Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Thorne wasn’t sure what to say when another man looked at him without judgment, offering patience and understanding instead.
“I can see the turmoil in your eyes. The Trials were meant to test you, to push you to your limits. Feeling angry and confused afterward is normal,” Silas said.
Thorne let out a ragged breath. Talking about his feelings felt like stepping into a trap, one he learned to avoid. At home, weakness was an invitation for ridicule and punishment. Cillian’s laughter echoed in his mind, loud enough to make the idea of confiding in a man feel dangerous.
“Opening up is a sign of strength, not weakness,” Silas said.
“I’ve learned to keep things to myself. It’s safer that way.”
“Safer?” Silas tilted his head. “Carrying everything inside doesn’t lighten the load. It only makes the burden heavier.”
Thorne’s shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. He’d told Gisela he wanted to be better. He needed to believe it himself—that Cillian hadn’t broken him. That whatever had been carved into him by years of cruelty wasn’t permanent. That it hadn’t hollowed him out beyond repair.
“I’m not just angry and confused,” he said. “I . . . I was weak. I almost—damn it, I almost killed her because I lost control. Then I got poisoned, and she had to save me. I should have protected her. Not the other way around.”
“No, Thorne. Enduring the Trials proved your strength. Ignitus is proof of that. You didn’t fail. You survived. Now, you grow.”
Thorne’s eyes flared. “I don’t know how to accept something that has made me feel this inadequate.”
“Most Mystics go their whole lives without their awakening,” Silas said. “You’ve already done what so many never will.”
A gust of wind swept across the cliff, ruffling Thorne’s hair. “What if I fail?”
The word was bitter as it left his lips. Failure wasn’t abstract to him. It had a face.
Or a fist.
“Then you rise again. Don’t allow your fear of failure to define you. Use it to drive you forward.”
Thorne’s fist unclenched slightly, though the tremor of tension remained. “My anger will destroy me.”
“It won’t. Ignitus chose you because you have the strength to control it. Trust yourself and trust him. He’s no ordinary Primal.”
“I gathered that,” Thorne grumbled. A shadow of a smirk lifted the corner of his mouth.
Silas chuckled, easy and warm. “You’re a good kid.” He wrapped his arm around Thorne’s shoulder and gave him a light squeeze. “You’ll figure it out, and when you do, you’ll be glad you did.”
Thorne leaned back, soaking in the soft hues of the horizon. The crisp scent of pine and damp earth drifted over him, grounding his thoughts. For the first time since the Trials, a thread of clarity surfaced—frayed, but real.
Thorne stood at the window as a shield of ice erupted from Gisela’s hands, but it wasn’t quite large enough.
Silas was outside with her, kneeling in the dirt as he tried to salvage the damaged crops one last time. Each attempt was as futile as the last.
Thorne’s eyes were back on Gisela, noting the strain in her shoulders, the tremor in her hands as she practiced.
Part of him wanted to go out there with her and do the same.
But he was only beginning to understand this new part of himself—or Ignitus, now inseparable from him.
He wasn’t sure how to come to terms with it after the awakening.
“Concentrate,” he heard Silas call out. “Allow your body to feel the ice building from the tips of your toes to your hands.”
Gisela’s chest rose and she extended her hands, summoning a massive block of ice that shot out with shocking force. It tumbled, soaring straight off the cliff. She turned to Silas, her eyes wide. “Oops.”
Silas laughed heartily. “Hope nothing was down there.”
Gisela hurried to the ledge and peered down, then walked back and sank beside Silas with a slump. “Are your powers working at all?”
Silas shook his head, brushing the dirt from his hands. “They are, but creating life, even in plant form, demands something more—”
Thorne swung the front door open and stood in the doorway, arms crossed, one foot resting casually on the frame. Despite the tension between him and Gisela, her face softened. His chest clenched unexpectedly. That split-second look meant everything.
Silas looked back and forth between them and stood up with a loud clap of his hands. “Let’s practice together, shall we?” he declared.
“What?” Gisela stammered.
“If we’re heading to Rockridge, we need to get you guys used to your new bodies. You and Thorne—face each other.”
Warmth crept up Thorne’s neck, and it wasn’t from Ignitus. They still hadn’t spoken since they were in the cave. His mind inevitably circled back to her, rehearsing words he was afraid to say. One wrong word, one wrong glance, and the fragile balance between them could snap.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Thorne said. “I haven’t tried anything yet.”
“That’s okay,” Silas said. “Try conjuring a small ball of fire in your hand. And I mean small, Thorne. For all our sakes.”
Thorne hesitated as Ignitus stirred within him. He focused, willing the black fire to obey, but at first it sputtered, weak and uneven. His teeth ground. He steadied his hands, coaxing the fire until a small ball danced between his fingers.
He waited for the heat to burn him, but it only hummed against his skin, harmless.
It moved through his veins, answering a hunger he hadn’t known was there. The weight in his chest, which had pressed like lead all morning, was lighter now.
His eyes shimmered, and a slight smile tugged at his lips.
Gisela scoffed.
“Now, Gisela, make a wall of ice,” Silas prompted. “Keep it steady now and imagine it as a shield.”
Gisela held out her hands. Her eyes were focused, reining in the icy energy as it slowly released from her fingers. A thick wall of ice formed in front of her, its surface gleaming and solidifying.
She stood on the other side, like a figure through a fogged mirror. He stared at her, his lips slightly parted.
Silas nodded. “Good, good. You see this wall between you two?”
Thorne knew exactly where he was going with this.
Gisela flipped her hair with clear irritation. She narrowed her eyes to glare at Silas.
“Thorne, melt it down,” Silas said.
Thorne crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You want me to just—?”
“Do it,” Silas interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Thorne shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt her, Silas.”
“Oh? You don’t?” Gisela snapped.
Thorne stiffened at her tone and looked away.
“You won’t,” Silas said.
Ignitus whispered into Thorne’s mind, “You will not cause her physical harm. Not ever.”
Thorne startled at Ignitus’s voice but steadied himself. He lifted his hands, and the air shimmered with heat. Black flames sputtered from his fingers until he clenched his hand shut, crushing the sparks in his palm.
He grunted, shaking his head.
“Try again,” Silas said. “Slow and controlled.”
Thorne’s eyes narrowed. He opened his hands deliberately this time.
Ignitus hummed through him, a steady pulse of heat and presence, and with it came a bigger slice of clarity.
His hand no longer shook, and the fire bent to his will.
The flames swirled, wrapping around the ice shield in a fierce but gentle bind.
Moisture beaded on the surface, trickling down.
Gisela studied his unusual dark flames.
Within moments he could see her through the ice. She stood there, unharmed, her ice shield becoming a puddle on the ground. They locked eyes and everything else receded. Nothing existed but her, the girl he had known for years. The girl with quiet defiance in her gaze.
Gisela blinked and then walked to Silas’s front door, closing it behind her.
Thorne hesitated, his foot hovering before taking a step forward.
Silas cleared his throat to catch his attention and nodded toward the door.
Thorne squared his shoulders, let the steady pulse of Ignitus anchor him, and followed her into the house.
Crag appeared next to Silas, a bemused look on his face. “That was quite meddlesome of you.”
“They’ll thank me for it eventually,” Silas said with a grin.
The heat still hummed in Thorne’s palms as he approached the bedroom door. His fingers met the handle, icy against his skin. He jerked his hand back and laughed, pressing his forehead against the door. “Freckles . . . did you freeze the door handle?” His voice was a mix of mockery and playfulness.
No answer.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I can fix that.” He held out his hand, focusing as heat left his palm and melted the ice. Water dripped from the handle, creating a small puddle on the wooden floor.
He opened the door and Gisela stood there, her eyes flashing with irritation.
“Oh, now you want to talk?” she said.
He stretched his neck out and walked into the room. “That’s fair. I get it.”
“Now that you got a little taste of your power, you feel better?” Gisela’s stance was rigid, hand on her hip. “You shut me out after the hardest experience of our lives. I know you saw some horrible things, Thorne, but I suffered too.”
She took a step towards the door.
“Please. Listen.”
Gisela waved her hand, signaling him to start talking.
Thorne walked over to the bed and settled onto the edge, elbows digging into his knees as he stared at the floor.
“I was angry and confused,” he began, then faltered.
Gisela interjected, “And I was scared and lonely.”
Thorne’s face tightened. “I’m sorry. I—” he stopped, choking on his words.
Gisela tapped her foot, eyes locked on him.
“I’m not used to talking about my—” Thorne forced himself to stand, then pushed the words out. “I felt humiliated. Embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? About what?”
“That I almost got you killed. That you had to save me. That . . . I died and you watched.” His words tumbled out, raw and vulnerable. “I spent years learning not to feel. And then you came along.”