The Kindling
Deryk adjusted his coat and stared at the academy gates.
Students streamed through them laughing, talking, and greeting familiar faces without a second thought.
He wondered what it must be like to belong somewhere.
The grand halls buzzed with life. Merchants lined the entrance, eager to catch the attention of new students.
“Come on, young mages!” one shouted. “I have the finest wands and trinkets in the capital!”
Deryk grimaced at the old merchant’s booming voice. He lowered his head and tried to slip past unnoticed.
“You there! Young mage! Come on over!”
Deryk closed his eyes for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.
Of course.
He reluctantly walked over to the stand.
It overflowed with polished wands, engraved staves, enchanted rings, and glittering magical trinkets.
His hand drifted toward one of the finer wands.
Then he stopped.
He quietly pulled it back.
“What?” the merchant scoffed. “Too good for my wares?”
Deryk didn’t answer.
“Or too broke?”
Slowly, Deryk lifted his eyes.
The merchant’s grin faded.
“…Those eyes.”
For the first time since calling him over, the old man took an uneasy step backward.
Deryk said nothing.
Instead, he reached for a black, ornately carved wand resting near the back of the display.
The merchant quickly recovered, rubbing his hands together.
“Ah! Excellent choice.”
He carefully placed the wand into Deryk’s hand.
“Blackwood. Rare as dragon’s teeth. Fire-resistant, superb amplification, and balanced enough for even a novice.”
He puffed out his chest proudly.
“Whether fire is your primary affinity or merely your minor, you won’t find a finer wand in the capital.”
The merchant flashed a confident grin.
“Go on.”
He gestured toward the practice dummy.
“Give it a try.”
Deryk released a slow breath and stepped into the center of the plaza.
The wand felt strangely light.
The merchant frowned.
“They’re… dry?”
The air around Deryk shimmered.
Steam curled from the grip of the wand.
One by one, conversations across the plaza died away.
Students stopped walking.
The merchant swallowed.
“What…?”
Deryk slowly raised the wand.
“Reduce to ashes.”
Nothing happened.
Then—
The wand screamed.
White swallowed his vision.
Heat crashed through the plaza.
When his sight returned…
The dummy no longer existed.
Nobody spoke.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Where the practice dummy had stood…
Only scorched stone remained.
Someone dropped their staff.
“…What kind of fire was that?” a student whispered.
“You idiot!” the merchant finally shouted. “Look what you did to my shop! You’ll be paying for this until your grandchildren keel over!”
The beautiful wand crumbled to ash in Deryk’s hand.
He stared at it without emotion.
The dummy wasn’t burned.
It wasn’t destroyed.
It was simply…
Gone.
Deryk stood perfectly still.
His expression never changed.
But inside—
That was too much.
Too much for a simple spell.
Too much for a wand that wasn’t even his.
He exhaled slowly, as if forcing the heat back down.
Control it.
Just control it.
The thought didn’t feel reassuring.
It felt like an accusation.
Deryk clenched his fist.
Something sharp dug into his palm.
Blood seeped between his fingers.
He slowly opened his hand.
Black nails.
Longer than they should have been.
Curved like claws.
He quietly shoved the hand into his pocket.
A white-hooded figure rushed through the smoke.
She stopped so suddenly her boots scraped across the stone.
The hood fell back.
White hair.
Hazel eyes.
She looked entirely too calm for someone charging toward flames hot enough to melt stone.
Deryk didn’t move.
He simply raised an eyebrow.
“Be still, great flame.”
Her staff struck the ground.
Ice rushed across the plaza, swallowing the fire beneath a wave of frost.
For a brief moment…
Silence.
Crack.
The ice splintered almost immediately.
The heat beneath it refused to die.
She stared at the fractured ice before letting out a quiet breath.
“…Goodness.”
She looked toward Deryk.
“That wasn’t a normal fire spell.”
“…Are you okay?”
Deryk hesitated.
“…Thank you.”
She tilted her head before offering her hand with a bright smile.
“Soraya. Ice mage. Wind is my minor.”
Deryk studied her for a moment before accepting the handshake.
She barely reached his shoulder.
Despite the destruction around them, she somehow still looked… happy.
Nothing like he felt.
“…Deryk.”
He gently shook her hand.
“Fire mage.”
She immediately winced.
“Ow.”
She laughed, rubbing her hand.
“You’re hot to the touch.”
Her smile somehow grew even wider.
“Your magical power is tremendous.”
The corner of Deryk’s mouth lifted before he realized it.
A smile.
Small.
Unfamiliar.
Compliments were rare.
Real ones were even rarer.
For just a moment…
He almost believed her.
His mother’s voice surfaced without warning.
“Still only fire…”
He closed his eyes.
Not now.
Not here.
That’s enough.
“I’d hate to interrupt this lovely moment,” the merchant growled, “but there’s still the matter of my fucking property.”
Fingers grabbed the front of Deryk’s coat.
Hard enough to wrinkle the fabric.
Hard enough that he couldn’t simply walk away.
Breathe.
Come on.
Just spare him.
“Release me.”
His voice remained calm.
“I won’t ask again.”
The air around them slowly began to grow hotter.
Thanks for reading! I’d love to know your first impressions.
What was your first impression of Deryk?
What do you think Soraya’s deal is?
Feel free to leave your theories in the comments!
