The halls of Odessyus felt quieter than usual. Not peaceful — just... tense. Like the walls were holding their breath. The kind of silence that waited before something terrible began.
Tom sat alone in the lower training chamber, his fists resting on his knees, both smoldering slightly with leftover fire. Around him, faint black scorch marks formed a ring where his last practice flare had exploded. He'd been training nonstop for hours — and it wasn't helping.
His flame just wouldn't grow.
He stared at his hands. He had seen Lucy pause time. Kitty summon a glowing shield from her wings. Even Peter's shadows had started to take shape. But his flame — the same one he'd carried since the beginning — had stayed the same.
Red. Hot. Predictable.
"Everyone's getting stronger," he muttered. "Except me."
In his chest, something cracked. Not physically — but emotionally. It wasn't anger this time. It wasn't rage. It was something colder. Something hollow.
He clenched his fists again, and the flame flared — then sputtered out.
---
Susan had been watching him from the top steps for a while. She finally made her way down the curved stone staircase and sat beside him on the bench.
"You're still pushing yourself," she said softly.
Tom didn't answer.
"You know it doesn't all have to happen at once," she continued. "Your power doesn't have to explode to grow."
Tom let out a bitter breath. "But it should. I've had this flame since the beginning. And now everyone's catching up... passing me."
Susan looked at his burned gloves. "Or maybe… you've been burning too bright to see what's already changed."
Tom looked over at her. "Do you think there's more to me than just fire?"
She gave a small smile. "I think you're more than what you show. And I think the fire's only one piece of the storm inside you."
---
Later that night, while the others rested, Tom found himself walking to the Old Forge Vault, deep beneath the west wing of the castle. This place hadn't been used in decades — not since King Edmund's early wars. The stone walls were stained with soot, and broken tools lay rusting in corners. A single furnace sat at the back, its mouth long since cooled.
He stepped to the center of the room and knelt.
He didn't summon his flame.
He summoned his memory.
His village — gone. Burned in a night when he lost control. When he first touched Palecto, trained in secret by Kazakare, unaware of the true danger. He remembered faces. A brother. His mother's voice. Screams.
He remembered fire swallowing homes.
And then nothing.
He opened his eyes, tears caught in the corners.
"I didn't ask for this," he whispered. "I didn't want to destroy anything."
And still, the fire came. But this time, not wild. Not angry.
It rose slowly from his hands — a white-blue spiral that danced gently in the air, circling his arms like wind wrapping fire. It was soft. Focused. Alive.
For the first time ever, his flame didn't burn him.
It listened.
---
Up above, Neolin's eyes opened in his chambers. He stood from his meditation, turned toward the window, and smiled faintly.
"He's found it," he whispered.
---
The next morning, training resumed in the courtyard. The group lined up, ready for their daily formations and trials.
Neolin stepped forward with his usual calm but observant look.
"Today," he said, "we test your control, not your power."
Before the others could begin, Frank raised a hand and pointed. "Tom… you first."
Everyone turned.
Tom stepped forward, his steps more confident than usual. He stopped at the center circle, closed his eyes, and raised his right hand.
Flame sparked. Then wind began to spiral up from his feet, swirling with it. The fire didn't roar. It twisted, danced, and shaped itself into a spiral spear of light — a fusion of red and silver-blue.
Then, with one swing, he hurled it toward the training wall.
It struck — not with a boom, but with a deep pulse — and vanished without scorching the stone.
Silence.
"Whoa," Peter said.
"That was... clean," said Lucy.
Kitty smiled. "Beautiful, actually."
Neolin nodded with approval. "Dual-channel control. Wind and flame. Balanced. That's not easy. It takes emotion… and clarity."
Tom stepped back into line, not saying a word.
But Susan looked over at him and smiled.
He returned it — just slightly.
---
Later that night, while the group rested in the upper dorms, Neolin stood by the outer tower with King Edmund, looking out at the crimson-tinted moon that had begun to rise.
"Their powers are growing," the king said.
"Yes," Neolin replied. "And they'll need them. The Blood Moon grows stronger by the day."
"Do they know what's coming?" Edmund asked.
"Not yet," said Neolin. "But they'll face him soon."
"Do you mean Kazakare?"
Neolin's eyes narrowed. "Yes. He's already moving."
---
Far beneath the shattered ruins of the Whispering Ravine, a hand reached from beneath cracked stone.
Bandaged. Burnt. Glowing with red veins.
A voice rasped into the darkness.
"Fire... wind... time... stars… it doesn't matter."
The figure stepped into the light of a ruined torch, face half-covered by an old silver mask.
"Kazakare returns," he growled. "And this time, I finish what I started."