The lesson started the sa way the previous ones had.
Morana arrived at the courtyard first. Ragnar ca shortly after.
They slipped back into the pattern they had developed without either of them having to think about it much anymore.
Today’s lesson was different. Flas burned steadily above Ragnar’s palms as Morana circled him.
"You’re still treating the fire like sothing separate from yourself," she comnted.
"It is separate from ." Ragnar turned his head slightly to glance at her, looking bewildered.
"It isn’t." Morana stopped in front of him. "The fire responds to your will, your focus, your intentions, and your emotions. It is not a tool you’re holding. It is an extension of you. Until you understand that, you’ll keep fighting it."
Ragnar looked unconvinced, even as his forehead creased in confusion.
Morana had expected that reaction. "Tell what you’re thinking about."
"Right now?" His frown deepened.
"Yes," ca her response.
He huffed, still not understanding the reason for her question. "The lesson."
"And before that?"
He was silent for a mont.
Morana waited.
Eventually, he answered. "My wife."
Circe was always on his mind, a habit he didn’t want to change any ti soon.
The fla flared slightly, as if it were responding to his words. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
Morana pointed at it. "Do you see that?"
"I didn’t do anything." Ragnar said, looking down at the fire dancing in both his hands
"You did. You just didn’t do it consciously." She explained. "Most inexperienced fire users spend years learning control because they do not understand what it is. Real control begins when you understand what is influencing the fire in the first place."
For the next several minutes, Morana had him focus on different thoughts. mories. People in his life. Places.
Each ti, the fire changed. Sotis the difference was so miniscule, it took a keen eye to notice it and sotis it was more noticeable.
A difficult mory made the fla burn brighter. Certain thoughts caused it to grow larger than he intended and others made it settle.
So of the changes were subtle enough that Ragnar might never have noticed them on his own. Now that Morana was forcing him to pay attention, he could no longer ignore them. The fire was responding to him constantly.
Eventually, Morana said, "Stop trying to correct every little change. Stop forcing it into what you think it should be. Let it exist as it is. Just for a mont."
His expression imdiately beca suspicious. Then reluctantly, he obeyed. For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the color deepened, burning even hotter than before.
The fire darkened until it was unlike anything he had produced before. It was still controlled, still of his own making but different sohow
His eyes remained fixed on the fla.
"Why does it look different?" There was a note of confusion in his voice.
"Because that’s what your fire actually looks like." She answered, eyes shining with awe as she stared at his hands, at what he had created.
Ragnar looked at her like she had spoken in a different language. It wasn’t the first ti he had given her that very look.
She gestured toward the darker fla.
"When you stopped forcing it, its true nature started showing."
Ragnar lowered his gaze again. Aside from his current confusion, there was also sothing else that had been plaguing his mind for a while now, ever since he agreed to learn more about this strange ability.
"Where does it co from?" He asked. "I have t multiple demons in the past and none of them were like you. None of them could control fire."
He already knew he carried demon blood through her side of the family. He knew shadow abilities ran through her lineage as well. But the fire had never been explained to him.
Now that he was working with it every day, the question had beco one he actually wanted answered.
Morana was silent for a mont but it wasn’t because she was reluctant to answer.
The question itself was simple enough. The answer was not. It carried centuries of history behind it, and she was deciding where best to begin.
"Our family didn’t always have this ability. No, it all started with one man. Vesper Silhara. He lived during the final days of the Beast Age, when the great winged horrors still controlled Innermost. He wasn’t a king. He wasn’t one of the great rulers of the era. He was a minor warlord whose territory sat on the edge of lands constantly ravaged by beasts. While every other man with sense was retreating, Vesper went looking for the oldest and most dangerous beast he could find. Not to fight it but to bargain with it." She said.
"The creature he sought was called Nythera. The black dragon. The World-Burner. Ancient enough to have witnessed entire civilizations of demons rise and fall. Powerful enough to reduce armies to ash. Feared by every ruler who knew its na. But by then, Nythera was old and tired of its own dominance. Tired of ruling. Tired of existing. And that was the only reason Vesper’s gamble had any chance of succeeding at all." She continued, weaving the sa old tale that had been passed down in their family for generations. "It was said that Vesper climbed the scorched slopes of Mount Veyra carrying only a ritual knife and his infant daughter. At the summit, he perford what later beca known as the Rite of Binding. He slit his own wrist and offered his blood to seal the pact while Nythera breathed its dying flas upon them both. His blood mingled with the dragon’s essence, and his daughter beca the vessel that carried the inheritance forward."
"Was the dragon already dying, or did Vesper kill it as part of the rite?" Ragnar asked.
Morana shook her head.
"Nythera chose to end its line. It poured what remained of its essence into the Silhara bloodline willingly because it had decided the beasts’ age was finished. All of its kind had already perished and she was the only one remaining. Vesper gave it a reason to make that choice cleanly rather than simply waiting out its own decline."
Morana was a well of knowledge and Ragnar greedily absorbed everything she said. This was the first ti he was hearing of this and he wanted to know more.
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