The Stubborn Mage

The night was quiet.
Thin drapes lightly flapped at the partially opened window. Each flutter welcomed the evening breeze. A calm, soothing chill filled the infirmary.
The academy was asleep, but Soren’s mind wasn’t.

His thoughts drifted back to when he first came to this world—not as a student, but as an infant. It was familiar yet very different. The room was dark, lit by the flickering of candlelight. Two figures leaned over him, their faces hidden in shadow. Their words were foreign, strange, but one sound broke through with clarity, repeated again and again, warm with joy: Soren.

He was confused, helpless, but alive. The last thing he remembered before that, fractured like a fading dream, was falling.

As years passed, he pieced together the truth—he had been reborn, given another chance. The memories of his past life sharpened as he matured, blurred images growing into coherent scenes. Through it all, one feeling never left him: his love for frost.

He was now two.

In this world, humans were born with the potential to wield all types of magic stemming from the four elements: fire, ice, wind, and earth. But each body resonated more deeply with one above the others, an affinity that shaped their path.

From his crib, Soren watched with intent each day as his mother preserved the family’s food. She closed her eyes, focused, and the air before her hands shifted—first a spark, then a burst of icy wind that crept over the meat, freezing it in slow, cruel stillness.

His father would lift him from his wooden enclosure, resting him on one arm. With the other, he summoned a small flame into his palm.
“Can’t have you getting cold now, Soren,” Aiko said, as the home’s warmth fought against the chill.

Soren’s gaze lingered on his mother. She stretched her arms out to receive him.
“I got him now, Aiko,” she said gently.

“You know, Meisa—Soren never looks at me the way he looks at you when I do magic,” Aiko chuckled, closing his fist and snuffing out the flame before handing Soren over.

“Maybe he has my affinity.” Meisa’s lips curved into a triumphant smile.

“Haha, maybe. Regardless, we still have quite some time before we find out for sure,” Aiko replied with forced optimism, softening the sting of defeat.

“He’ll be five before we know it,” she said, kissing Soren’s forehead. “I can’t wait to see where his soul lies.”

But whenever they left him alone, Soren practiced. Closing his eyes, concentrating with all the focus of a mind too old for his tiny body, he tried again and again to mimic his mother’s craft. The most he managed was a fragile frost creeping across his hands. It chilled him, but he never stopped.

“I’m home!” Aiko’s voice rang out with cheer as he shut the door behind him.

“Welcome home, dear,” Meisa answered softly, helping him with his outerwear.

“Where’s Soren?” he asked, lifting the rabbits tied to his belt.

“He’s in the back again…” Her voice dimmed, her head lowering.

Aiko sighed, handing her the rabbits. “Doesn’t he know he’s making his mother sad?” His shoulders slumped, but after a pause he began toward the hall. Meisa’s hand caught his sleeve.

“Wait, Aiko… it’s our job to support him. To love him unconditionally.”

“It’s been two years, Meisa.” His voice was calm but edged with authority. “Ever since he was five, all he’s done is ice magic. Never once curious about the others. That’s not right. It’s… abnormal.”

He pulled free of her grasp and continued on, wiping rabbit’s blood from his hands onto his shirt. At the end of the hallway stood the storage room door. Their books were stacked haphazardly along one wall, the rest filled with unused boxes. With a push, the door creaked open.

Soren sat cross-legged on the floor, wooden cups of water arranged in a circle around him.

Aiko froze for a moment, then drew a slow breath.
“Soren. We need to talk.”

The boy opened his eyes. Sweat streaked down his face.
“Welcome home, Dad,” he said quietly.

“What are you doing?” Aiko asked, his frustration faltering at the sight of his son’s effort.

“Look!” Soren’s face lit with pride. “I was able to fill each cup now!”

Aiko moved a few aside as he sat beside him. “Don’t you think it’s about time you started practicing the other elements? You’re seven now. Most kids already know their affinity by this age.” He pulled his shirt free and turned it inside out, using it to wipe Soren’s brow.

“Your mother, at five—two years younger than you—could fill a barrel of water.”

Soren’s smile faltered. He knew the truth. Even with his head start, his progress was painfully slow.

Aiko softened his voice. “I know how much you admire your mother, and I want you to be happy… but maybe it’s time to think about your future.” His hand came to rest on Soren’s shoulder.

“I know! Why don’t you play with the neighbor’s kid?”

“No,” Soren muttered.

“Why not? What was her name again… Ko-something? She practically stares at you whenever you’re outside.” Aiko nudged him with his elbow.

Soren kept silent.

“Maybe you can ask her for tips. Her affinity’s fire, sure, but sometimes having someone your own age gives you perspective.”

“…Okay,” Soren whispered.

“Great. I’ll be partnering with her father for tomorrow’s hunt, so I expect you to be nice while I’m gone.”

Soren nodded reluctantly.

“That’s my boy. Now go clean up—see if your mother needs help.”

Soren rose, gave one more nod, and slipped out, leaving Aiko sitting alone, worry etched across his face.

The next morning, the village paths were quiet, still damp from the night’s dew. Soren sat on a wooden step, his arms folded across his knees, watching the fog lift slowly from the fields. He had no interest in meeting anyone.

But then she appeared.

A small girl with dark hair tied loosely behind her head walked straight toward him, a stick in her hand, dragging it across the dirt as if drawing lines only she could understand. Her pace was confident, her eyes sharp, but there was something soft behind them—something that didn’t match the way she carried herself.

“You’re Soren, right?” she asked without hesitation, stopping in front of him.

He gave the smallest nod.

She studied him for a moment, then pointed her stick toward his chest. “You practice too much.”

Soren frowned, ready to dismiss her, but before he could speak, she flicked her wrist. A faint spark shimmered at the tip of the stick—fire, small but steady. She held it like it was nothing.

“See? I can already do this. But my father says it doesn’t matter how much you can show off if you don’t know who you are.” She let the flame die and dropped the stick to the ground.

Soren stared at her, quiet.

“I’m Konira,” she said, brushing her hands on her clothes. “But you can call me Koni, if that's easier.”

Something about the way she said it—blunt, almost commanding—should have annoyed him. But her eyes lingered on him in a way that wasn’t mocking. Curious, maybe even kind.

“...Soren,” he finally answered.

“I know,” she replied simply, then sat down beside him as if they had known each other for years.

For a long while, neither spoke. The morning sun pushed through the fog, and in that silence, a strange understanding settled between them—two children who felt older than their years, bound by something neither could name yet.

Time moved quickly after that.

By the time they were ten, the academy gates loomed before them—tall, carved stone towers that cast long shadows across the courtyard. For most children, it was the beginning of adventure, of proving themselves worthy. For Soren, it was simply another step, another place where he would practice until his fingers ached.

But he didn’t walk in alone.

Konira was there, her fiery energy balanced by that strange maturity she carried even as a child. She nudged him as they passed through the archway. “Don’t look like you’re going to war, I won’t let anyone harm you.”

He glanced at her sideways. “I don’t need your protection.”

She smirked. “Well, you have it anyway.”

The academy was alive with noise—children laughing, spells sparking, teachers barking instructions. Yet almost immediately, whispers followed Soren.

That’s him. The boy who only uses ice.
He’s strange… I heard he refuses to try other types of magic. I bet he just doesn’t know any other magic. But don’t you need to know your affinity before you’re ten?
He’s just stubborn. Always stubborn.

The words clung to him, but he didn’t flinch. Not when students avoided him, not when some tried to trip him during sparring, not even when a teacher sighed and muttered about wasted potential.

Konira defended him at first—sharp words, fists when she had to. But she soon realized he didn’t need defending. He didn’t care what they said.

Soren would spend his nights practicing. The same routine but a different ceiling above. He can shape his frost into a solid form; however, it didn’t last long. He would push himself until his body could barely move waking up to aches and exhaustion in his bed. He wasn’t chasing approval. He wasn’t chasing fame. He was chasing strength on his own terms.

And the whispers never stopped. If anything, they grew louder. The stubborn one. The stubborn mage.

It became his name in the academy halls, sometimes spat with mockery, sometimes muttered with awe.

And though he never admitted it, Soren accepted it. Because if being stubborn meant holding onto the one thing he believed in, then so be it.