“Show me what you’ve got.”

The targets weren’t much. They were made of snow, and the second anything remotely warm came into contact with them, they’d disintegrate. That was safer than something made of wood, though, Finneas supposed. If anyone was uncertain how he’d do, this would be better. The fewer opportunities he had to cause real damage, the better.

On a day this cold, most training went on inside the building, but Joel and Finneas stood outside, a small group of guards gathered nearby to observe. Beef had arrived only moments after Finneas, but he’d seemed to have spread the word instantly, drawing the attention of the others. It was strange, knowing there were eyes on him. Each of the people watching had their own reasons for doing so. Beef stood with a smile on his face, raising his thumb toward Finneas in encouragement. Altrusia’s arms were crossed and an unattractive scowl was present on his lips. His intent was easy to assume.

The larger group, however, wore a mix of expressions. Finneas had seen most of them in passing, training directly with a handful on occasion. They weren’t friends, but they had at least been friendly until now. It was difficult to discern if they were watching out of distaste or curiosity. Most of the guard was a bit younger than him, though, and unless they’d grown up around magicians, they wouldn’t have seen magic within their memory.

This was, as much as it was practice, a performance.

Finneas started slow, for himself and for the gathered group. A small flame flickered in the palm of his hand. He knew how to control this. To hold fire in his hand was as simple as existing. It grew brighter, then traced over his arm. It crawled up and up, over his wrist, up his forearm, around his shoulders, and then down his left hand. He held it there a moment, taking an unsteady breath before he tossed it upward, catching it in his right.

He had almost expected to fail at such a simple task, to make a fool of himself and realize he had no grip on what used to come so naturally. He had expected it to be difficult. But as he watched the wisps in his hand flicker, it became apparent that this could never truly be difficult. Not when it was part of him.

Finneas stood only a few feet from the first target. It wasn’t much distance at all, but his heart pounded in his chest. If he missed this, he was going to look ridiculous in front of all these people. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He could do this. For Maron’s sake. He couldn’t make His Highness look bad for his decision, and he couldn’t walk around unable to control himself when Maron was so afraid already.

A small flash shot forth from his hand, landing in the center of the target. The lump of snow shifted, crumbling to fill the hole formed. Finneas blinked. It was good. It wasn’t much, but it was a start and it was... it was like his heart had begun to beat after being put on pause.

The target still stood and a sneer came from behind him. “I don’t see the point in this. That’s about as precise as an ill-aimed sword wound. Am I meant to be impressed?”

Finneas didn’t turn. He knew better than to give the man any attention for his comments. He had been given careful instructions. He was to start slowly and build himself up until he felt comfortable. This wasn’t a demonstration of strength meant to impress others. This was an exercise in control. This was for him. No one else. He kept his breathing slow and even and his footing solid, bringing forth another small flame, in his palm. He coaxed it, flexing his fingers around it to get a feel for the heat, silently pleading for it to grow. It obeyed, enveloping his hand entirely.

A handful of surprised gasps. How many of them had never seen this before? Back home, it had been common for his family to host demonstrations, showing off how they incorporated their magic into their blacksmithing, making a show of it. These younger members would never have seen anything like that. It was a shame. This small act of control was nothing compared to what his family had been able to do. This was scarcely a show.

It didn’t need to be, Fineas reminded himself. No one else’s perception mattered right now. All he had to do was show restraint and ownership over his element. So long as it was clear that he could handle this, nothing else mattered.

Finneas thrust his hand forward, palm facing straight ahead of him. It was less like throwing a ball and more like the cracking of a whip. It thrust forward, smooth in its motion, remaining attached to Finneas’s hand until the last possible moment, when the tail of it finally disconnected. The burst flashed through the target, sending snow flying through the air as it crashed through.

“Good,” Joel said. “That was powerful. How did it feel?”

Powerful. That was the right word for it. The burst had gone just as Finneas had directed it, obeying his summons without question. Fire did just as he asked. It put up no fight. After all, it was an extension of him. “It’s like controlling another limb,” Finneas said. “It needs more training if I want it to get stronger, but it’s simple.” It was like building muscle. He just needed to repeat this and push further.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Joel said. “Take out the rest of the targets. One by one, larger flames. Push yourself, but the second it’s too much, disengage. I want a baseline.” The man turned. “Those of you watching instead of attending to your own practice, either remain quiet or get back inside. I understand this is interesting, but I’m not having a peanut gallery hollering.”

A handful of those standing shuffled away, back to their own work as though they’d only now remembered it. Altrusia still stood, pout on his lip. It was as though Finneas could hear his voice before he even opened his mouth. The words themselves didn’t manage to come to mind, but the feeling of being assaulted by nails on a chalkboard seemed to enter Finneas’s bloodstream with anticipation. The man, to his surprise, just took a step back, shifting his weight, and said nothing.

Finneas recentered himself. All he needed to do was focus and he’d be fine. The way Altrusia’s eyes bored into his back was nothing to concern himself with. He wasn’t the only one watching. His peers, other members of the guard he’d trained with since he was just a kid, some of them fellow magicians, were right there. There were people watching without malice. And regardless of the intent behind any of their eyes, none of it mattered. This was training. There were no mistakes in practice, only chances to learn. No one could fault him even if he got something wrong.

The flame was back to his hand without much thought, and then it engulfed it completely. He let it linger for a moment, watching it build, larger and larger. Once again, he threw his hand forward, harsher than before. The charge was larger, whipping toward the target without hesitation.

It shattered. The tall mound, what pieces of it didn’t evaporate at the contact, crumbled to the ground and shot out around it. Finneas blinked. He hadn’t expected it to collapse so violently. He didn’t turn around, didn’t check with Joel before moving to the next. Just a bit more power. Just a bit more focus. The next. Just a bit more power. Two hands instead of one. The next. Just a bit more power.

Both of Finneas’s hands were aglow with fire. The heat of it was intense, but not uncomfortable. Heat was just a fact, with no negative connotations. It was scalding, but it didn’t hurt.

It would hurt if he were anyone else.

If he were to lose control of this and this massive ball of fire were to fly off without his direction, the damage to a building would be immense. If it were to strike a person… Finneas swallowed, the flame shuddering in his palms. Was this what it had looked like that day? A magician with hands full of flame, thrusting them outward, toward a target made of flesh and bone?

Had Pallor had any sense of panic when that burst had disconnected from his hands, no longer something he could control? That had been intentional, but the same damage could be done in a complete accident.

Finneas’s fingers trembled, the flames enveloping them following the motion, flickering and shuddering. He clapped them together and the fire disappeared completely, the only evidence that it had ever existed being the lingering heat in the air. He turned, finding Joel’s brows knitted together. Finneas shook his head. “I don’t want to go that big yet.” That was all he had to say. He didn’t need to mention the way his heart pounded in his chest or point out the frigid sweat on his skin. Joel didn’t ask him for a reason. He just nodded.

“Alright. We’ve got our starting point then. From a practical standpoint, I don’t want you using this in action yet unless absolutely necessary. It’d make for good offense in dire circumstances, but until you’ve got a bit more precision, it’s not your smartest move to use it too close to people. Especially him.” 

“Right.” Right. He shouldn’t be using this. Everything could go wrong in a second. This was a terrible idea. How was he going to defend Maron when there was the risk of hurting him in the process? None of them had thought this through enough. 

“Finneas.”

He looked up.

“Good work, today, son. You’ll be ready soon enough.”

Author's Note

Second half of the chapter coming tomorrow! It's a little longer, so I need to split it in two episodes. Sadly, Finneas is not having a banger time right now, huh? Maybe he'll feel better soon?