“To forge a new flame, patience is key.”

Hawar stood against the freezing and biting wind, chest bare and growing red with the cold. His Teacher's words rang out in his head, “If you cannot resist the elements, you will fall to the magic in your body.” He took a deep breath and braced his whole body as the wind continued to howl.

It had been two months since Hawar had gone to train under the wizard on the mountain. Two months had already gone by and he had hardly seen as much as a spell scroll. Every day it was “Dust the shelves, prepare the fires, clean the tower.” This wasn’t magic, it was chores. When he had confronted his Teacher about it he had laughed and said:

“It took you long enough to realize what was happening, we’ll start actual training tomorrow.” Then he had gone off to perform some other experiment.

Now here he was, doing the ‘actual training’ as his Teacher claimed, freezing his body for some preparation. ‘If there was anything left of his body after this preparation.’ He thought to himself.

The door to the tower slammed open and his Teacher walked outside. Both his robes and long black beard flowed wildly in the wind, as if trying to escape, Hawar noticed ‘Take me with you’ he thought.

“Y.. cold y.t?!” His Teacher shouted, the words swept away into the snowstorm.

“You said what?” Hawar shouted back, he gripped his arms to try and rub some heat back into them but was stopped by his Teacher’s words, now clear as day.

“Don’t try and fight it, let the elements beat you down.” Hawar whirled around, half expecting his Teacher to be beside him, but there was only the snow and biting wind. Bewildered he turned back to face the tower door, and sure enough there his teacher stood right as rain. “A simple communication spell, if you’re curious. Now focus on the element.”

“It’s a little hard not to.” Hawar gritted his teeth.

“Good, then embrace that feeling, the overwhelming power you’re up against.” His Teacher moved closer, moving through the snow like a ghost. “Let your body go, but don’t stop resisting it.” He stood before Hawar now, almost shimmering within the snowstorm. His figure swayed with the wind, the silhouette forming and reforming. His body seemed to be gone, replaced by the elements itself.

“H-how—“ Hawar stumbled, then shook his head. “You told me not to fight it, now you’re saying resist? How does that make sense?” Hawar thought he could hear him laugh but it was drowned by the wind, if he had there was no spell attached to it.

“You’re trying to learn magic, Son!” His Teacher shouted, “It's going to make total sense and nonsense, best to forget whatever it is you know about anything right now!”

Hawar closed his eyes and imagined his fist smashing through his Teacher’s beard. A useless thought, he knew, as he would never be able to land a hit on him. He shook his head and quickly dispelled it. He brought his hands from his shoulders down to his waist, breathing in. ‘Resist, don’t fight.’ The wind was cold against his skin, like standing too close to a campfire. The snow bit at him as it flew past. He let it all happen, ‘Endure, endure.’ He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank, like an artist clearing their canvas.

Nothing.

Emptiness.

The pain of the cold seemed to stop for a moment, as if it was analyzing him.

That was when he saw it, or rather he felt it. In the corner of his being there was a small flicker, a brief flash in the pan.

Then the pain resumed but again only briefly as he could feel his body falling and the soft impact it made in the snow.

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“One must be gentle, to keep the flame alive.”

Siwan popped the cork off of a bottle and let the scarlet liquid flow. Glass after glass, she poured the wine, careful not to spill a drop.It was the day of the Flame Lighting and preparations were being made all around town. Her job this year was keeping the visiting guests fed and as her father said “Very drunk.” She had reached the end of the line of glasses and there was still some wine left. She peered out the doorway into the neighboring room. There were a handful of maids darting around like spiders weaving a web, but none of them seemed to pay her any attention.

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With a grin she lifted the bottle up to her lips.

“No drinks before the Flame starts burning.” Her father plucked the bottle out of her hand and set it down on the table. “Keep your wit sharp when you’re serving the Guests, remember.”

Siwan groaned and started setting the glasses onto a silver tray.

“That way we can spy on them even better.” She said with a roll of her eyes. Her father took a step forward and began helping her with the glasses.

“It’s not spying dear, those merchants know things that we need to know.” He set the last glass down, rested a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes.

She looked back up at him, his blue eyes that he shared with her looked distant, as if the thoughts they watched over were not entirely there. Yet even still, she knew they were focused on her. She rested her hand on his and leaned into it.

“Sounds an awful lot like spying on them, plus” she paused and gestured to all the drinks. “Is the amount we spend on drinks really worth it? We could get them just as drunk with cheaper wine.”

Her father took a step back and scratched his neatly trimmed beard. He took a look at her, then back at the drinks, then back at her. She shifted her feet ever so slightly. Then he began to laugh, at first like a small trickle, like water bubbling over creek stones, then a booming wave that reverberated around the walls. “And who did my sweet daughter learn to be a con artist from?!” He boomed, so loudly that even the maids in the other room paused. He turned to face her with a large grin on his face.

Siwan felt her cheeks flush red and her ears begin to burn. She picked up the tray and began to balance the drinks on it, careful not to spill a drop. She stopped before exiting the room, her fathers gaze still bore down on her back. An inkling of a smile formed on her lips.

“If only my father was as honest a man he thinks he is, his daughter would be following in his footsteps.”

She left the room before he could say another word, but as she dodged the maids and scurried up the steps she could hear the howl of his laughter.

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The room the merchants were staying in was stuffy, as if the merchants affected the very air itself. They had been in there for several hours and not once had Siwan heard any sort of laughter emanate from there, and yet the drinks had not stopped flowing. She stopped briefly outside, taking a moment to flatten the few slight creases in her dress. A deep breath, a calm before the storm. ‘this is my house’ she thought, ‘I will remind them as it is needed.’ Putting on the smile of a well trained actor she opened the door into the room.

She had been expecting all eyes to turn towards her as she walked through, primarily because it was so quiet from the outside. But all the merchants in the room stood hunched over in their chairs, crowded together and speaking quickly in hushed voices. Their mostly bald heads were mere fingers apart. Occasionally one would lean back and scribble something down on some parchment, but it was all so rushed. Their movements looked unnatural to Siwan, as if she was gazing at a gathering of creatures.

She wanted to save the memory of them as they stood, forever etch it into the side of her brain. One of the merchants turned to look at her, squinting at her through his sole eye. She recognized him as Silvereye; he led a caravan from the West through the Blood Forest. It was a quick glance before he rejoined the others, but his hand shot back up and beckoned her over. Careful not to spill the drinks she followed over to him and knelt down at his side. Reaching for one of the glasses of wine she began:

“Can I offer you a-“ a loud hush from a rather plump gentleman cut her off. He didn’t turn to face her, eyes focused on whatever they were all looking at. She bit the inside of her lip as well as several rude remarks. Silvereye grabbed one of the drinks, looked at her, and rapidly fluttered his eye at her. Siwan believed he was attempting to wink, but couldn’t tell if he had just gotten some dust in his eye. “Should I open one of the windows-“ again she was cut off by a loud hush, collective this time.

“Someone tell her to be quiet, and keep those windows closed.” The plump gentleman remarked again.

“Bother yourself Mince, you’re being louder than she ever was.” Another merchant chimed in, pointing a finger in the plump gentleman’s direction. The merchant in question was Alssin Dorwa, the Tools Master. The plum gentlemen he referred to let out a grunt and sat down again. As she looked at him Siwan now realized it was Salvin Mince, the head of the meat network. His caravan’s meant the difference between life or death for many villages here in the North.

“Now shut it all of you, or I’ll smack the daylights out of you.” Another growled, judging by his voice, Siwan guessed it was Thorn. A less than reputable Evrin, who claimed to trade cloths, but was really much better known as a smuggler. Being an Evrin, his race had become much better suited to moving in darkness. This meant that his shipments moved vast distances during the shroud of night with little to no obstruction..

“EVERYONE SHUSH!” Silvereye shouted, grabbing Siwan’s hand and pulling her close. She looked back to check if the drinks and platter were okay, only to realize they had disappeared while the merchants had been arguing. She fell up against Silvereye’s side as he pointed in the center of the merchants. “I do believe it’s happening.” He mumbled.

Siwan gasped as she watched what looked like a rock at first begin to shake. A faint glow emanated from it and sparks began to fly off and hit the floor. Mince reached for a bucket of water that was nearby but was held off by Thorn. The rock shook some more as a tail began to curl itself off of the rock, then legs, then a head.

“By my heavens.” Silvereye said.

“It’s beautiful.” Said Mince

“It’s gonna start a fire.” Alssin grabbed the bucket but was also thwarted by Thorn.

“It’ll fetch a great price once fully grown.” Thorn stated.

“It’s a Dragon.” Siwan said in disbelief.