The rhythmic hum of the train filled the air, accompanied by the faint clatter of wheels against rails. It was the kind of sound that Erwin had grown accustomed to over the years, a comforting backdrop to moments of quiet thought. He glanced to his side, where his son, Avince, sat with his nose buried in a thick, leather-bound book. The title, etched in elegant gold letters, read Fundamentals of Fire Magic: A Comprehensive Study by the legendary Vales Ignis.
Erwin couldn't help but chuckle softly at the sight. The boy hadn't looked up once since they left the city's magic district. His hands gripped the edges of the book with an intensity that reminded Erwin of the way he used to clutch his first monster core—full of wonder and determination. The memory of that day was still vivid: Avince's eyes wide with excitement, his small hands trembling as he held the crystallized essence of magical power.
The author of that book wasn't just anyone. Vales Ignis was an archmage, a name that carried weight even in a world brimming with exceptional individuals. To be an archmage wasn't just a title; it was a testament to one's mastery over mana and magic, a recognition that their abilities could shape—or destroy—a city district with a single spell. District-level spells were one of pinnacle magical achievements, techniques so powerful they could alter the very landscape of urban environments. These weren't mere destruction spells—though they could certainly level buildings and reduce streets to rubble. The true masters used them to reshape reality itself: spells that could transmute entire blocks into crystalline formations, create pocket dimensions that could house thousands of refugees, or establish magical barriers that could withstand armies.
Ignis himself was a peak S-rank ability-user and one of the guardians responsible for maintaining the balance of this vast volcanic region. His role in periodically clearing the volcano's main dungeon was pivotal in preventing catastrophic monster outbreaks. Erwin had once witnessed one of Ignis's district-level spells in action, during a particularly nasty outbreak five years ago. The archmage had used what he called the "Crimson Heaven's Decree"—a spell that turned a quarter-mile of city space into a controlled inferno so precise it could burn selected targets while leaving civilians completely unharmed. The display had left Erwin in awe of the sheer control required to maintain such discrimination in a spell of that magnitude.
Erwin's eyes softened as he watched his son pour over the text. The book didn't contain any of Ignis's district-level spells, of course—knowledge that powerful was far too dangerous to be shared freely. The last time someone had leaked information about such spells, an entire city sector had been quarantined for months while they dealt with the aftermath of an amateur's attempted replication. But the book offered something just as valuable: a solid foundation in fire magic. Fundamentals, Erwin thought, were often underestimated in their importance, yet they were the cornerstone of any true mastery.
As he watched his son study, Erwin's mind drifted to Edgar, the only known soul arts user who had managed to create an entirely new branch of power. The memory brought a mixture of respect and frustration. Edgar had been brilliant, there was no denying that—creating soul arts despite his weak magical affinity was nothing short of revolutionary. But his overconfidence had been his undoing, leading to his untimely death.
"Talent isn't everything," Erwin muttered under his breath, drawing a curious glance from Avince.
"Did you say something, Dad?"
Erwin hesitated but decided that he might as well voice his worries about his son. "I was thinking about Edgar, S rank soul user. Your ability to enhance your soul reminded me of him." He shifted in his seat, choosing his words carefully. "He was brilliant, but... well, brilliance without wisdom can be dangerous. He ventured into that S-rank dungeon alone, even though he knew its boss was practically designed to counter soul arts users. If only he'd swallowed his pride and brought another
Avince's eyes widened with interest. "I read about him in the academy archives, and Kartana mentioned him too, but they didn't say much about how he died."
"No, they wouldn't," Erwin sighed. "It's not exactly an inspiring tale for young ability users. But maybe it should be—there's as much to learn from failure as success." He ran a hand through his graying hair. "Edgar could have revolutionized how we understand soul the soul. Instead, his legacy is replaced by a cautionary tale about the dangers of overconfidence. That's why I worry sometimes, seeing how quickly your power is growing."
Without Edgar, there was no one Erwin could turn to for guidance in such an unknown and dangerous field. The thought left a hollow feeling in his chest. Unless he could somehow convince one of those old beings—those enigmatic figures who rarely involved themselves in the affairs of the world—to help his son, he couldn't see a clear path forward. And the old masters were notoriously reclusive, their aid coming at a steep price.
The conversation lapsed into thoughtful silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of the train as his son was back to his reading again. Avince had practically lit up when he spotted the book in the store earlier that day, and Erwin hadn't hesitated to buy it for him. The shop owner had raised an eyebrow at the purchase—the book wasn't cheap, and its content was usually reserved for more specialized mages. But Erwin had seen the hunger in his son's eyes, the same drive that had pushed him to practice basic mana circulation exercises for hours on end.
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As the train wound its way through the countryside, Erwin found his thoughts drifting to the changes he'd observed in his son lately. The way Avince's mana signature had been fluctuating, how his control seemed to slip when he thought no one would notice. It reminded Erwin of his own struggles during his early days as an ability-user, when he was just learning how to use his ability. But there was something different about Avince's situation—something that made Erwin's instincts tingle with concern.
He had noticed the subtle tremors in Avince's hands after casting an ice magic too strong for what his strength suggests, the way his son would sometimes pause mid-movement as if fighting against an invisible weight. These weren't just signs of physical exhaustion; they were indicators of something deeper, something fundamental about the way Avince's ability was developing. The pressure Avince exuded when he used his mana didn't match his current level of strength. It wasn't just raw power; it was the kind of presence one associated with seasoned fighters, those who had endured countless battles and honed their abilities through sheer survival.
The only plausible explanation was his son's ability to enhance his soul. Erwin had suspected as much since the awakening, but the progress Avince had made was startling. It hadn't been long since his son's ability had emerged, yet his soul's strength made his spells already comparable to a weak B-rank mage. Even if his technique and control weren't at that level yet, his mana output certainly was. It was like watching a sapling trying to channel the power of an ancient tree—impressive, but potentially devastating to its own growth.
Erwin frowned, his gaze shifting to the passing scenery outside the train window. The landscape was dotted with the distinctive towers of mana circulation stations, their crystalline spires reaching skyward like artificial mountains. Each one represented humanity's attempt to tame and utilize the raw magical energy that permeated their world. But even these massive structures, designed by teams of mages, sometimes failed catastrophically when pushed beyond their limits. The parallel to Avince's situation wasn't lost on him.
That kind of rapid development could be a double-edged sword. Without a solid foundation, it was easy to overextend oneself, to lose control or, worse, burn out. And then there was the physical toll. Erwin had seen too many promising young ability-users cripple themselves by pushing too hard, too fast. The memory of a particularly talented colleague from his younger days—now confined to a wheelchair after attempting a power-boosting technique beyond their capacity—served as a constant reminder of the risks.
Avince wasn't out of shape, far from it. The school's physical training curriculum ensured that all students maintained a decent level of fitness. But even with his lean, well-toned frame, it was clear that his body was struggling to keep up with the strain of his growing power. Erwin had noticed the subtle signs particularly the occasional winces when Avince thought no one was looking.
Erwin sighed quietly, his fingers absently tracing the outline of an old training manual in his coat pocket. He had been debating whether to intervene or let Avince handle this on his own. His son had already brought up the idea of joining a dojo, a suggestion that Erwin found both curious and promising. Avince wasn't a swordsman, nor had he ever shown much interest in martial combat, yet he seemed convinced that this was the right path.
The request had stirred memories of Erwin's own journey, of the years he'd spent balancing physical and magical training. He remembered the ache in his muscles, the burn of pushed limits, but also the satisfaction of achieving true harmony. Perhaps Avince had inherited more than just his aptitude for magic—maybe he had also inherited that innate understanding of what his development needed.
"You really like that book, huh?" Erwin finally broke the silence, his voice light and teasing, though his mind was still heavy with thoughts of his son's future.
Avince glanced up, startled for a moment before grinning sheepishly. "It's amazing, Dad. Did you know that Vales Ignis once used a firestorm spell to stop a monster horde from breaching the city walls? The way he described it—it's like he turned the whole battlefield into an inferno."
Erwin chuckled, remembering the historical accounts of that battle. "I've heard the stories. Vales was—and still is—one of the best in the country. But don't get any ideas about summoning firestorms just yet." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "Though I suppose everyone has to start somewhere. Even Ignis began with basic flame manipulation."
Avince laughed, a sound that warmed Erwin's heart. "I know, I know. Fundamentals first." His eyes sparkled with determination as he turned back to his book. "But someday, Dad. Someday I'll be able to reach his level too."
"Good." Erwin leaned back, closing his eyes briefly, touched by his son's ambition but also worried about the path ahead. "Remember, even the strongest flames start with a single spark." And the most devastating burns, he added silently, come from flames that grow too quickly to control.
As the train continued its journey, Erwin's thoughts drifted to the future. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his hands off Avince's training. The boy was growing fast—too fast—and there was a part of Erwin that worried about what that might mean. The world of ability-users was not always kind to prodigies; sometimes their greatest battles were not against monsters or rivals, but against their own potential.
But for now, he decided to let his son enjoy the ride. They would face the challenges ahead together, as a family. And when the time came, Erwin would be there to support him, just as he always had. After all, wasn't that what fathers were for? To guide, to protect, and sometimes, to know when to step back and let their children forge their own path—even if that path led through fire.
The train whistle sounded in the distance, a reminder that their journey was far from over. Erwin smiled softly, watching his son's eager eyes scan the pages before him, all while silently praying that his son would learn from both the successes and failures of those who came before him.