The Sun Weilders

8

"Remember the dream where you sent fire shooting in a V-shaped line? That's what you're trying to accomplish today."

I was on the concrete block in Mr. Dougal's Genesis room, the bright lights only a few feet above my head nearly blinding me. I didn't even bother to ask how he knew about my dream; I figured Mr. Dougal was the kind of person who knew you without even looking at you. I looked at him and shook my head.

"Do I just...?" I spread my hands out, and fire burst out of them. A V-shaped line of fire appeared in front of me, and Mr. Dougal started coming closer, closer to the fire. I opened my mouth to say something, maybe like a "Don't stand in the fire!" or "Are you crazy old man?!", but nothing came out.

He stood where my line of flames came together, the flames leaping onto his navy blue suit, enveloping his pantlegs to the thighs. He smiled and clapped. I stood amazed.

"Why are you clapping? I don't even know how to control this!" I shouted over the loud roar of the flames. They projected off the black concrete like the sun in space. The concrete block was pretty large. I estimated it was about twenty-five feet all around. 

"But you do. Better than you think, actually. In all the years I've mentored, no one's caught on to this as well as you have."

I huffed a breath. The flames had subsided by now, leaving no trace in the black concrete. I realized then why the concrete was black. Well, maybe it had been gray before, but it was black now.

Crimson had dropped me off fifteen minutes ago, saying he "needed to do things", which both of us knew meant something else.

"Try it again, but this time angle it towards me," Mr. Dougal said. I gave him a crazed look and shook my head. I was coming to the realization that he was insane. But for some reason I felt like I had to trust him.

I flexed my fingers in front of me, and pushed outward like I was pushing an imaginary box. Flames involuntarily shot out, not like the last time, but directly outwards, right toward my mentor. He outstretched his hands to a position just like mine, but for him it looked so simple, like he'd been doing it forever.

Flames shot out of his hands, but unlike mine, which were vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows, his flames were blue and green, not exactly turquoise, but a mix of blue and green. The flames met mine in the air, sending beautiful arrays of fuschia, brown, and violet flying through the air like fireworks.

I kept pushing out with my hands, but I was being blinded by the colors our flames were creating. I let go, unable to stand the force, and brought my flames crashing to the ground around me. Mr. Dougal, however, brought his hands together, and created a ball of blue-green and red-yellow in between his wrinkled hands. It was ravishingly exquisite, and for a moment I stood and stared, as Mr. Dougal twisted his hands, turning the fireball in circles. Then, instantaneously, he shot his hands to the right, and the ball turned into five lines of flame. The flames crashed loudly into the wall, and lit up the black paint of the walls before vanishing into thin air.

Mr. Dougal smiled radiantly and nodded in my direction. "Right then," he said, "enough fun for me. Tell me, Emry, what did you learn from that?"

"You are a fireball when you want to be. Literally," I said and grinned. He shook his head, but a harsh laugh escaped from him.

"You were supposed to learn that your innermost fire abilities are the strongest power you have. When you just put your hands out like this," he said, and shot his hands toward the ground, creating a V-shaped line that erupted quickly on the concrete then subsided when he closed his hands into fists. "That is just making scorch marks. But when you harness the power from inside you, that is when it's most powerful."