The training yard was always a noisy place in the afternoons.
Metal clanged in the sparring ring as Voidtouched slammed practice blades against reinforced shields. Shapers putting circular sigils that summons temporary beasts — glowing wolves that dissolved into smoke after a few steps. Vitalis worked at the far end, they cast sigils that heals and produces wards and barriers and other support spells they also steady Veyra to keep the pylon grid strong.
Kael stood at the gate, gripping the strap of his puzzle-glove. He was supposed to be in the Archive Hall. His mother had given him strict instructions: stay put, stay quiet. But the Archive Hall was calm and predictable. This place… was alive.
He lingered just inside the gate, eyes darting between the rings. That's when he saw her.
She was in the Weaver's ring, moving like fire in human form.
Her long braid swung with each turn of her head, and the sunlight caught strands of copper in her dark hair. Her fingers painted shapes into the air, golden lines flaring where her touch passed. The sigil bloomed in front of her like a living thing, then ignited in a burst of flame that coiled lazily around her before snapping forward at the target dummy. The wood blackened instantly, smoke curling from its chest.
Kael forgot to breathe for a moment.
Not because she was beautiful , though she was but because of how easy she made it look. He wanted that. The control. The precision. The way the fire seemed to listen.
I can do that, he thought, already pulling on his glove.
⸻
Kael hurried toward the edge of the Weaver's ring, where the dirt was still warm from earlier casts. He replayed her movements in his mind. Loop. Curve. Flare. It looked simple. Manageable.
He tried to imagine the sigil that he just saw, he traced it carefully, lips moving silently as he followed the shapes.
Loop. Curve.
The flare, that's where it went wrong.
Instead of releasing the Veyra outward, his hand twisted just slightly, locking the flow into a knot of heat.
FWOOOM.
A ball of fire exploded sideways, missing the dummy entirely and scorching the one beside it. The blast caught the laundry line strung behind the dummies, and in an instant, six shirts and a pair of enormous trousers were ablaze.
"Oh no no no—!" Kael sprinted to the line, batting at the flames with his hands before yelping in pain. "Bad idea, bad idea!"
⸻
The woman turned sharply, her braid snapping over her shoulder. For a heartbeat, Kael froze under her gaze. Then she strode toward him, her steps unhurried, confident — the way a predator walks when it knows the prey isn't going anywhere.
Up close, her eyes were molten amber, flecked with tiny sparks when the light hit them. She looked Kael over, not in the way adults looked at children, but like a smith judging the quality of raw metal.
"Well," she said, her voice warm and edged with amusement, "aren't you a bold little copycat?"
"I—uh—was just—" Kael stammered.
"Trying to destroy the laundry district?" she guessed. "You almost succeeded."
Kael's cheeks burned. "I didn't mean—"
Before she could press him further, another voice cut in from across the yard.
⸻
"KAEL!"
Darius was striding toward them, long coat swaying with his pace. Even from here, Kael could see the faint silver shimmer in his father's eyes — the mark of the Voidtouched. It was brighter than usual, catching the sun like liquid metal.
He stopped a few paces away, scanning the scene: Kael's glove still smoking faintly, the charred dummy, the burning laundry line. His lips twitched.
"That," he said slowly, "was… not bad."
Kael blinked. "Not bad? I set Mrs. Dren's pants on fire."
"You also managed a proper fireball on your first try," Darius said. He glanced at the Weaver. "Though the form could use some work."
The woman's mouth curved into a smirk. "Form? That was an atrocity of a weave."
Darius chuckled. "Kael, this is Arwen Seris. Weaver-class, a friend of mine and your mothers'" Maybe we can ask her to teach you if she permits.
"Lucky you," Arwen added, crouching until her eyes were level with his. The scent of smoke clung faintly to her, warm and sharp. "Lesson one: never copy a sigil you don't understand. Lesson two: if you do copy it, make sure it's from someone who's willing to save your skin after."
⸻
Mrs. Dren arrived then, waving her arms at the smoking laundry line. "That was my good pair!" she cried, glaring at Kael before turning to Darius. "You owe me a replacement!"
"Add it to my tab," Darius said easily. "And maybe avoid hanging laundry behind the live-fire range next time."
Mrs. Dren grumbled, but Kael caught the small smile tugging at her mouth as she stomped away.
⸻
By the time the flames were out, the sun was dipping toward the horizon. The yard had quieted, and most of the trainees had packed up. Arwen leaned against the fence, arms folded, watching Kael with an expression that was hard to read.
"You've got talent," she said finally. "Terrible aim, zero finesse… but talent."
Kael's chest puffed up a little despite himself.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she went on. "Early. And don't eat a heavy breakfast —
fire training can get… exhausting."
She gave him a last, knowing look before walking off, braid swaying behind her.
⸻
That night, Kael sat on the balcony with his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands. The skin still felt warm, the memory of that sudden burst lingering in his palms.
"You awakened today," Darius said, joining him. His voice was calm, steady. "That was your Veyra answering you for the first time. You've had it in you since you were born, but now it's awake."
Kael glanced at him. "So I'm a Weaver now?"
"You've always been one," Darius said. "You just didn't know it yet. And you'll learn faster than most — you're stubborn enough to try copying a full sigil without even knowing what it does."
Kael grinned faintly. "I just wanted to see if I could do it."
"That curiosity will make you great," Darius said. "It'll also get you killed if you're not careful. That's why you're learning with Arwen."
Kael hesitated, then asked, "She's… kind of scary."
"She's supposed to be," Darius replied. "Scary means she's good. And she'll keep you alive."
Kael nodded, but something in his father's face caught his eye — the way his pupils narrowed for just a moment, the shimmer in his eyes flaring too bright before dimming again.
"You alright?" Kael asked.
"Never better," Darius said, smiling. But it didn't quite reach his eyes.
⸻
That night, Kael fell asleep thinking not of Mrs. Dren's ruined laundry, but of the golden lines Arwen had woven in the air — and the fire that had answered his hands.
Tomorrow, he'd learn to hold it.
Tomorrow, he'd learn to shape it.