Not on purpose. Not even a little bit on purpose. One second, I’m standing in the middle of the Brotherhood’s practice grounds, concentrating on forming a controlled flame sphere like Drayke showed me yesterday. The next second, I’m surrounded by a wall of fire that’s consuming the wooden training dummies, the weapon racks, and approximately half an acre of carefully maintained grass.
“Shit!” I stumble backward, hands raised, trying to pull the flames back. They don’t listen. They’re too big now, too hungry, feeding on my frustration and turning it into an inferno. “Shit, shit, shit?—”
Drayke appears beside me, calm as a glacier while chaos rages around us. He doesn’t panic. Doesn’t yell. Just places one large hand on my shoulder, and the contact grounds me enough that I can finally breathe.
“Pull it back,” he says, voice steady. “Don’t fight the fire. Guide it.”
“I’m trying!” The flames roar higher, licking at the stone walls surrounding the courtyard. “It’s not listening!”
“It’s not supposed to listen. It’s supposed to follow.” His hand slides down my arm, fingers wrapping around my wrist. Heat pulses where our skin meets—his fire calling to mine. “Stop commanding. Start leading.”
I don’t understand what he means. But I close my eyes, force myself to stop screaming at the flames to obey, and instead... invite them home. Back to me. Back to the source.
The fire hesitates. Flickers. Then, slowly, it begins to recede—pulling back from the walls, releasing the charred remains of the training dummies, shrinking toward the center of the field. Toward me.
I absorb it. All of it. The flames pour back into my chest, settling beneath my sternum in a ball of warmth that pulses with my heartbeat. When I open my eyes, the fire is gone. Only smoke and destruction remain.
“Well.” I stare at the scorched earth, the smoking weapon racks, the pile of ash that used to be six perfectly good training dummies. “That went well.”
Drayke’s mouth twitches. “Could have been worse.”
“How? How could that possibly have been worse?”
“You could have hit the armory.” He nods toward the stone building at the edge of the courtyard. “Rurik stores his explosives there.”
“Rurik has explosives?”
“Rurik has many things he shouldn’t.”
I laugh—a slightly hysterical sound that echoes off the smoke-stained walls. “I’m dangerous, Drayke. This isn’t working. I’ve been at this for three days, and I’ve destroyed more property than a rogue attack.”
“You’re powerful.” He turns me to face him, hands bracketing my shoulders. “Learn the difference.”
“What if I hurt someone?” The question comes out smaller than I intend. Weaker. “What if I lose control when it actuallymatters, and someone dies because I can’t keep my shit together?”
His grip tightens. His eyes burn into mine—amber and gold and ancient patience. “Then you learn control. That’s why we train. That’s why we practice. You didn’t master walking in a day. You won’t master fire in a week.”
“Walking doesn’t burn down buildings when I trip.”
“No.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “But the principle remains. Again.”
“Again? I just torched your training field.”
“It’s survived worse.” He releases me, steps back, gestures at the charred ground. “Flame sphere. Small. Controlled. Don’t think about the power—think about the shape you want it to take.”
I glare at him. He raises an eyebrow. Neither of us moves.
“Your stubbornness is one of my favorite things about you,” he says mildly. “But it won’t help you here. Again.”
I mutter several words that would make my grandmother roll over in her grave, but I lift my hand and try again.
This time, the flame sphere holds—small, controlled, hovering above my palm without trying to consume everything in sight. Drayke steps closer, his chest pressing against my back, chin resting on top of my head.
“Better.” His arms wrap around my waist, and the warmth of him seeps into my bones. “See? You can do this.”
“I’m literally standing in a field I just destroyed.”
“Progress isn’t always pretty.” He presses a kiss to my temple, and the flame sphere flickers brighter for a moment before steadying. “But it’s still progress.”
