The flame sputtered at her fingertips, dancing wildly before it snuffed out. Her focus was so intense, sweat beading on her forehead, uncertain whether it had permission to fall. The heat from the flame tingled against her skin, but it only served to remind her of how little control she had.
"Focus, Lyra," Elric's voice was calm, but it carried a quiet urgency. "You're feeding it your anger, not your control."
"We've been at this for over an hour," she muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. "I can barely keep it lit for more than a second. I don't know if I can do this."
Her hands shook slightly, the frustration gnawing at her resolve. She threw her hands out in exasperation. "I'm trying!"
This time, the flame didn't sputter—it flared. A spark snapped from her palm, a hot cinder flying toward the dry grass.
Cass cursed loudly, eyes wide as he stomped it out with the heel of his boot. "Try not to incinerate us, yeah?" he grumbled, brushing ash off his pants, but there was a trace of humor in his voice.
Elric raised a hand, his tone steady but firm. "Fire is tied to passion, anger, and intensity," he said, his eyes softening with understanding. "That's why we need control. You're letting the flame control you instead of guiding it."
Lyra's gaze shifted to the embers still glowing on the ground, her frustration bubbling under her skin, a tightness building in her chest. What triggers the flame? she thought. She swallowed the rising doubt, trying to focus. How do you expect me to just… turn it off?
"You don't," Elric replied, his voice gentle but steady. "But you can guide it. When it feels uncontrollable, step back. Breathe." He met her gaze, the quiet strength in his eyes grounding her. "Don't try to repress it. Lean into it. Learn to direct it, not fight it."
She exhaled, a shudder running through her body as tension gripped her muscles. "Lean into it?" she repeated, her voice edged with doubt. "How?"
"Let the fire teach you," Elric said softly, almost as if he could feel the rhythm of the flame in the air. "Fire doesn't fear. It responds to what you give it. Trust yourself. Trust the flame."
For a moment, Lyra felt a strange flicker of calm. She wasn't consumed by her usual doubts; the ember on the ground seemed to pull her in, a quiet connection she hadn't expected. She swallowed hard, her resolve strengthening. "I'll try."
Elric set up several targets—simple wooden posts, painted red and blue. The red ones stood out boldly, while the blue ones were tucked into the shade, nearly blending with the forest.
"This will help with control," Elric explained, his voice steady. "You need to light only the red targets. Not the blue ones. It's about precision, not power."
Lyra took a deep breath, eyes flicking between the red and blue targets. Her fingers tingled with the familiar warmth of the flame, the energy rising within her. The sensation was almost electric, pulling her toward the challenge.
"Start slow," Elric said, his tone soft yet commanding. "Focus on the target, not the flame. Guide it."
She nodded, biting her lip as she raised her hand. A spark flickered at her fingertips, stretching into a thin thread of fire that shot toward the nearest red target. It ignited, but the flame quickly spiraled out of control, wild and untamed. Her heart raced as she watched the flame jump, grazing the edge of a blue target. The wood darkened, leaving a scorch mark that spread like a bruise.
"No!" she gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She dropped her hand, the flame sputtering out just in time. But the damage had been done.
Cass sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "You know, I was hoping to leave here with all my eyebrows intact."
Elric exhaled softly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "That was better," he said, his voice calm but approving. "You're making progress."
Lyra clenched her fists, frustration rising once more, but Elric's steady gaze held her. "You don't need to be perfect," he said, his voice low, soft. "It's okay to make mistakes. That's how you learn."
The words hung between them, settling over her like a gentle rain. It wasn't about perfection—Elric was giving her space to fail, and somehow, that felt like a relief. The frustration still gnawed at her, but the weight of it seemed to lessen just a bit.
She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Okay," she said, her voice steadier now, a hint of determination flickering in her eyes. "I'll keep going."
Hours later, her body felt as if it had been dragged through a storm. Every muscle ached, the exhaustion weighing on her mind like a thick fog. She couldn't remember how many targets she'd hit, but when she looked around, she saw the evidence of her progress—half of the targets were scorched, the edges curling as if they'd been touched by an inferno. Her chest heaved with the effort, but beneath the exhaustion, there was something else—a quiet sense of accomplishment. She had pushed herself, even if it wasn't perfect.
She tried again, the fire still alive inside her. The first spark was small, tentative. But this time, it burned steady. It didn't flare out of
control. It was purposeful. The flame streaked forward, a clean path toward the red target. It ignited without hesitation.
A tired smile tugged at the corner of Lyra's lips, a small victory amidst the effort, a flicker of success after the struggle.
"Good," Elric whispered, his voice full of quiet pride.
Lyra collapsed to her knees, the weight of the day crashing down on her all at once. Her body screamed in protest, but beneath the exhaustion, there was a warmth in her chest—pride, relief. She had done it. Not perfectly, but she had done it.
Cass's voice broke through the silence, a grin in his voice. "I think that's all our fire starter can handle for today."