Persistent Flame

Life continued as usual—or as usual as it could be for a kid whose magic seemed to defy normal rules. Fren and Roseline had decided not to push the matter of my golden flame, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching. Every morning during my sword training, Fren’s calm, encouraging demeanor betrayed a flicker of something more—concern, maybe, or curiosity. Were they that worried?

Roseline, on the other hand, had turned our magic lessons into an exercise in discovery. Water finally came through, making it two elements down. I remembered Celine telling me once that most mages specialize in a single element and are only able to learn basic spells of the others. Some can use more than one, and the special few can use all four: Earth, Fire, Water, and Wind. The Light and Dark aspects accept people at random, so they also have few users.

“Magic isn’t just power,” Rose reminded me during one of our lessons. “It’s purpose. You don’t cast spells just to show off—you cast them to connect, to protect, and to create. But looking cool while you do it isn’t a crime, of course.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant, but I had to admit, her passion was contagious.

In the mornings, Fren guided me through sword techniques with his usual steady patience. “Strike with precision,” he said, his voice calm as I practiced with a wooden sword.

I swung, trying to mimic his movement, though the weight of the blade still felt awkward in my hands. “It’s easier to throw fireballs,” I muttered, half-frustrated, half-joking.

Fren chuckled softly, crouching to adjust my grip. “Fireballs won’t protect you if you’re caught off guard. Balance your strength, Raizen. You can’t rely on just one thing. Especially if you keep wearing a weak spot on your face.”

He was right, of course, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Slowly, as the days turned into weeks, I began to notice subtle improvements. My strikes were smoother, my stance steadier, and my confidence in handling the sword grew little by little. Though it still wasn’t enough to get me out of Blade Initiate level.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Fren remarked one morning, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Maybe,” I said, though secretly, I felt a small spark of pride. The blade didn’t feel as heavy anymore, and my movements—though far from perfect—were starting to feel natural.

In the afternoons, Roseline and I returned to the patch of grass where my magic lessons had begun. She sat beside me, her silver hair catching the sunlight as she gestured for me to close my eyes.

“Feel the threads again,” she said softly, her tone carrying a hint of excitement.

I obeyed, reaching for the silver threads in my mind. They shimmered and shifted, alive and vibrant, but they stubbornly twisted into flame every time I tried to summon something else.

“I need to get the flame feel out of my default slot,” I sighed, opening my eyes to find another red flame hovering before me.

As the flame appeared, the familiar golden flame ignited on my eyepatch, flickering softly but without heat. It was strange—like it was tied to my magic, always mirroring my attempts to harness the threads. The moment the red flame dissipated, the golden one vanished too, leaving the eyepatch’s surface blank once more.

Roseline leaned closer, studying the golden flame with an unreadable expression. “Magic isn’t fixed,” she said. “It’s alive—always evolving. Just because your mana favors fire now doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way forever.”

Her words were comforting, but as I glanced at the eyepatch, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a phase.

As the days passed, I began to notice the golden flame’s presence more acutely. It only appeared when I summoned magic, flickering steadily alongside the spell, as if it were an extension of the mana itself. Fren and Roseline didn’t bring it up often, but their occasional glances showed their curiosity.