The sun had barely risen when Aelric awoke, his body feeling strangely rested, though the previous day’s exertion still lingered in his limbs. He sat up slowly, the soft morning light filtering through the small window of his home. The warmth in his chest, the familiar pulse of his magic, stirred with him, ready to be called upon.

After yesterday’s practice, Aelric felt a flicker of hope. He had managed to control the flames, even though the effort had drained him. He knew he couldn’t afford to waste time—he needed to push himself further, to learn more about his magic before the council meeting. Two days. That was all he had.

He took a deep breath and began once more. As before, he closed his eyes and focused on the center of his body, where his magic seemed to rest in a deep, almost tangible well. It was strange, this reservoir within him. His chest, the largest part of his body, seemed to hold the majority of the magic, perhaps because it was where his heart beat, where his breath came from. He wasn’t sure why, but that’s where it lived.

Slowly, deliberately, Aelric started to cycle the magic, pulling it from his center mass and directing it down to his arms. The magic moved with a familiar rhythm now, but the more he practiced, the more resistance he encountered. The flare-ups were growing more frequent, more powerful, likely because after a night of rest, he had more magic to control. Still, it was becoming easier to manage, and he no longer feared the flames.

For the next three hours, Aelric worked tirelessly, cycling the magic through his body again and again. Each time he moved the energy down to his hands, he felt the familiar heat gathering in his palms. And every fourth cycle, like clockwork, the fire affinity magic would slip through his control, and a small ember would flicker to life in his palm.

But now, Aelric had learned to handle it. The ember no longer terrified him, and with practiced ease, he let the heat dissipate into the air, the small flame vanishing before it could grow. He didn’t lose focus, didn’t let the fire spread. Each time, it felt like a small victory.

Yet, even with these successes, the practice was exhausting. His magic, while easier to control, was still draining him. After three hours, Aelric’s strength began to wane, and the magic within him seemed to settle, returning to the level it had been at the night before. The fire no longer burned brightly within him, but it still smoldered beneath the surface.

Breathing heavily, Aelric finally sat down at the small table, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was about to rest when a soft knock echoed through his home, barely audible but persistent enough to catch his attention.

He frowned, pushing himself up and moving cautiously toward the door. Opening it, he found nothing but a small package sitting on the doorstep. No one was in sight, and the early morning streets of Delsworth were eerily quiet.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Confused, Aelric bent down and picked up the package. It was light, wrapped in plain brown cloth, with no indication of who had left it. His heart quickened as he pulled the cloth aside, revealing a simple ring inside—a dull, unadorned band of metal. Next to it was a small note, written in an uneven, almost hasty hand.

“Wear it, or feel the flames of the accused at your trial. Good luck.”

Aelric’s blood ran cold. The note was ominous, threatening, and though it didn’t name a sender, the message was clear: someone knew. Someone was watching him.

His hands trembled as he held the ring. Was this a trap? A warning? He had no way of knowing, but the weight of the threat hung heavy in his mind. He hesitated for a moment, then, with a shaky breath, slid the ring onto his finger.

Nothing happened.

The ring felt like any other piece of metal—cool, smooth, unremarkable. Aelric flexed his fingers, expecting some reaction, but there was none. He frowned, staring at the band on his finger. Perhaps it was just a cruel joke. Perhaps the ring was nothing more than a meaningless trinket meant to unsettle him.

With a sigh, he turned back inside, shaking off the lingering unease. If the ring was meant to do something, it wasn’t happening now. He needed to focus on his magic. That was what mattered.

He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes, returning to the practice he had begun earlier. The warmth of his magic stirred once more, and he began to cycle it through his body, from his chest to his arms, down to his hands.

But this time, something was different.

When the magic reached his hands, he felt a flare-up—more intense than before. The fire affinity slipped through his control, and a small flame flickered to life in his palm. But this time, instead of dissipating into the air, the flame burned him.

Pain shot through Aelric’s hand, sharp and searing, breaking his focus. The fire, no longer under his control, flared brighter, feeding off the magic just beneath his skin. His heart raced, panic rising as the flames spread, licking up his fingers, fueled by the power he had so carefully nurtured.

No. Not again.

The memory of the forest, of the uncontrolled fire that had nearly consumed him, flashed in his mind. His fear surged, but this time, he didn’t let it take hold. Desperation fueled his focus as he struggled to regain control, forcing his mind to calm, to direct the magic back into his chest.

The flames wavered, resisting for a moment before finally retreating. The heat faded, the fire shrinking until only a faint wisp of smoke remained. Aelric collapsed back into his chair, his breath ragged, his hands trembling.

He looked down at his palms, his skin burned and blistered where the flames had touched him. The pain throbbed in his hands, a stark reminder of how dangerous his magic could be if left unchecked.

The ring. It had to be the ring.

Aelric’s eyes darted to the metal band still wrapped around his finger. Somehow, it had turned his magic against him, had amplified the fire until it became something he couldn’t control. His mind raced, trying to understand why. Who had sent this to him? And what did they want?

He clenched his fists, wincing as the pain from the burns shot through his fingers. Whoever had sent the ring knew about his magic, knew enough to threaten him. And now, with the council meeting only a day away, the pressure on him was greater than ever.

The flames of the accused… the trial.

Aelric swallowed hard. He didn’t know who was behind this, but the message was clear: if he didn’t figure out how to control his power, the flames would consume him long before the council had their say.