The Warmth That Was

Soren stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, heavy as if weights had been fastened to them. The first thing he noticed was the ceiling—plain stone, its faint grooves oddly familiar. His chest rose slowly, aching but steady.

…A familiar ceiling?

He shifted, the sheets rustling under his arms. His body felt heavy, but not broken. Somehow, it made him think only a few hours had slipped by.

Turning his head, he froze.

Konira sat in a chair pulled close to the bedside, her arms folded on the mattress, her head resting on them. Her hair spilled across the sheets, rising and falling with the rhythm of her breath. She had stayed there the whole time.

“Konira…” His voice cracked.

Her eyes twitched open. Blinking, she lifted her head, her cheeks still puffy from dried tears. The instant she saw him awake, her whole face lit up.

“You’re awake,” she whispered, voice trembling.

Soren pushed himself halfway upright, grimacing. “I… I have to go back. My finals match—it’s going to start soon—”

Konira shook her head quickly, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “No, Soren. You don’t understand. You were asleep the whole time. The officials already concluded the tournament yesterday.”

His breath caught. His lips parted, a hollow dread pouring in as the truth struck him. “Yesterday?” He said roughly, shocked at how much time had passed. “Then that means… I couldn’t…”

He didn’t finish. His chest tightened.

But before despair could take root, Konira squeezed his arm. “Listen to me. You came in second place, Soren. Second place at Winter’s Proving. Do you know what that means? You proved yourself against the best, and everyone saw it. I’ve never been prouder of you.”

Her words hit harder than the loss. His mouth opened, but no sound came.

She tilted her head, curiosity breaking through her soft smile. “That spell you used… what was it?”

Soren hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “My Frost magic.”

Konira pouted at his weak answer.

Soren noticed the look and adjusted his posture again. “I call it a Pulse Core. It’s… complicated.” He paused, gathering breath.

“I know what people think of me. What they whisper behind closed doors—or even to my face. But there’s something I learned while trying to master Frost, the affinity I wasn’t born with.”

Konira’s brows furrowed, startled at his admission. He knew he wasn’t of Frost.

Soren pressed on. “Magic isn’t just mystical. It’s… science.”

“Science?” Konira echoed, tilting her head.

He almost smiled at the unfamiliarity. He almost forgot that the word doesn't exist in this world.

“It means everything has a reason. A why. Instead of accepting magic as it is, I asked why it worked. I forced the building blocks of the spell to obey—atoms pressured and condensed, locked in speed but bound by my will.”

Her eyes softened as he spoke, not with confusion but recognition. A quiet laugh escaped her.

“That’s exactly what you showed me when we were kids.”

Soren blinked. “What?”

“Do you remember?” She stepped toward the window, clasping her hands behind her back. “You told me once to a few years ago to try and control the direction of each of my flares." She turned back with a smile.

“At the time, for a moment, I thought you were stupid. My body thought so too.”

“Your body?” Soren asked.

Her hand pressed gently against her chest. Her eyes closed. “I’m sure you’ve felt it now, Soren. I’ve heard it’s different for each affinity. For us Fire mages… it’s like something calmly burning, warming us from the inside. Something alive.”

Soren’s breath stilled. Her words stirred memories of flame and ash. Even if those memories where in pieces, the voice he heard then wasn’t. And even during Winter’s Proving, in the cold waiting halls, he had felt it. That passive heat, not just warming him but calling him.

Was it his soul...? Or something else? He thought with curiosity and fear.

Konira opened her eyes toward him, gaze sharp as though she’d heard his unspoken questions.

“Whatever it was, it didn’t want me to condense. And it didn’t want to be tamed.”

She returned to her seat, eyes serious now. “But when I tried your method in secret… my magic shifted. It changed.”

Her fingers tightened around her sleeve.

“And it rebelled.”

Soren sat in silence, mind racing. He’d always assumed the resistance he felt was just natural strain. A response of magic being used so finely. But now… if magic was alive—if it had its own will—then everything he thought he knew about it wasn’t just incomplete. It might be entirely wrong.

What if in this world, our souls hold a more tangible form and magic was the result?

An ear pressed off the infirmary door.

Nix stood there, thinking of what he had just heard. He didn’t feel a warming presence. And why would he?

He hesitated for a moment, his hands trembling at what he was going to do.

He closed his eyes and focused inward.

At first, a calm and quiet sensation washed over him, the gentleness of snow lightly falling on trees…

…and logged buildings.

He had discovered his affinity at the age of four.

They had been a happy family once. His father, a proud Frost mage. His mother, a gentle Fire mage whose warmth carried more than just her magic. Life was simple, safe—until the day the goblins came.

His father had been out on a hunt with others from the village. The winter days made winter mages more useful in those outings. That’s when they struck. The raid tore through the village with fire and steel. Screams could be heard through the air and snow painted red.

His mother, trembling but fierce, acted fast. She shoved her son into the hidden cellar.

“Stay,” she whispered, her voice sharp with urgency, though her eyes still carried love.

She placed the rug over the cellar’s entrance and picked up her staff hanging on the wall. He wanted to help. He wanted to fight. But fear held him down. All he could do was listen.

Above, her fire roared, cracking through the night. Then came the screams—her voice breaking, fading. Hours passed. Silence settled like ash.

When his father finally returned from the hunt, he found only ruin. He stormed through the wreckage, calling his wife’s name—until he saw her lying broken on the floor. Treated like a toy before being slain.

His cry was raw, shaking the floorboards of the house. He lifted her cold body in his arms, grief spilling out of him.

And then he heard another cry lighter than his own. He followed it toward the cellar and removed the rug, opening it. His son looked up with puffy cheeks, streaked with dirt and tears.

For a moment, there was a chance, maybe he’d be pulled into his father’s arms, maybe grief would fold into love. But the look that came instead was something else.

“You were here,” his father spat, voice hollow with rage. “You could have saved her. But you did nothing!”

The boy’s chest caved at the words. He tried to speak, to say he was sorry, but no sound came.

His father turned away, carrying his wife’s body out into the cold night. He never looked back.

And the boy’s cries went unheard.

Nix didn’t know how long he was left there, sadness and hunger consumed him, but a voice could be heard from above.

“Is anyone in here?” The voice said as Nix stayed quiet.

Footsteps squeaked with every step until they stopped.

“This is quite the staff,” the man said, picking up his mother’s.

His sadness quickly became rage as he climbed up the cellar’s steps. While he still had the element of surprise, he raised his hands and froze the man’s feet to the floor.

“Give it back!” he screamed.

The man turned toward him unimpressed. With a quick flick of his hand, the ice shattered. With another motion, he cocooned Nix in frost from the neck down.

“You’re good,” the man said flatly. “But you could be better.”

“That doesn’t belong to you!” Nix strained against the ice. “Give it back!”

The man placed the staff next to him. “Here.” Then he turned and walked toward the door, releasing Nix from the cocoon.

“You can die here alone,” he said without looking back, “or you can come with me. I’ll teach you what I know until you reach the academy.”

Nix’s fists tightened. He didn’t know who this stranger was. He didn’t trust him. But as the man walked away, something stirred inside his chest—a soft, familiar presence, as if his mother’s voice whispered through him. With every step the stranger took, that warmth faded. Nix couldn’t let it vanish.

So he followed.

A year passed. Nix never asked the man’s name, and the man never offered it. It didn’t matter. The voice inside him told him to grow stronger, no matter the cost.

Nix was now ten, and the man took him to the academy. The Frost Sect’s gates opened, and whispers spread immediately.

“No way…” Lady Lia herself rushed forward. “What are you doing here, brother?” She froze when she noticed the boy beside him. “And who’s this?”

“I’m here to drop him off,” the man replied. “He has promise.”

Nix’s face remained hard, emotionless.

“If you say so,” Lia said carefully. “I’ll believe you.”

“Good. Then I’ll be leaving.”

“Wait!” she called after him. “The Frost Sect hasn’t been the same since you gave leadership to me.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said, not once looking back.

“But—”

“It’s okay, Lia. That kid… he’s more than enough.” With a casual wave, he walked away.

Lia’s eyes settled on Nix. Cold. Empty. Pain etched into them.
“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Nix,” he answered flatly.

She turned, cloak brushing the floor. “Follow me.”

And once again, he followed.

Months passed. The Summer’s Proving arrived, and Nix sat in the stands with nothing better to do. He had already claimed victory at the recent Winter’s Proving as a first year, and now he was learning what else the school had to offer. He remembered a kid back then, barely able to cast a proper ice spell.

“What an embarrassment.” He muttered under his breath, resting his head on his fist.

Then the professor announced the next match and called forth the contestants.

A girl with long brown hair walked in and her opponent, a boy who looked like he never seen a shower faced one another.

Nothing special.

The duel began, and before Nix knew it, his eyes widened to the sound of. “Match over!”

Flame.

Beautiful and warm…

… like his mother’s.

Nix stepped into his room that night, thinking about the day’s events. The woman ended up winning the Summer’s Proving, and he now knew her name, Konira.

His eyes radiated with life that seemed to have been lost for a long time.

And for a moment, his gaze lingered on the staff resting against his bed. His mother’s staff. For the first time in years, his lips curved into a faint smile.

A tear slipped down his cheek.

Back in the present, standing outside the infirmary door, he wiped it with a sleeve.

“You better protect her Soren.” He whispered as he walked away.