Life at Gothsend manor had settled into an uneasy rhythm over the weeks following Alec's encounter with Gia. The days passed with mechanical precision—lessons in the morning, meals taken in subdued silence, evenings spent in the solar where Elenora would embroider while reading letters that arrived with decreasing frequency.

  The war news, when it came, was surprisingly positive. Ravens brought word that the loyalist forces had successfully relieved the siege of Millhaven, and Duke Aldric's rebels had retreated eastward. Uncle Gareth had distinguished himself in several skirmishes along the northern passes, while Roderick's own command had helped secure the vital bridge at Thornbrook. For the first time since the men had marched away, there was cautious optimism in the air.

  But still no word of when they might return.

  Alec found himself changed by his experience in the forest in ways both subtle and profound. The constant awareness of the mana flowing around him had become like a second sense—not quite conscious, but always present at the edge of his perception. He could feel it in the magic stones that lit the manor, sense the small enchantments the servants used in their daily work, and detect the faint auras that surrounded anyone capable of wielding magic.

  Most significantly, his own power had grown. Not just in strength, but in responsiveness. Where before his magic had required careful concentration and sometimes failed to manifest at all, now it seemed eager to answer his call. Too eager, perhaps.

  The temptation had been building for days. Each morning, Alec would complete his lessons, help his mother with small tasks, and spend time playing with baby Clarisse—who had begun trying to crawl and babbled constantly in a language only she understood. But afterward, when the afternoon stretched empty before him, he would feel the pull of the forest.

  He'd returned to the clearing three times since that first transformative experience, each time hoping to recapture that moment of perfect connection. But Gia remained silent, offering only the faintest whisper of her presence beneath the everyday flow of mana. The profound unity he'd felt seemed as distant as a half-remembered dream.

  Perhaps that's why, on a particularly warm afternoon when the spring air carried the scent of apple blossoms and the distant sound of axes cutting wood, Alec decided to try something different.

  He made his way to the forest's edge, just within sight of the manor walls but far enough that casual observers wouldn't see what he was doing. The same deer path led him to the familiar clearing, but this time he stopped at its boundary, standing among the younger trees that grew at the forest's periphery.

  Offensive magic. The phrase had appeared in several of the books in his father's library, usually accompanied by dire warnings about proper control and the dangers of unleashing destructive forces without adequate preparation. Fire magic was considered one of the most basic offensive spells—creating flame from pure mana, directing it at a target, maintaining control over its intensity and duration.

  Alec selected his target carefully: a dead oak that stood slightly apart from the others, its bark blackened by some past lightning strike. It was perhaps thirty feet away—close enough that accuracy wouldn't be an issue, far enough that he'd have time to react if something went wrong.

  He closed his eyes and reached for his power, expecting the same careful, measured response he'd grown accustomed to over the years. Instead, it was like opening a floodgate.

  The mana surged upward from somewhere deep within him, far more than he'd intended to call. It felt different now—wilder, more primal, carrying with it an echo of that vast connection he'd experienced with Gia. For a moment, panic flickered through him as he realized he'd called up far more power than he could control.

  But pride and curiosity overruled caution. He'd deal with it. How hard could it be to shape mana into fire?

  Alec opened his eyes, extended his hand toward the dead oak, and spoke the word of command he'd read in one of his father's oldest books: "Ignari!"

  What happened next defied every expectation and shattered his understanding of magical control.

  Instead of the small, controlled flame he'd envisioned—perhaps enough to char the bark or set a few branches smoldering—an explosion of fire erupted from his outstretched hand. The fireball that roared toward the tree was the size of a war horse, a brilliant orange-white sphere of destruction that left a trail of superheated air in its wake.

  The impact was beyond anything Alec had imagined possible.

  The dead oak simply ceased to exist in any recognizable form. One moment it stood tall against the forest backdrop; the next, it was gone in a column of flame that reached thirty feet into the air. The explosion that followed felt like standing next to a lightning strike.

  BOOM.

  The sound hit Alec like a physical blow, so loud it seemed to come from inside his own chest. The ground beneath his feet trembled, and several smaller trees nearby swayed as if struck by hurricane winds. A wall of superheated air washed over him, bringing with it the acrid smell of incinerated wood and something else—ozone, like the aftermath of a storm.

  But the heat was the worst part.

  Even standing thirty feet away, the wave of thermal energy that rolled outward from the explosion was intense enough to make Alec's eyes water and temporarily steal his breath. The front of his clothes grew uncomfortably warm, and he could swear he felt the hair on his arms singling. The very air seemed to shimmer and dance, distorted by the incredible temperatures.

  Where the tree had stood, only a smoking crater remained, its edges glowing with residual heat. The earth itself had been fused into something resembling black glass, while smaller fires had sprung up among the dry leaves scattered by the blast. A pillar of thick, black smoke rose straight up into the sky like a funeral pyre, visible for miles in every direction.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Alec stood frozen in shock, staring at the destruction he'd wrought. This wasn't magic—this was catastrophe. The books had made fire spells sound so controlled, so precise. They'd never mentioned anything about power that could erase trees from existence.

  The sound of running footsteps snapped him out of his paralysis. Voices called out from the direction of the manor, growing closer by the second. He could hear the distinctive clank of mail as the guards ran, their equipment rattling with each step.

  "The forest's ablaze!"

  "Sound the fire bell!"

  "Get the buckets!"

  Alec wanted to run, to hide, to somehow undo what he'd done. But his legs felt like water, and there was nowhere to go. The column of smoke overhead marked his location as clearly as a beacon.

  The first to reach him was Sir Marcus, captain of the guards, his face flushed from running in full armor. Behind him came four men-at-arms, all carrying buckets that seemed pathetically inadequate in the face of the devastation before them.

  "Young master!" Sir Marcus gasped, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "Are you hurt? What happened here?"

  Before Alec could answer, more footsteps approached—lighter, more urgent. Elenora burst into view, having clearly run from the manor without thought for dignity or decorum. Her dress was hiked up to allow for faster movement, and her normally perfect hair was disheveled from the sprint.

  "Alec!" she cried, reaching him in three quick strides and pulling him into a fierce embrace. "Are you safe? What—" Her voice died as she turned to look at the crater that had once been a tree.

  The silence that followed was deafening. Even the natural sounds of the forest seemed muted, as if nature itself was stunned by what had occurred.

  Elenora's grip on Alec's shoulders tightened, and when she spoke, her voice carried a note he'd never heard before—not anger, exactly, but something deeper and more complex.

  "Did you do this?" she asked quietly.

  There was no point in lying. The evidence was literally smoking before them, and Alec doubted anyone else in the vicinity could have produced such destruction.

  "I was trying to practice," he whispered, his own voice small in the aftermath of the explosion. "I was just aiming for the tree. I didn't mean for... for this."

  Elenora closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, her expression had shifted into something Alec recognized—the face of a noblewoman dealing with a crisis that required both immediate action and long-term planning.

  She turned to address the guards, her voice carrying all the authority of her station.

  "Sir Marcus, disperse your men around the area. Make sure the fires don't spread—douse anything that's still burning. But once that's done, you and your men are to speak of this to no one. Do you understand me? No one."

  The captain nodded slowly, clearly understanding the gravity of the situation. "Yes, my lady. But if I may ask—"

  "You may not," Elenora cut him off firmly. "This information goes no further than those who witnessed it. The safety of this household—of everyone who serves it—depends on your discretion."

  She fixed each guard with a stare that made them straighten unconsciously. "I need your word, each of you. Swear it by your oaths of service."

  One by one, the men nodded and voiced their assent. They understood, even if they didn't fully grasp the implications. A child who could unleash this kind of power would be seen as either a tremendous asset or an unacceptable threat by various factions in the kingdom. Either way, it would make him—and by extension, his family—targets.

  "Now go," Elenora commanded. "Ensure the fires are controlled, then resume your normal duties. We'll speak no more of this."

  The guards hurried away, their bucket brigade looking almost comically small compared to the destruction they were meant to address. But the fire was already dying down—whatever force had created the explosion had burned so hot and fast that it had consumed everything combustible in seconds, leaving little to spread.

  When they were alone, Elenora knelt before Alec, her hands gentle on his shoulders but her eyes serious beyond measure.

  "Tell me exactly what happened," she said. "And Alec—I need you to be completely honest with me. Our lives may depend on it."

  So Alec told her everything. About the feeling of power surging beyond his control, about the difference in his magic since the experience in the forest, about the growing sense that something fundamental had changed within him. He didn't mention Gia directly—that felt too personal, too profound to share even with his mother—but he conveyed the sense that his abilities had evolved beyond simple hedge magic.

  Elenora listened in silence, her expression growing more troubled with each word. When he finished, she was quiet for a long moment, staring at the smoking crater as if it might provide answers.

  "Your father needs to know about this," she said finally. "But not in a letter—letters can be intercepted, read by the wrong people. This conversation stays between us until he returns."

  She stood and began walking back toward the manor, gesturing for Alec to follow. "In the meantime, no more practicing magic without supervision. None at all, do you understand? What happened here today..." She paused, searching for words. "Power without control is not magic, Alec. It's destruction waiting to happen."

  As they walked, Alec could smell the lingering scent of smoke on his clothes, in his hair, probably clinging to his skin. It would be a constant reminder of how quickly things could spiral beyond control.

  "Mother," he asked as they reached the manor's gardens, "how did you know? About keeping it secret, I mean."

  Elenora was quiet for so long that Alec thought she might not answer. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a weight of old concerns.

  "Because," she said softly, "there are people in this kingdom who would use a child like you as a weapon. And others who would see you as too dangerous to live." She looked down at him, her green eyes reflecting a mother's fierce protectiveness. "Your father and I will not let either of those things happen."

  That evening, the household dinner proceeded as if nothing had occurred. The servants who had witnessed the explosion maintained their silence, though Alec could feel their eyes on him throughout the meal. By unspoken agreement, no one mentioned the distant column of smoke that had been visible from the manor's towers for most of the afternoon.

  As he lay in bed that night, Alec stared at the ceiling and tried to come to terms with what had happened. He had wanted to test his abilities, to understand the changes he'd felt since touching Gia. Instead, he'd learned that the power he'd awakened was far beyond anything he'd imagined—and far more dangerous.

  The memory of that moment—the surge of uncontrollable force, the tree vanishing in an instant, the heat that had nearly singed his eyebrows from thirty feet away—would stay with him forever. It was a reminder that power without wisdom was worse than useless.

  But it was also proof of what he might become. Somewhere in the war-torn kingdom, his father fought with sword and conventional tactics. Political games played out in courts and strongholds, with lords maneuvering for advantage through traditional means.

  None of them understood that here, in a peaceful valley far from the centers of power, a child had just demonstrated the ability to rewrite the rules of magical combat. The question wasn't whether Alec had the power to change the world—tonight had proven that beyond doubt.

  The question was whether he could learn to control that power before it destroyed everything he cared about.

  Outside his window, the forest stood silent under the stars. Somewhere among the trees, a patch of fused earth still glowed faintly in the darkness, marking the spot where a boy had learned that some lines, once crossed, could never be uncrossed.

  The war might be going well, but Alec's personal battle—the fight to master his own abilities—had only just begun.