The morning sun climbed steadily, gilding the edges of the village rooftops as the boy followed Matteo along the uneven path. The merchant's cart groaned and rattled behind him, its wheels struggling over loose stones and patches of dirt. Matteo grunted as he hauled it forward, occasionally muttering under his breath about its stubbornness. The boy trailed alongside, his wooden sword swinging at his hip and his thoughts already racing ahead to the lessons that awaited.
"You're awfully quiet this morning," Matteo said without looking back. "Still picturing yourself tossing fire around like a god, are you?"
The boy smirked but said nothing.
Matteo glanced over his shoulder, one bushy eyebrow raised. "I'd bet you're imagining flames roaring out of your hands, the village staring in awe, yes? Perhaps even a dragon or two bowing at your feet?"
The boy chuckled despite himself. "Maybe," he admitted.
Matteo laughed, his voice rich and easy. "Well, let me save you some disappointment. Elementum isn't about showing off, boy. It's about understanding—understanding the world, its energy, and your place in it. If you don't learn patience, you'll never get past your first lesson."
"I can be patient," the boy said, though the eagerness in his tone betrayed him.
"Ha!" Matteo barked. "We'll see."
They continued walking until they reached Matteo's temporary shelter, tucked near the edge of a small grove of trees. The tent was simple but sturdy, weighed down with stones to keep the wind at bay. A weathered table sat beside it, cluttered with jars, fabrics, and tools that gleamed faintly in the morning light. Matteo parked the cart with a sigh and dusted off his hands.
"Not much," he said, gesturing at his setup, "but it gets the job done."
The boy barely noticed the surroundings. His attention was fixed on Matteo, who began rummaging through the cart's contents. After a few moments, the old man straightened, holding a slim leather-bound book with care. Its dark cover was embossed with intricate symbols that shimmered faintly as the sunlight caught them.
"Here," Matteo said, setting the book on the table with an air of reverence. "Your first step into Elementum."
The boy stepped closer, his heart pounding as he reached for the book. His fingers brushed the smooth leather, tracing the swirling patterns on its cover. Slowly, he opened it, revealing pages filled with sharp, elegant letters that seemed to flow like rivers. Diagrams of flames and swirling shapes decorated the margins, each one more fascinating than the last.
His excitement faltered as he realized he couldn't understand a single word. "I can't read this," he said, looking up at Matteo.
"Of course you can't," Matteo said with a chuckle. "It's written in Latin—the language of scholars, priests, and practitioners where I come from. But lucky for you," he added with a smirk, "I'm a fair translator. Sit."
The boy obeyed, pulling up a low wooden stool as Matteo took a seat across from him. The old man opened the book to its first page and ran a finger along the neat lines of text.
"Ignis vita est," Matteo read aloud, his voice steady. "The first principle of fire Elementum."
"What does it mean?" the boy asked, leaning forward.
"'Fire is life,'" Matteo translated. He tapped the page with a calloused finger. "Before you can control fire, you must understand it. Fire is alive. It breathes, it hungers, it grows. Like all living things, it can be your greatest ally—or your worst enemy."
The boy's brow furrowed as he stared at the text, his mind grasping at the weight of Matteo's words. Matteo turned the page, revealing a diagram of a flame surrounded by arrows that spiraled and curled like smoke.
"This," Matteo said, pointing at the illustration, "shows the flow of fire Elementum. It's not just the flame you see—it's the energy it releases into the world. Masters can feel this flow even without a visible flame. They sense it in the warmth of the sun, the heat of a forge, or the faintest flicker of a candle."
"The sun?" the boy asked, his eyes widening. "You can feel the sun?"
Matteo let out a hearty laugh. "I? No. That's the skill of a true master, and I'm far from it. For you, we'll start small—very small."
He flipped another page, revealing a man seated cross-legged before a fire, his hands outstretched. "Your first step is to feel fire's energy. Sit near a flame, let its warmth touch your skin, and quiet your mind. Don't see the fire—feel it. At first, it'll be subtle, like the faintest whisper of a breeze. But once you sense it, you'll begin to understand."
The boy's fingers hovered over the diagram, tracing the delicate lines as if committing them to memory. Matteo turned to another page, this one showing a flame shifting from one side of the page to the other, guided by a hand.
"When you can feel the flame," Matteo said, his tone growing serious, "you'll move on to guiding it. Fire doesn't respond to brute force. You can't demand obedience. You coax it, like taming a wild animal. Only then will it move for you."
The boy's imagination raced as he stared at the page. "Can I try that now?"
Matteo barked a laugh. "No, boy. Not unless you want to burn your eyebrows off—or worse. First, we focus on sensing the flame."
He closed the book with a decisive snap and stood, pulling a simple candle from his cart and placed it carefully on the table. The boy watched as Matteo hovered his hand over the wick, his expression calm but focused.
Matteo muttered something under his breath, the familiar cadence of Latin flowing from his lips: "Ignis, ad vitam redde."
The air around the candle seemed to hum faintly, and then, with a soft flicker, the wick caught fire. The flame sprang to life, steady and bright, as though it had been waiting for his command.
The boy's jaw dropped. "You didn't even touch it! That was Elementum?"
Matteo smirked, lowering his hand. "A simple trick, boy. Nothing impressive." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But it does save me a lot on matches."
The boy's amazement was written all over his face. He leaned closer to the flame, as if trying to uncover its secret. "Can I learn to do that?"
"Not today," Matteo said with a chuckle. "First, you need to feel the flame before you can think about lighting it. Now, sit still.". The flame danced gently, casting flickering shadows across the pages of the book.
"Let's begin," Matteo said, pulling a strip of cloth from his pocket. He stepped behind the boy and tied the blindfold snugly over his eyes. "If you're going to feel the fire, you can't rely on your sight. Elementum is about connection, not observation."
The boy shifted uncomfortably on the stool. "But how can I do anything if I can't see?"
"Because your eyes will only distract you," Matteo said, his voice firm. "Close them. Breathe. The flame is there—alive, burning, releasing energy. Feel it."
The boy stilled, his breathing slowing as he tried to focus. At first, all he could sense was the weight of the blindfold and the faint warmth of the sun on his face. Minutes passed, stretching into what felt like hours, but the flame remained distant, intangible.
"It's not working," he muttered finally, slumping in frustration.
Matteo chuckled, the sound rich and knowing. "Of course it's not working. Did you think the world would bow to your whims on the first try?"
The boy scowled. "But you said I have an affinity! Shouldn't it be easier?"
Matteo laughed outright, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Easier? If you managed to sense fire on your first day, I'd call you my master and retire here in this little grove."
The boy couldn't help but grin, though his frustration lingered. "So what do I do now?"
"Now, you practice," Matteo said, his tone softening. He removed the blindfold and gestured to the books on the table. "Study these. Learn the principles, the philosophy. And tomorrow, we'll try again. But remember, boy—fire doesn't like to be rushed. It burns on its own terms."
The boy nodded, gathering the books and tucking them under his arm. As he turned to leave, his mind buzzed with determination. Behind him, Matteo watched, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"The spark is there," Matteo murmured to himself, turning back to the candle. "Now let's see if it catches."
When the boy returned home, his mother was kneeling by the hearth, her hands deftly working dough into the beginnings of bread. She looked up as he burst through the door, his steps hurried and his excitement barely contained.
"Back already?" she asked, her tone light. "Did you at least remember to—"
"Hi, Mother!" the boy called, barely slowing his pace as he darted past her. He waved a quick hand in her direction before disappearing into his small room and shutting the door behind him.
She stared after him, one eyebrow raised, the unfinished question still on her lips. "What's gotten into him?" she murmured, shaking her head with a faint smile.
Inside his room, the boy wasted no time. He placed the two books Matteo had given him carefully on the small table near his bed. Their weight felt immense, not because of their size, but because of the knowledge they promised. He opened the thinner book, the introductory manual, and began flipping through the pages. The diagrams caught his attention first—beautifully intricate drawings of flames, swirling lines of energy, and symbols he didn't understand but felt drawn to nonetheless.
He traced the edges of the illustrations with his finger, as if by doing so he might absorb their secrets. The instructions were still fresh in his mind, thanks to Matteo's careful translation, and he muttered fragments of the old man's words to himself as he studied.
"Feel the flame," he whispered. "It's alive… energy, not just heat."
His gaze fell on a particular page depicting a lone candle with arrows radiating outward. The memory of Matteo's flame springing to life played over in his mind, filling him with renewed determination.
Sliding off his bed, the boy rummaged beneath it and pulled out a small lantern made from animal fats. He had seen his father use it many times on late fishing trips, the light steady and reliable even against the harsh winds. He lit it with practiced ease, placing it on the table beside the book.
Taking a deep breath, the boy sat cross-legged on the floor, his back straight and his hands resting lightly on his knees. The flame flickered softly, its light casting long, shifting shadows on the walls of his room. He closed his eyes, letting the world narrow until only the faint crackle of the lantern existed.
"Feel it," he murmured to himself. "It's alive. Just like Matteo said."
The boy focused, willing his breathing to slow and his thoughts to quiet. For a moment, he thought he felt something—a faint warmth that seemed to reach out, as though the flame itself were curious. But the sensation slipped away as quickly as it had come, leaving only silence and the steady pulse of his own heartbeat.
Frustration threatened to creep in, but the boy pushed it aside. He opened his eyes briefly, glancing at the diagrams again as if they might hold some secret he'd missed. Then he closed them once more, determined to try again.
Every night after that, the routine repeated itself. He would finish his chores, wolf down his supper, and retreat to his room as quickly as possible. His mother grew used to his hurried greetings and distracted answers, shaking her head with an indulgent smile as he disappeared into his small sanctuary.
Behind his closed door, the boy would sit with his lantern, the flame his constant companion. He studied the diagrams until they were etched into his memory and muttered Matteo's translations under his breath. His eyes remained closed as he reached out, night after night, striving to feel the fire's energy as Matteo had described.
Each failure only fueled his determination. The flame remained silent, but the boy knew, deep in his heart, that it was only a matter of time before it answered him.