“They say he had no talent” Rumor about a certain sage.

"Time to get up, lad," the old man said loudly, as he prodded him awake with his walking stick. “You got work to do.”

Andros groaned, every muscle in his body protesting the idea of movement. The last few days had been grueling. Between running for his life and barely sleeping, he felt like a corpse being dragged along by sheer willpower. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing the grit from his eyes. The smell of something savory simmering over the fire reached his nose, reminding him that he hadn’t had a decent meal in what felt like ages.

“Work?” Andros mumbled, still groggy. “What kind of work?”

The old man glanced at him, his sharp eyes betraying a wisdom far beyond his weathered appearance. “You want to survive in this world, don’t you? That means you need to understand the magic inside you. It’s wild, untamed. You’ll burn yourself out if you don’t learn to control it.”

Andros frowned, instinctively feeling the strangeness of Bartholomew’s body as if it wasn’t quite his own. The energy was there—he could sense it—but he hadn’t given much thought to it beyond his desperate attempts to escape. It hummed within him, a current of heat and power lurking just below the surface, ready to surge out at any moment.

The old man must have seen the doubt in his face. He gave a knowing smile. “Don’t worry. It’s not as complicated as you think. Magic comes from within, and you’ve got plenty of it. But like fire, it can be destructive if you don’t learn to channel it.”

“How do you know all this?” Andros asked, a bit skeptical.

The old man chuckled, a deep, weathered sound. “I’ve dabbled a bit. And even though everyone’s magic is different, the fundamentals are pretty much the same.”

He motioned for Andros to stand. "Come on, up you get. The best way to learn is by doing."

Andros groaned but obeyed, his legs feeling like lead. Every step sent a dull ache through his bones, but curiosity was starting to outweigh his exhaustion. The old man handed him a small tree branch

“Fire’s your strength,” the old man said, his tone suddenly serious. “There’s a heat in you, a spark that’s waiting to be ignited. But fire’s dangerous if you let it burn out of control. You need to focus, learn to harness it, and then... direct it. Start by lighting the branch on fire, it's easier than summoning flame directly ”

He wasn’t sure how much he believed the old man’s words, but after his disastrous attempt to use fire against the soldiers, he was desperate for any form of guidance.

The old man stepped back, giving Andros space, and pointed to the small fire still smoldering between them.

“Feel the flames,” he instructed. “Not just with your mind, but with your soul. Reach out to them with the energy inside you.”

Andros hesitated, unsure how to begin. He stared at the fire, its embers glowing faintly, the occasional flicker of flame dancing in the wind. He took a deep breath, trying to sense something more than just the physical fire. The hum of energy inside him stirred again, faint but undeniable, and for a brief moment, he felt something—a pull toward the heat.

“Good,” the old man said softly. “Now, guide that energy. Don’t force it—let it flow naturally. Let it take the form it wants to.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Andros closed his eyes, trying to imagine the energy inside him as something tangible, like a river flowing out toward the fire. He concentrated, feeling the warmth of the flames, not just in front of him, but inside him as well. Slowly, he sensed a connection, a faint link between his own heat and the fire before him. He tried to let the magic move up his arms and into the branch

When he opened his eyes, he was stunned. The branch was starting to smoke in his hand.

“Don’t get too excited,” the old man warned, his voice calm but firm. “You’re just starting. Control is what we’re after. Keep the flame steady, small, and under your control.”

Andros swallowed, focusing harder. He tried to calm the surge of energy within him, to steady the fire rather than let it flare wildly. The flames inside him responded, flickering more gently now, their movement controlled. He could feel the energy inside him, not wild and chaotic like it had been during his escape, but something he could direct. It was exhilarating—and terrifying.

The old man nodded in approval. “Now, fire’s just one part of it. But there’s more to you than heat. You’ve got wind in you as well. It’s not as strong, but it’s there.”

Andros blinked in surprise. Wind? He hadn’t felt anything resembling wind since he’d arrived in this world. But as the old man spoke, he became aware of a shift in the energy within him. It was subtle, like a cool breeze stirring inside his chest. It wasn’t as intense as the fire, but it was there—something softer, more elusive.

“Wind is different,” the old man explained. “It’s not about force. It’s about subtlety, movement, and patience. If fire is your strength, wind is your balance. It’ll help you control that power. Most people don’t have to worry about balancing affinities, but your kind aren’t so lucky.”

He gestured toward the trees surrounding their camp. “Feel the air around you. Let it guide you.”

Andros exhaled slowly, his senses opening to the world around him. He could feel the faint breeze on his skin, the way the air moved gently through the leaves. The energy inside him stirred again, this time softer, like the rustling of leaves on a quiet day. He raised his hand, and for a brief moment, he felt the breeze respond, swirling around him and lifting the edges of his cloak.

The old man’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Good. You’re learning faster than I thought.”

Andros’s heart raced, a mixture of excitement and disbelief. This was real. For the first time since being thrust into this world, he felt like he had some semblance of control. But the old man’s next words quickly tempered his excitement.

“Don’t get cocky,” the old man said, his voice a low rumble. “This is just the beginning. Fire and wind—they’re tools, nothing more. If you learn to master them, they’ll help you survive in this world. But they’re also double-edged swords. Without balance, without control, you’ll destroy yourself just as quickly as your enemies.”

Andros nodded, his excitement fading into a more sober understanding. This wasn’t a game. The fire inside him—the wind he could barely grasp—they were dangerous forces. He remembered the look of horror on the soldiers’ faces when he’d burned them. The surge of power had been intoxicating, but the exhaustion that followed had nearly killed him. He needed to learn how to control these elements, or they would consume him.

The old man sat down by the fire, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. “You’ve got a long road ahead, lad,” he said, his tone more gentle now. “But you’re off to a good start. There’s potential in you—a lot of it. But don’t think that makes you special. Everyone in this world has potential. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

Andros sat down across from him, still holding the staff in his hands. He stared at the fire, feeling the energy inside him calm, though it still hummed beneath the surface, waiting to be called upon again.

“I don’t understand. I don’t have any money, why are you helping me? Who are you?” Andros asked quietly.

The old man chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “The only name that matters is the one other people give you” he said, “but since you ask, call me Billy.”

“Billy?” Andros blinked, “Not what I was expecting.”

The old man looked at him, his eyes serious again. “Now, you learn discipline. You learn control. There are no shortcuts with magic, lad. It’s all about patience, practice, and focus. We’ll continue this next time we make camp. I’ve been to a city where people like you can have some semblance of a civilized life. I can lead you there, but after that you’re on your own.”

Andros nodded, determination settling into his bones. He had been thrown into this world against his will, forced to inhabit someone else’s body, forced to fight. But if this magic could give him control, if it could give him a chance to survive and maybe even find a way home, then he would do whatever it took.