Fire & Light

Fire & Light Part 7

Part 7: Through the Fire

The training arena buzzed with activity, the anticipation of the tournament crackling in the air. For most campers, it was a chance to prove their strength, show off their skills. But for Damien, it was more than that. It was a test—of his control, of his ability to keep the fire inside from consuming him.

He stood at the edge of the arena, LesterSpike in his hand, his fingers gripping the handle so tight his knuckles whitened. Across the field, Mattao, the son of Athena, was grinning. That smug, arrogant look on his face that made Damien's blood boil. The guy had been a thorn in his side for as long as Damien could remember, always challenging him, always pushing him to the edge.

Today wasn't going to be any different.

"You ready, Kastor?" Mattao called, his voice laced with confidence. "Or are you gonna lose it like last time?"

Damien clenched his jaw, ignoring the taunt. The old Damien would have lashed out, let the rage take over and destroy everything in his path. But Kika's words echoed in his mind. Stay focused.

He glanced at her across the arena. She was watching him, her bow slung over her shoulder, the golden light of the sun catching the streak of yellow in her eyes. There was a calm strength in her gaze, a reminder that he didn't have to do this alone. A reminder that he could control it.

"Just don't die, Mattao," Damien muttered under his breath, stepping into the ring.

The horn blared, signaling the start of the match. Mattao lunged first, his sword flashing as he aimed for Damien's side. But Damien was faster. He blocked the strike with LesterSpike, the force of the impact sending a jolt through his arm.

Mattao was relentless, his strikes quick and precise, but Damien held his ground. The fire inside him simmered, but this time, he wasn't letting it take over. Each strike, each block, was calculated. He moved with purpose, with control.

But Mattao wasn't making it easy. He swung again, his sword coming down in a deadly arc. Damien raised his axe just in time, but the force behind the blow sent a shockwave of pain up his arm. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let the pain slow him down. Mattao grinned, seeing the small opening, and went in for another strike.

Damien barely dodged in time, but as he did, Mattao's sword caught his side, slicing through his shirt and leaving a gash on his ribcage. The crowd gasped, but Damien didn't falter. The sting of the wound only fueled the fire inside him, and this time, he let it burn—just enough.

With a roar, he swung LesterSpike with all his strength, catching Mattao off guard. The blade of the axe collided with Mattao's sword, sending it flying across the arena. Mattao stumbled back, unarmed and wide-eyed.

Damien stepped forward, his chest heaving, the fire roaring in his veins. He could end it now, finish Mattao with one swing. But as his hand tightened around the handle of his axe, he stopped. Kika's face flashed in his mind, her words grounding him.

You're not alone in this, Damien. Control it.

With a deep breath, Damien lowered his axe, stepping back. "It's over," he said, his voice rough but steady.

Mattao stood frozen for a moment, his eyes flicking from the axe to Damien's face. The shock of losing—of being spared—was clear in his expression. Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the ring, his pride more wounded than his body.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but Damien barely heard them. The pain in his side flared, sharp and hot, and he pressed a hand to the wound. His vision blurred for a moment, his legs threatening to give out, but before he could hit the ground, a pair of hands caught him.

"Damien!"

Kika was at his side in an instant, her face pale with worry as she steadied him. He winced, trying to brush her off, but the pain was too much.

"Just a scratch," he muttered, though the blood soaking through his shirt said otherwise.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" she said, her voice a mix of exasperation and concern. She guided him to the edge of the arena, her hand resting on his arm to support his weight.

Damien hissed as she gently lifted his shirt to examine the wound. "It's not deep," she murmured, her fingers brushing over the gash. "But you need to stop trying to act tough and let me heal you."

He tried to protest, but the exhaustion was catching up to him, the adrenaline fading and leaving him with nothing but pain and the distant thrum of the crowd.

Kika knelt beside him, her eyes softening as she began to sing, the familiar ancient melody wrapping around him like a warm breeze. Her voice was low and soothing, each note laced with power as she channeled her healing abilities. The pain in his side began to fade, the heat of the wound cooling as the gash slowly closed under her touch.

Damien's breath hitched, not from the wound, but from the way her fingers lingered on his skin, the way her voice seemed to reach into the deepest parts of him, calming the storm that always raged inside. He watched her, the glow of the sun catching in her hair, her face full of concentration as she worked to heal him.

"There," she whispered, sitting back on her heels as she finished. "Good as new."

Damien sat up slowly, testing his movement. The pain was gone, replaced by a dull ache that was bearable. "Thanks," he muttered, feeling awkward under her gaze.

Kika smiled, her eyes soft. "You're welcome. But you really need to stop getting hurt like this. I'm starting to think you do it on purpose just to get out of training."

He chuckled, though it quickly turned into a grimace. "Yeah, not my best move."

As the noise of the crowd began to die down, the two of them sat in silence for a moment, the tension from the fight slowly ebbing away. Damien could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him—the fire, the anger, the fear that he couldn't control it. But Kika was there, her presence steady, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

"I... almost lost it," he admitted quietly, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I wanted to hurt him, Kika. Really hurt him."

Kika didn't say anything for a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was calm, gentle. "But you didn't. You stopped. That's what matters."

Damien shook his head. "It's not enough. I can feel it, Kika. The fire... it's too much. I don't know how to control it."

She reached out, her hand resting on his shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. "You don't have to control it alone. We'll figure it out together."

He looked at her then, the sincerity in her eyes, the way she always seemed to believe in him even when he couldn't believe in himself. And for the first time in a long time, Damien felt something shift inside him. Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as broken as he thought.

Before he could say anything, the horn blared again, signaling the next match. But Damien wasn't thinking about the tournament anymore. He was thinking about Kika, and the warmth of her hand on his shoulder, and the way her voice had calmed the fire inside him.

And for the first time, he wasn't afraid of it.

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Next part is uploading now I think.