a symbol of their fall.

And Draeven…

His chest tightened.

Draeven, who raised him like a second father. Who stood beside him in every campaign. Who believed in him—until the very end.

Gone.

Just like that.

He turned his head slightly, eyes falling to his gauntlets set on a nearby table. The once-golden edges were scorched, blackened with soot and battle marks. He remembered polishing them as a boy, so proud to wear them, dreaming of honour, duty, legacy.

Now they just looked… heavy.

Everything did.

His limbs, his breath, his name.

The title of prince. Of heir.

What was he a prince of now? Ashes?

Raye closed his eyes for a moment.

It felt surreal.

Like a dream that had shattered, but still clung to him in pieces.

A bitter voice in his head whispered, You’ve lost it all.

There’s nothing left to fight for.

But then—faintly—like a flicker behind the storm, came another voice.

Draeven’s.

“The flame isn’t the kingdom, boy. It’s the will in your chest. The moment you let that go, is the moment we’ve truly lost.”

His hands clenched the bedsheet without realizing.

No.

He had lost much. Too much.

But he hadn’t given up.

Not yet.

There was still something inside him—faint, trembling, but alive.

A warmth that hadn’t gone out.

Not yet.