An elderly man in his seventies knocked lightly on the door of Headmaster Nero's office. Despite his age, Professor Winraus carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who had dedicated his life to the Practical Division, where he taught Magic Spell classes. Known for his unwavering discipline and profound knowledge, he was one of the academy's most respected professors.

  “Come in,” Nero's calm voice called from within.

  Winraus entered, his steps deliberate but steady. His weathered face, lined with the marks of age and wisdom, softened slightly as his gaze fell on Nero. Despite the Headmaster's youthful appearance—no older than mid-twenties—Winraus bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect rooted in years of familiarity.

  “Headmaster,” he began, his tone both formal and warm. “I hope I'm not intruding.”

  “Not at all, Winraus,” Nero replied, looking up from his desk, his expression calm but inquisitive. “What brings you here?”

  Winraus hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully, “I wanted to ask about the Fireon successor,” he said finally. “Is that the reason you recalled the other successors from the mortal world?”

  Nero leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlocking as a thoughtful look crossed his face, “You've misunderstood. Yes, I summoned them back, but finding Kenneth was… a coincidence.”

  Winraus raised an eyebrow, the skepticism clear in his eyes. “A coincidence?” he repeated, his tone edging with doubt. “Headmaster, I've known you far too long to believe in coincidences where you're concerned. Your decisions always have a purpose—whether we see it now or later. Tell me honestly, is there something coming?”

  For a fleeting moment, Nero's gaze softened, a rare flicker of nostalgia breaking through his usually composed demeanor. “You've alway been sharp, Winraus,” he said quietly. “Considering I've raised you since you were born, it's no surprise you know me so well.”

  Winraus's sharp eyes searched Nero's face, narrowing slightly. He lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “Is your power sealed?”

  Nero's calm exterior shifted for the briefest moment, a trace of vulnerability breaking through. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice low. “And I don't know how long it will remain this way.”

  A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken questions. Winraus, despite his years of experience, chose not to push. He respected Nero too much to demand answers, but the concern gnawed at him nonetheless. “You've always kept your cards close, Headmaster,” he said cautiously. “But if there's something I should prepare for—”

  Nero held up a hand, cutting him off with a slight shake of his head. “You know I can't tell you everything,” he said firmly. “Time and fate are delicate threads, and too much knowledge can unravel them entirely. Paradoxes are not something we can afford.”

  Winraus frowned but nodded, his expression tight. “I understand. But you've already set things in motion, haven't you?”

  Nero's gaze grew distant, the weight of his thoughts evident in his expression. “I have,” he said quietly. “Bringing the key figures together, ensuring they're where they need to be at the right time. The rest… we'll have to trust in the balance.”

  Winraus studied Nero closely. “Kenneth is one of those figures, isn't he?”

  A shadow of worry crossed Nero's face, mingled with an unyielding determination. “He doesn't know it yet,” Nero admitted. “But his fire awakening… that’s just the beginning.”

  Nero leaned back in his chair. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he spoke. “And your granddaughter? Where is she?”

  The question caught Winraus off guard. He stiffened, his expression clouding with frustration and something deeper—shame. His eyes dropped to the floor as he muttered, “She's traveling.”

  “Traveling?” Nero repeated, his tone calm but laced with subtle curiosity.

  Winraus sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the topic. “She should be here, studying at the academy,” he admitted, almost to himself. “But she left. Said she didn't want to be tied down with expectations—by the academy, by me.” His voice faltered for a moment before he continued, “She's brilliant, Headmaster. Incredibly gifted. But she's also stubborn, too caught up in chasing freedom to see the opportunities slipping through her fingers.”

  For the briefest moment, an ache flickered across his face. “I tried to guide her, but… I failed.”

  Nero's expression remained unreadable, though his voice softened slightly. “I see.”

  The simplicity of the response unsettled Winraus. He glanced up, frowning. “Why ask about her now?” His voice carried both curiosity and suspicion.

  Nero's gaze drifted toward the window, his eyes distant as though looking into something far beyond the present. “No reason,” he said lightly at first, though the pause that followed lingered. Then, in a tone that carried an enigmatic weight, he added. “Her path may cross with ours sooner than you think.”

  Nero turned his attention back to him, his expression betraying nothing but calm certainty. “Trust the threads of fate, Winraus. Even those who wander often return when they're needed most.”

  Winraus remained silent, his thoughts racing. Why would the Headmaster, with his vast responsibilities and far-reaching foresight, show such interest in his granddaughter? The idea made his chest tighten.

  Did the Headmaster know something he didn't? Did his granddaughter have a part to play in whatever lay ahead?

  The unease injured as the Headmaster's words echoed in his mind. There was no sense in pressing further.

  When the Headmaster was ready to reveal the truth, he would. Until then, all Winraus could do was wait—and hope his granddaughter found her way safely.

  ＊＊＊

  After a few weeks at the academy, Kenneth had settled into a routine of classes, practice and studying. Yet despite his efforts, his fire magic remained disappointingly weak. No matter he tried, all he could summon was a faint, flickering flame in his palm.

  One afternoon, Kenneth sat in the courtyard, his focus fixed on the tiny flame sputtering in his hand. He frowned as it wavered before finally extinguishing. Frustration welled up inside him.

  “Is that the famous fire magic everyone's been whispering about?” a familiar voice teased.

  Kenneth looked up to see Ash leaning casually against a nearby tree, a grin tugging at his lips.

  Kenneth sighed, brushing his hand over his palm as if to erase the evidence. “If it is, then I'm the worst magician in history,” he muttered. “No matter how much I try, it never grows stronger.”

  Rika appeared beside Ash, her curious gaze fixed on Kenneth. “Have you checked the library? There might be something useful about how the Ultimate Fire works,” she suggested.

  Kenneth shook his head, his frustration evident. “I've read every book I could get my hand on. But going from being a mortal to this? Maybe there's something I'm not wired to understand.”

  Ash folded his arms, tilting his head as he considered Kenneth's words. Then, with an easy grin, he said. “Maybe you're overthinking it. Magic isn't always about books or logic—it's about instinct. When you get it right, it'll just click. And bam! Your magic will come alive.”

  Kenneth raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile despite himself. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “For me, it is,” Ash shot back with a playful shrug. “Earth magic feels like breathing—it just flows naturally when I stop worrying about it.”

  Rika crossed her arms, shoots Ash a look. “Says a guy who awakened his magic when he was five years old. Of course, it feels natural to you. Kenneth's had his for, what, a few weeks? Give him a break.”

  Ash rubbed the break of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Fair point.”

  Rika turned to Kenneth, her tone softening. “We're terrible at explaining things like this. But if you really want to ask for answers, why not ask Joash?”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Kenneth blinked, surprised. “You know him?”

  “Yeah, of course,” Rika replied, a little confused by his reaction. “He's kind of famous around her, especially for his research on Elemental Revival. He focuses a lot on fire magic. I met him a while back.”

  Kenneth frowned slightly, processing the information. “I didn't realize Joash was that well-known here.”

  Kenneth's chest tightened at the mention of Joash.

  They don't know…

  The connection between Joash and the Fireon family felt like a weight pressing on him. There was so much left unsaid between them—especially now, with Kenneth bearing the title of Fireon's successor.

  The memory of Joash's guarded expressions, his distant demeanor, flashed through his mind. How will he react if I ask for help?

  “Joash might be your best shot,” Rika added, her tone encouraging. “He knows fire magic inside and out. If anyone can help you figure it out, it's him.”

  Kenneth forced a nod, keeping his voice steady. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

  ＊＊＊

  Rika and Kenneth made their way toward the Theory Division building, its atmosphere distinctly different from the rest of the academy.

  Ash had intended to join them, but Headmaster Nero had called him away for an errand, leaving the two to navigate the unfamiliar halls alone. The air here felt alive with the hum of intellect and experimentation.

  Unlike the Practical and Special Division, which were pristine and orderly, this building was a maze of cluttered desks, scattered research papers, and artifacts glowing faintly with residual magic.

  Kenneth glanced at the rooms they passed, each labeled with the topic of its occupant's research. “Rune Studies”, “Artifact Creation”, “Ancient Magic Theory.” Each door hinted at the incredible scope of the students’ pursuits.

  When they finally stopped in front of a door marked “Elemental Revival,” Kenneth felt a knot form in his stomach.

  Rika knocked lightly. “Joash? It's me, Rika. Are you in?”

  A muffled voice answered, “Yeah, come in.”

  Rika pushed the door open to reveal Joash hunched over his desk, fingers slipping through a stack of scrolls and loose papers. The room was a chaotic mix of open books, glowing vials, and scribbled notes, its air thick with the smell of parchment and ink.

  Joash glanced up, his eyes landing on Kenneth. A moment of heavy silence settled over the room.

  “How can I help you, Rika?” Joash asked, his tone polite but his gaze returned on the desk, deliberately avoiding Kenneth.

  “This Kenneth,” Rika said brightly, gesturing to him. “He's the successor of Fireon.”

  Joash froze for the briefest moment, his hand pausing over the scroll. Then, recovering quickly, he nodded stiffly. “Nice to meet you,” he said, though his voice lacked warmth.

  Rika pressed on, undeterred. “We were hoping you might have some advice on him. Kenneth's having a hard time with his fire magic, and since you've been researching Fire and Elemental Revival for so long, we figured you might have some tips.”

  Joash hesitated, his eyes flicking towards the paper scattered across his desk. For a moment, something flickered in his expression—resentment, regret, maybe even guilt—but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  “I'm…a little busy right now,” he said, his voice careful. He shuffled the papers on his desk, a transparent excuse to avoid looking at Kenneth. “Maybe another time?”

  Rika blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift in his tone. “Oh, right. Sorry to bother you. We'll find someone else.”

  She turned to Kenneth, giving him a quick nudge toward the door. “Let's go.”

  As they stepped out, Kenneth glanced back just before the door closed. Joash was staring at his desk, his hands motionless, a shadow of unease on his face. Whatever he was feeling, it ran far deeper than the surface.

  Outside, Rika tried to ease the awkwardness, mistaking Kenneth's silence for disappointment. “It's fine,” she said lightly, offering him a smile. “We'll ask another student—maybe one who's not drowning in research.”

  Before Kenneth could respond, a familiar voice broke through their conversation. “Something troubling Joash?”

  They turned to see Professor Rowan walking toward them, his long robes rustling against the stone floor.

  “Professor Rowan!” Rika greeted, her relief evident. “We were just asking Joash if he could help Kenneth with his fire magic, but he's…well, he's busy right now.”

  Rowan nodded thoughtfully as he looked toward Joash's door. “It's true Joash gets absorbed in his work, but it's not like him to turn away someone in need. Perhaps something else is on his mind.”

  Kenneth frowned slightly, the Professor's words stiffing an unease he couldn't quite place.

  Rowan turned his attention back to them. “In any case, if Joash isn't available, I'd be happy to assist. Fire magic isn't my speciality, but I might be able to help you approach it from a different perspective.”

  Kenneth hesitated, but Rika was quick to accept the offer. “That would be amazing, Professor!” she said eagerly, nudging Kenneth forward.

  Rowan smiled warmly as he led them to his office. His workspace was cozy, filled with bookshelves packed with ancient books, charts pinned to the walls, and magical artifacts arranged carefully on every surface. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and incense, giving the room a scholarly warmth.

  Kenneth and Rika took their seats while Rowan settled behind his desk. He folded his hands, his expression attentive as Kenneth recounted his struggles with fire magic. Rika chimed in occasionally, filling in gaps or offering her observations . Rowan nodded thoughtfully, taking in every word.

  After a brief silence, Rowan leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze settling on Kenneth. “I think I see the issue,” he said finally. “It's not just about the fire itself—it's about your pnevma. My current research delves into pnevma flow, and I believe that root of your problem lies there.”

  Rowan stood and moved to a cabinet and retrieved a small, intricately carved crystal ball. “This will help us measure your pnevma levels. Place your hand on it, and we'll see how strong the flow is”

  Kenneth complied, pressing his hand against the surface of the crystal. A faint glow flickered within, dim and underwhelming.

  Rowan frowned. “That's… lower than I expected,” he said.

  Kenneth glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist—the one the Headmaster had given him. A thought occurred to him, and with some hesitation, he unlatched the bracelet and set it aside. When he placed his hand on the crystal again, the effect was immediate. The crystal flared to life, flooding the room with binding light.

  The intensity was overwhelming, and before anyone could reach, the crystal let out a sharp crack and split down the middle. The light vanished, leaving the room in stunned silence.

  Kenneth pulled his hand back, his heart pounding.

  Rowan and Rika both stared at the shattered crystal, their expressions a mix of show awe.

  “Well,” Rowan said, breaking with silence, his voice tinged with amazement. “That certainly answers a few questions. The bracelet you've been wearing is clearly suppressing the flow. Without it, your pnevma flow is… extraordinary.”

  Rika leaned closer, her eyes wide. “Extraordinary? What does it mean for Kenneth?”

  Rowan turned to Kenneth. “It means your pnevma is incredibly powerful but unstable. The bracelet is helping to regulate it, likely to prevent you from losing control. However, if you want to fully harness your fire magic, you'll need to learn how to control the flow of your pnevma—without breaking every crystal we use.”

  Kenneth let out a nervous laugh, glancing at the shattered remains on the desk. “Sorry about the crystal.”

  Rowan waved it off with a small smile. “Don't worry about it. Crystals can be replaced; control over your magic cannot. We'll start with exercises to help you balance your pnevma output. It's going to take time, but it's the only way forward.”

  Rowan rummaged through a box and pulled out a simple candle, placing it carefully on the desk. “Let's start with this,” he said. “Light this candle using your magic.”

  Rika blinked, her brow furrowing with confusion. “A candle? Isn't that a little…basic?”

  Rowan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “For someone like Rika, maybe,” he teased, glancing at her with a playful smile. “But for Kenneth, it's a perfect challenge.”

  Kenneth frowned slightly but nodded, summoning a small flame in his palm.

  Rowan observed carefully, his sharp eyes never leaving Kenneth's hand. “That's a good start,” he said after a moment. “But now, instead of producing the flame in your hand, I want you to channel your pnevma directly into the candle. Think of your hand as a bridge, transferring the energy from within you to the wick.”

  Kenneth exhaled, focusing on the task. He extended his hand towards, imagining the flow of energy moving from his core, through his hand and into the wick. For a brief moment, the candle flickered to life, but the flame sputtered out almost as quickly as it appeared.

  Rowan nodded approvingly. “That's progress. You're starting to feel the flow. Your task is to feed the candle steadily with your magic, like opening a valve just enough to let the energy flow through without overwhelming it. Control is the key.”

  Kenneth stared at the candle, his frustration beginning to fade as Rowan's words sank in. “I think I get it,” he murmured, the faintest glimmer of determination in his voice.

  “Good,” Rowan said. He gestured to several other candles of various sizes and designs. “Once you can light this one consistently for an hour or so, move on to these. Each one requires a different level of control and precision.”

  Kenneth's focus sharpened. For the first time, he felt like he wasn't just fumbling in the dark—he was beginning to understand his magic, piece by piece. “Thank you, Professor Rowan. This… this makes sense.”

  Rowan smiled, a faint warmth in his expression. “This technique isn't new, you know. It was actually mentioned in a journal by the Tenth Fire Guardian. He used a similar method to refine his control over pnevma.”

  Rika's eyes lit up at the mention. “Third Fire Guardian? You're talking about Hagan Fireon, right?”

  Rowan nodded. “Exactly. Hagan believed that true mastery came not from raw power but from precision and restraint. He often said, ‘A wildfire is impressive, but a controlled flame can change the world.’”

  Kenneth looked back at the candle, Professor Rowan's words resonating deeply.

  A wildfire.

  That's what his fire had felt like—uncontrolled and destructive. But now, he had a goal: to refine it, to make it his own.

  With renewed determination, he extended his hand toward the candle once more.