"'Ignite anything without fire?'" Frieren blinked, a puzzled expression slowly dawning on her delicate features. What manner of magic was this? She had never encountered anything like it. The very concept was beyond her comprehension; it was, within the framework of her understanding, an impossibility.
The spellbook lay open between them, ancient runes glowing faintly under the filtered sunlight that spilled through the window. Dust motes danced lazily in the air, untouched by the weight of the revelation that had just been spoken aloud.
All combustion, from the smallest spark created by rubbing sticks together to the devastating conflagration of a forest fire, required the presence of flame. Without an initial spark, a nascent flame, how could anything possibly ignite? Even fire magic, she knew, functioned by converting mana into flames. To ignite something without fire implied that mere, attributeless mana could spontaneously cause combustion… How was that even possible?
Frieren had studied under some of the greatest magical minds of the last two centuries. She had read grimoires penned by high mages, trained in isolation for decades, and survived trials designed to test the limits of arcane willpower. She had cast spells that altered the terrain and summoned elemental storms. And yet, what she was reading here – no, what Ronan had explained so casually – shattered her understanding of magic on a fundamental level.
Magic, undoubtedly, was rooted in imagination, but that did not grant it license to defy the laws of reality. Consider, for instance, cutting magic: theoretically capable of severing space itself, yet in practice, no one had ever achieved such a feat. The reason was simple: neither elves nor humans possessed the capacity to truly imagine space being cleaved asunder. Fire, she suspected, presented a similar challenge.
She turned her gaze downward, watching the magic circle etched faintly on the page. It looked deceptively simple – too simple for what was being claimed. Frieren drew a deep breath, attempting to still the turmoil of her thoughts. She questioned whether she had misheard, or perhaps Ronan had misspoken. But then, her gaze fell upon his unwavering certainty…
His posture, his voice, the calm confidence in his eyes—none of it hinted at doubt. He wasn't boasting, nor bluffing. That unnerved her more than anything. The idea that a human – a young one, no less – could so casually interpret a spell that challenged her core understanding left her unsettled.
The nascent protest forming on her lips died unspoken. In that moment, Frieren understood the elder's reluctance to allow her to study this particular spell. It was, in all likelihood, unlearnable, a pursuit destined only to erode her confidence. It was, perhaps, wiser to maintain its mystique.
It made sense now. For someone like her, who had spent centuries sharpening her magic within the frameworks taught by her mentors, this spell would have seemed like an illusion—a fraud, even. The elder must have known that offering it to her would only lead to frustration. Better to let it remain locked away in legend than to face the disillusionment of failure.
Ronan, meanwhile, had been keenly observing the subtle shifts in Frieren's facial expressions. Witnessing her air of dejection…
Snap.
He gently closed the book, his voice laced with concern. "Is something amiss? Do you not understand the spell? Perhaps you are simply astonished by my ability to decipher it?"
His tone was light-hearted, but there was a quiet sincerity beneath it. He wasn't trying to mock her. He was simply speaking the truth as he saw it. And, more than that, he was worried. Despite their differences—age, race, experience—Ronan had come to respect Frieren, and he didn't want to see her defeated by a single spell.
"Not at all," Frieren replied, shaking her head, her thoughts now collected. She settled into the seat opposite him, her inner turmoil masked by a calm exterior. "I was merely considering whether such a spell, one that contradicts established magical principles, could even be learned in this day and age." A pause, then, "To be honest, I do struggle to comprehend it. I cannot, for the life of me, imagine something burning in the absence of fire. Can you?"
There was a vulnerability in her question, rare and genuine. It wasn't an admission of failure, but of curiosity—of being at the edge of something vast and unknowable. She looked up at him, her gaze searching, expecting to find a similar lack of comprehension.
She expected him to fumble, to reveal that he too found it nonsensical, that his confidence was a front. But instead…
Just as Frieren resigned herself to the notion that this spell was destined to be lost to time, Ronan, unexpectedly, broke into a serene smile. With a steady hand, he placed the book on the table, turning to face Frieren.
"Imagining this spell? It's quite simple, really. Consider the substance as mere fuel," he explained, his voice even and measured. "The absence of fire implies the use of indirect heat. Rather than a spell that ignites without fire, it's more accurate to describe it as a spell that utilizes mana to instantaneously raise a substance's temperature. Every substance, you see, possesses an ignition point. Because mana is an invisible medium, to an observer, it appears as though the substance ignites spontaneously."
He spoke like someone explaining the principles of basic arithmetic, not forbidden magic. Frieren watched him closely. There was a calm precision to his words—like a craftsman describing how to shape a blade, not a magician unraveling the laws of nature.
He paused, his eyes scanning the room before settling on a small leaf that had drifted in through the open window and rested upon the table before them. With a flick of his wrist, a soft snap echoed through the air.
The leaf instantly turned brown, contorting and twisting before bursting into flames that consumed it in the blink of an eye, leaving behind only a faint trace of its former existence in the lingering scent of smoke.
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You can read advance chapters in my: p@treon.com/Veora
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