Chapter 45 Aim Small
Azerath
By afternoon, the brilliant blue of morning had faded into a dull sheet of gray. Clouds gathered low and heavy, swallowing the sun in thick layers that promised rain. The air shifted—charged, restless. Even the forest quieted, as if the birds sensed what was coming and chose silence over song.
But Serafina wasn’t finished. Her determination burned brighter than the storm clouds gathering overhead.
As I recovered, I watched her attempt Lumenflare.
She drew the heat from her chest into her fingers, shaping thin strands of flame into a small sphere of light. The first few tries failed. The fire flickered out or collapsed in on itself before it could fully form.
She tried again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, the sphere held. Golden. Steady. Suspended above her palm.
Sweat gathered along the bridge of her nose, catching the light as she concentrated. She looked fiercely focused—and unexpectedly adorable.
I had to remind myself we were training.
Not flirting.
“You are doing surprisingly well,” I told her as I rose from the stone I sat on. I let my approval show. “This is where Celestials begin. Most struggle for years before they produce their first flare. You managed it after only a few attempts. That’s impressive. Now aim and fire at the mannequin.”
She squared her shoulders and released the sphere.
It missed. The flare streaked past the wooden figure and burst against a tree.
She tried again.
Missed.
Again.
The mannequin stood untouched, its painted chest still intact.
She lowered her arm with a frustrated sound. “It’s too far.”
“Distance isn’t the problem,” I said evenly. “Focus is.”
She ignored that and turned toward the closer targets instead. I had lined apples on top of narrow wooden poles across the clearing. They were bright red and easy to see.
She formed another Lumenflare and threw it.
It missed the first apple.
She adjusted her stance and tried again.
Missed.
The apples remained whole, barely swaying from the force of air as her shots passed by.
“In my dreams I hit a boulder farther than that mannequin,” she said, exasperated. Her torn sleeve whipped around her arm as she gestured. “Now I can’t even hit a piece of fruit.”
She looked ready to throw the next flare at me instead.
Considering she had already caught me completely off guard with that vicious kick to the groin—sharp, ruthless, and entirely deserved—I decided we both needed a short break.
I flicked my hand, repairing the torn fabric of her clothes. The shredded edges pulled together, threads weaving back into place over her hip and along her sleeve. My fingers brushed her side and her arms as the cloth sealed.
I did not move away immediately.
She didn’t either.
Her green eyes lifted to mine. A spark of challenge flickered there, but it wasn’t the only thing I saw. There was something warmer beneath it. Curiousity. Awareness.
It that made the heat in my chest rise instantly.
“You fight dirty,” I said quietly.
“You fight unfairly,” she replied, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I like it.”
The air between us shifted. Close. Charged.
I let my hand fall,
but the heat of her skin lingered on my fingertips like an afterimage.
For a moment, I forgot about training. Then I forced the thought aside. This was not the time.
She needed control. She needed precision. She needed to be ready for tonight.
“Again,” I said, stepping back and nodding toward the targets. “Form the flare. This time, you aim properly.”
She obeyed and missed again.
The flare shot past the apple and burst against a tree trunk. Bark splintered. The apple remained untouched.
Serafina made a frustrated sound and kicked a small rock at her feet. It flew sideways and struck the tree beside Blink.
The wolf lifted her head slowly and huffed. Leave me out of this, Blink muttered.
Serafina exhaled sharply as she formed another flare in her palm.
Her Ember was steady now. I could feel it clearly—alive and constant. It matched the heat in my own chest.
I could also feel her fury. She was very angry. She had reason to be. Dust had stolen years from her life. Years she should not have spent hiding and surviving.
Anger could power her magic, but it could not control it. If she relied on anger alone, her aim would always falter. She needed control. She needed clarity.
“At least your Lumenflare has form,” I said.
She crossed her arms. “My Ember woke up last night. I think I’m allowed to struggle.”
There was pride in her voice despite the frustration. She tilted her head and studied me carefully.
“You sound almost proud," she said, her brows creased.
“I am.”
I did not soften it.
Her lips parted slightly. The surprise on her face lasted only a second before she covered it with a crooked smile.
“Careful, husband. You’ll make me think you like me.”
I stepped closer. Close enough to feel the warmth coming off her skin.
“I never said I didn’t.”
She held my gaze a moment too long. Then she looked away, color rising faintly in her cheeks. She formed another sphere and hurled it at the nearest apple.
It missed by inches and struck the tree behind it. Sparks scattered and faded.
“You are forcing it,” I said.
“I am aiming,” she muttered.
“You are trying to overpower the target. Precision does not require rage.”
“It helps.”
“It clouds you,” I replied. “Calm yourself. Most Celestials cannot shape Lumenflare this early. Your Ember slept for years, yet your flare already has structure. The one you formed in your dream was stable. Golden. That is not common.”
“In my dreams, it was easy,” she said through her teeth.
“It will be,” I answered. “Fire-blood does not draw from spells or borrowed sources. It comes from within. From the soul-fire. And yours is strong.”
As if in agreement, the heat in my chest stirred.
“When awakened,” I continued, “that Ember grants abilities few living mages have ever seen.”
I shifted into instruction without thinking, listing them clearly so she would understand what rested inside her.
“Lumenflare — the first light. It can illuminate. It can protect. It can strike.
Pyraxis — compressed flame. Dense. Volatile. It detonates on impact.
Auralight Shielding — a radiant barrier formed from your own fire. Defensive. Durable if shaped correctly.
Soulforge — the ability to shape flame into solid constructs. Weapons. Tools. Structures. Rare.
Dragon Resonance — communion with a dragon. Extremely rare. It belongs to true descendants of the First Flame.” I paused, watching her carefully. “You have already shown Dragon Resonance.”
She absorbed that quietly. No arrogance. No disbelief. Just focus.
A small nod.
“Master Lumenflare first,” I said. “Everything else builds on that. Once you control it, you will conjure flame by will alone. You will create. You will shield. You will destroy, if necessary.”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice.
“But understand this. It draws from you. From your core. If you push too hard, you will burn through your reserves. Even the strongest Ember can collapse from overuse.”
She lifted her palm again.
Heat gathered immediately. Faster now. The orb formed with more stability than before, bright gold and steady.
“Master Lumenflare,” she muttered under her breath. Her eyes swept over the apples still balanced on their poles. “Why can’t I hit anything?”
“Because strength isn’t the same as control,” I said. “You already have the strength. Control comes next.”
She drew a slow breath. Heat gathered around her again, threads of flame spinning into a small, golden orb.
She released it toward an apple. It missed by inches.
“How can I master Lumenflare when I can’t even hit fruit?” she asked, frustration creeping into her voice.
“Then stop trying to hit fruit,” I told her. “Pick one point.”
“That’s the same thing,” she said, frowning.
“No. It isn’t.” I forced my voice into calm, instructional tones. “Think like throwing a spear. Aim small. Miss small. Focus on one precise point. Nothing else. Watch.”
I stepped forward. With a flick of my fingers, I formed a small, steady orb of light in my palm. I centered it carefully and released.
The flare struck the apple squarely, knocking it backward with a dull thud. No flash. No theatrics. Just precise, clean impact.
“But in my dreams, I hit a boulder and it cracked,” she said, clearly annoyed and confused.
“Dreams magnify us,” I said. “But reality, reality demands discipline. Practice. Gather the sphere, palm to chest, then release toward the target—like tossing a ball to someone.”
She tried. The orb wobbled as she maneuvered her hand, then rebounded and struck her own face in a burst of light.
She stumbled, rubbing her eyes. “I give up,” she snapped, exasperation cracking through.
I caught her wrist before she could turn away, firm but careful. “You’re just frustrated, Serafina.” My thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse racing. “Maybe the apples aren’t enough to push you.”
Her eyes flicked to my mouth, then back up to mine. “And what would be enough, then?”
I released her slowly, reluctantly. “Blink,” I called to the wolf lounging nearby. “Bring me an Imperial Enforcer—or anyone who presents a credible threat. Here.” I conjured a braid of red hair, infused with just enough magical signature to draw attention. “They will follow when they see this.”
Blink huffed, shifted in a blink from wolf to raven, snatched the braid, and vanished into the gray sky.
“Do you think it’s wise to bring an Imperial Enforcer here?” Serafina asked, unease threading her voice.
I shrugged. “The Empire hunts you. They intend to enslave you—or kill you. We need intelligence on their movements, and you need live targets to learn how to hit. Win-win.”
“But how will Blink even bring one here?”
“The red hair will lure the curious or greedy,” I said. “If not, I’ll drag one in myself.” I waved again; a table materialized, laden with bread, ham, cheese, fruit—simple fuel—and chairs. “Eat. Your Ember needs sustenance.”
We ate in quiet companionship while the sky darkened further. Thunder rolled, distant but growing closer. Every time our fingers brushed reaching for the same piece of bread, the contact sent a small jolt through me—Ember to Ember, soul-fire answering soul-fire.
“So where do you want me to land tonight?” I asked.
“The Dusty Hills,” she answered immediately. “Nearby, dark. We land there, walk to the back gates under cover of night. You’ll need to hide your eyes—the Warden’s tower overlooks the hills. She’ll spot your glow from miles away.”
“And then?”
“We reach the shack and rescue my brother,” she said, as though stating the weather.
A black cat slipped into view then, braid of red hair in its mouth. Blink. But she was not alone.
Two Imperial Enforcers followed—armored, visored, moving with the heavy confidence of men who believed themselves untouchable. One carried a loaded crossbow; the other gripped a curved sword already half-drawn.
“There,” the swordsman growled, pointing at the braid. “Grab the cat—and whatever filth is in its mouth.”
They charged and stopped as soon as they saw us.
Blink darted behind Serafina, shifting back to wolf with a deep snarl. I rose slowly posture relaxed.
“Intruders,” I murmured. “Excellent timing.”
The crossbowman fired first. The bolt hissed toward me. I sidestepped without hurry; it buried itself in a tree. The swordsman bellowed and swung straight at Serafina, blade arcing high.
She drew the Dragon Sword in a fluid motion, the blade humming as it cleared the scabbard. Metal met metal with a ringing clash that echoed through the trees. The Enforcer pressed his advantage, forcing her back step by step, his heavier armor giving him momentum. Serafina parried, twisted, her movements sharp and instinctive—every lesson from our earlier sparring coming alive. Sparks flew where steel kissed steel, the wind blew around us charged.
He swung low, aiming for her legs. She leaped back, then countered with a swift overhead strike that forced him to raise his guard. The impact jarred them both. He grunted, shoving forward, trying to overpower her with brute strength.
Serafina held her ground, feet planted, hips loose the way I’d taught her. She feinted left, then spun right, her blade slicing across his pauldron in a shower of sparks. The armor gave and the blow staggered him, but he quickly recovered.
He raised is sword aiming for her head, but Serafina countered, breaking the Enforcers sword in the process.
“You little—” he snarled, conjuring another sword.
This time, Serafina anticipated it. Her Ember flared—gold flickering in her eyes green eyes. She ducked under his swing, came up inside his guard, and drove her elbow into the gap beneath his helmet. He reeled. She followed with a precise thrust of her sword, not to kill but to disarm—her blade catching his wrist and sending his weapon spinning into the underbrush.
Disarmed but furious, he charged bare-handed, roaring as he tried to tackle her. Serafina sidestepped, summoning a Lumenflare sphere mid-motion. The golden orb bloomed in her palm, threads of flame dancing within its radiant core.
“Not today,” she said, voice steady and fierce.
Palm to chest. Aim small—right at the center of his breastplate. Release.
The sphere streaked forward like a comet, slamming into his chest with a concussive burst of light. Radiance exploded outward in a blinding halo, the force lifting him off his feet and hurling him backward. He crashed into a tree trunk, armor smoking, body convulsing once before going limp, unconscious amid scattered apples and fallen leaves.
The crossbowman, seeing his comrade fall, dropped his weapon and fled into the trees. I let him go—for now. The wolves would handle loose ends.
Silence followed, broken only by the first heavy drops of rain.
I stepped toward Serafina, unable to stop myself. Rain slid down her face, darkening her lashes, clinging to her lips. She looked fierce. Beautiful. Untamed. The Dragon Sword still glowed faintly in her grip, matching the golden afterlight in her eyes.
“Well done,” I said, voice rougher than I intended.
She turned to me, breathing hard, eyes bright with triumph and something deeper—something that mirrored the ache building behind my ribs.
I reached out, brushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek. My thumb lingered against her skin. “You were magnificent.”
Her breath hitched. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in—just enough that our Embers brushed again, heat coiling between us like a promise.
“I had a good teacher,” she whispered.
Thunder cracked overhead. Rain fell harder now, cold and relentless. We hurried back to the hut, the storm breaking fully around us.
Inside, the fire welcomed us. I conjured a bath for her, but neither of us moved. We stood close, steam rising faintly from our soaked skin.
“After you've bathed, rest,” I told her, softer than usual. My hand found hers, fingers threading together. “We’ll eat late, then leave under cover of night. Your brother waits.”
She squeezed my hand once, then let go—but not before I felt the quiet tremor in her fingers. The same tremor that lived in my own chest.
She walked to the bath hut, eyes bright with something new—certainty. And something else. Something that looked a lot like the beginning of trust. Of want.
For the first time since I found her, I saw not just potential, but destiny taking shape.
And I would stand beside her when it burned bright enough to consume empires—hoping, against every instinct I’d honed over centuries, that she might one day want me to stand closer still.