It was some time after dusk. The cold ocean air fogging her breath, as she stood by the river. This was one of many days she had used out here. Trying to test her limits, searching, prodding at her ceiling. Effortlessly she created a small object out of pure magic, barely larger than the digit of her fingers. Breath after breath, she added to the mass of the object. Until it was a semisolid dark flame. For all the months of training, and all the magic that disappeared from her grasp. She had settled on this shape. The shape held together by absolute sheer will.

With another, smaller sphere, she struck her creation, igniting it. A dark blue flame licked the sides of the head-sized object, untouched by the wind, yet the flames still licked in the direction of the garden. She was careful not to let too much of the glow and embers evaporate into the flora, a much greater success than many of her previous exercises.

Now, she had a torch, a guiding light. Pulling towards the gardens. She closed her eyes to fan the flames. As she opened them once more, she walked towards the gardens. Careful not to let the aggressive seeking spirit-flame spread to the magical flora of the garden.

The flames shifted, pulled towards the temple. Her magical lodestone guiding her through the sandy fields and past the crater through the gazebo and into the temple courtyard. The flame flickered and she once more put more mass into her compass. The courtyard was dimly lit by moonlight, visibility was low. The dark light of her flame didn’t provide much in the way of light. She shuffled her feet, to not loose footing. Foot by foot until she hit her foot against the step, to the temple proper, almost losing her balance. Ouch.

Stifling a yelp. The beacon become unstable, sputtered and quickly began evaporating. She redoubled her efforts, poured more fuel to the fire, calming the fire. The strain burnt her slightly, but she managed to regain control. The fire stabilized, and she continued, this time lifting her feet properly over the entrance. Step by step she made her way through the hallways. Into the mess hall. The flames here became unpredictable, leading the search in a random pattern. Concluding that it must be a floor further down, she went through the stairs and into the washroom and storage cellar. The cold steps made a formed a dichotomy between the warmth of her hands holding the fire and soul, working tirelessly to keep the flame lit. But when she arrived, the cellar contained nothing but cloth, old tools and smoked foods. She would have assumed she’d have to go further, if the flame wasn’t stronger than before.

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She climbed out, followed the hallways to the stairs leading up. Deeply focused on the flame, as it flickered and flared. Trying to feed it, keep it stable, and move her feet one step at a time. The fire engulfed her vision and her mind. Until it finally winked. Extinguished by a sudden gust of wind.

The darkness swallowed her vision. Waiting for her eyes to adjust, she closed them to help them adjust faster. She listened; it was not quite. A deep breathing, a rhythmic snore. She retraced her steps. A growing sense of unease crept up on her, as she opened her eyes. She was stood outside her master’s bedchambers. She cupped her hands and put her lips toward the makeshift bowl. Trying as she might, she could not create a stable structure, it all disappeared through the sliding door and into her master’s quarters.

She looked up once more at the shoji in front of her, now only faintly hearing Konigen’s steady breathing from inside through the blood rushing through her mind.