Joash was only three years old when he first awakened his fire magic, a prodigy—the youngest wizard ever known to do so. The flames had come to him instinctively, bright and eager, a testament to the power of the Fireon lineage.
Three years later, he was about to be introduced to the Crown Prince, the person he would one day protect. His father, Bernard Fireon, often spoke of the great responsibility that came with their family's magic.
The grand halls of the imperial palace stretched endlessly before Joash as he walked beside his father. Bernard, a towering figure of both strength and warmth, moved with a quiet confidence that Joash admired more than anything.
“Joash,” his father said, his deep voice carrying both kindness and weight. “One day, you'll take my place. The Ultimate Fire will be yours, and with it, you'll protect this kingdom and its people.”
Joash glanced up at his father, his chest swelling with pride. “I will make you proud, Father,” he said with all the determination a six year old could muster.
Bernard smile, a rare softness in his usually composed demeanor. He placed a firm hand on Joash's small shoulder. “I know you will, son. The Fireon legacy burns strong in you.”
Joash beamed under the praise, his heart alight with purpose. That moment stayed with him—his father's words, his unwavering faith—as they entered the throne room to meet the Crown Prince.
But that was the last time they spoke.
Not long after Joash's introduction to the Crown Prince, Bernard and the other Elemental Guardians left for the front lines of the war.
Joash remained in the palace, spending his days learning alongside the young Crown Prince, completely unaware that his father's departure marked the end of their time together.
It was a quiet evening when Joash first felt it—and emptiness, like the air had grown colder. He tried to summon the flames that had always come so easily to him.
He furrowed his brow, concentrating harder, but nothing happened. His fingers, once warm with the promise of fire, felt like ice.
“Mother?” he called out, his small voice trembling as panic began to creep in. He tried again, willing the fire to come, but there was only silence where the flames should have been.
His mother appeared moments later, her face pale and streaked with tears. She knelt before him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Joash stiffened in her arms, sensing the weight of her grief before he even understood its cause.
“What's wrong?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Why can't I use my fire magic?”
His mother didn't answer. His sobs deepened, muffled against his shoulder, but the pain in them was unmistakable.
Joash's heart raced. “Mother, tell me! What happened?”
It was then that he overheard the whispers of the palace staff, their voices hushed but sharp.
“Master has fallen.”
“I can't use my fire magic”
“Is the Ultimate Fire gone?”
The words struck Joash like a blow. His father—his invincible, unwavering father—was gone. The first that had once felt so alive within him had died along with him.
Tears welled in Joash's eyes as he pulled away from his mother, his small fist clenched tightly, “But it'll come back, won't it?” he asked, his voice desperate, pleading. “The fire will come back, right?”
His mother didn't respond, her tears flowing freely as she clung to him. The silence was deafening.
Joash stared at his trembling hands, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.
He jolted awake, the memory fading into the haze of his research room. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding as though he was still strapped at the moment.
His hands gripped crumpled sheets of papers covered in notes and diagrams—his countless attempts to revive the Ultimate Fire.
The dream always came back, relentless and haunting, whenever he felt cornered. It clawed its way into his mind when the weight of his reality grew unbearable.
Joash leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the pages before him. After his last conversations with Kenneth and the brief meeting with Ivan, the pressure had only intensified.
Kenneth's offer still hung in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore.
But Joash couldn't accept it—not like this.
For all his research into elemental revival, there was a secret he kept buried deeper than any of his failures. He wasn't just missing the fire magic that should've defined his bloodline.
After his father's death, Joash had lost something even more fundamental: his pnevma, the life force that connected him to the fire magic itself.
If I can revive my elemental magic, he thought bitterly, maybe my pnevma will return too.
But no matter how many experiments he conducted, no matter how many nights he spent poring over ancient texts, no solution had revealed itself. Every failure only deepened the void inside him.
His thoughts shifted to Kenneth's suggestion, and a fresh wave of frustration washed over him. How could he even consider taking the Ultimate Fire when his pnevma is gone?
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A tightness gripped his chest as doubt crept in. Should he tell Kenneth the truth? Reveal the extent of his weakness? But that would mean relinquishing his place as the rightful Fireon successor. It would mean stepping aside while Kenneth took on the role meant for him.
Joash clenched his first, his knuckles white. No. I can't accept that. I won't.
His mind raced, searching for options.
One name came to him: Professor Rowan.
The professor's knowledge of pnevma was unparalleled, far beyond anyone else Joash knew. If anyone could help him find the solution, it was Professor Rowan.
The faintest flicker of hope stirred in him. He pushed his chair back abruptly, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. Without wasting another second, Joash grabbed his notes and made his way to Professor Rowan's office.
If there was even the slightest chance of restoring his pnevma, he had to take it. Failure wasn't an option.
***
In Professor Rowan's office, Joash sat stiffly in the worn leather chair, his hands resting on his knees. The room smelled faintly of coffee and parchment, and the only sound was the gentle clink of the professor's coffee pot as he poured himself a cup with calm, deliberate movements.
Joash's heart raced. For years, he had guarded his secret like a shield, but now the weight of it pressed against his check, demanding to be released.
What would happen if he told the truth? Would Professor Rowan see him differently? Worse, what would Kenneth think if he found out?
Rowan set his coffee cup down, studying Joash with a patient but curious gaze. “You seem troubled, Joash. What's on your mind?”
Joash's finger twitched against his knee. His throat felt dry, and the words sat like lead in his chest. His eyes darted to the floor as doubt clawed at him. Should I really tell him?
“I…” he hesitated, the room suddenly feeling much smaller.
Rowan waited, his calm demeanor unshaken. He had seen students wrestle with difficult truths before, but there was something different about Joash—something heavier.
Finally, Joash exhaled shakily, his voice low and uncertain. “There's something I haven't told anyone… until now.”
Rowan tilted his head slightly, his curiosity evident, though he remained silent to give Joash the space to speak.
Joash clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palms as he forced the words out. “I… I'm a Fireon,” he admitted, his voice crackling slightly. “I'm the son of the Fire Guardian.”
Rowan's hand froze mid-reach for his coffee cup, his usually composed expression flickering with surprise. “The son of the Fireon Guardian?” he repeated slowly, his tone carefully measured.
Joash nodded, his gaze still fixed on the floor. A knot twisted in his stomach, an ha braced himself from the professor's reaction.
Rowan leaned back in his chair, placing the coffee pot down with a soft clink. “I see,” he said. There was no judgment in his tone, only curiosity and a hint of gravity. “That explains a few things.”
Joash swallowed hard, feeling the pressure build. “There's more,” he said quickly, his voice tinged with urgency.
Rowan's sharp gaze remained on him, but he didn't interrupt.
“The problem is…” Joash hesitated, his hands tightening into fists. “I don't have pnevma.”
Rowan's expression shifted slightly, his brows knitted together. He set his coffee cup aside and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “You're saying your pnevma is completely gone?”
Joash nodded, his voice strained. “It's been gone since my father died. Without it, I'm as good as Commoner. I've tried to hide, I can't… I can't carry the Ultimate Fire without it.” His shoulders slumped, the weight of his confession draining him.
Rowan was silent for a moment, his fingers steepled as he processed Joash's words. His calm demeanor never faltered, though his gaze turned more calculating. “And you've come to me for help,” he said finally, his tone steady. “Because of my work on pnevma”
“Yes,” Joash admitted, his voice tight. “I’ve tried everything. Research, experiments… nothing works. I don't want Kenneth to indefinitely take my place as the Fireon successor. But without my pnevma....”
The room fell into a heavy silence. Rowan leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. The quiet stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity.
“I understand your predicament,” Rowan said at last, his voice steady. “And I do believe there's a way to revive your pnevma.”
Joash's eyes widened, hope sparking for the first time in years. “Really? Can you help me?”
Rowan nodded slowly, but his expression was serious. “Yes, but it won't be simple. Restoring pnevma is a delicate process. It will take time, preparation, and considerable effort. More importantly, it won't be without risks. Are you certain you're willing to go through with it?”
Joash hesitated. Risk. He hadn't considered those—hadn't dared to think about what failure might mean. But the alternative, the thought of Kenneth stepping permanently into the role that was supposed to his, was unbearable.
He clenched his fist, his resolve hardening. “I'll do whatever it takes,” he said firmly, meeting Rowan's gaze.
The faintest hint of smile tugged at the professor's lips. “Very well. We'll begin soon.” His tone was calm but there was a weight behind it, as if Professor Rowans fully understood the enormity of what lay ahead.
As Joash left the office, the crisp air of the hallway felt lighter somehow. For the first time in years, a glimmer of hope pierced through the despair that had consumed him.
***
Inside the office, Rowan remained seated, his coffee untouched as he stared at the door Joash had exited. His calm, approachable demeanor had slipped away, replaced by a colder, more calculating expression.
The man who had appeared patient and understanding was far from the reality beneath the surface.
Joash's desperation was a gift.
Rowan had seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, and felt in the trembling of his hands. Desperation was malleable, pliable—it made people vulnerable. And Rowan knew exactly how to shape it to his advantage.
“Reviving his pnevma…” Rowan muttered, his tone detached as he leaned back in his chair. “Possible, yes. But not the way he thinks.”
His fingers drummed rhythmically against the desk, his sharp mind already crafting the steps ahead. Joash's situation is unique, and Rowan wasn't one to let such an opportunity slip through his fingers.
He had long been fascinated by the complexities of pnevma, its connection to elemental magic, and the way it could shape—and destroy—lives.
This wasn't just about helping Joash reclaim his place as the Fireon successor. This was about control, leverage, and the change to push his experiments to the next level.
Joash's desperation had handed him a pawn—a willing one, no less—and Rowan intended to use him to his full potential.
He allowed a faint smile to curl at the edge of his lips, but it lacked any trace of warmth. “Let's see how far you're willing to go, Joash,” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with quiet malice.
The smile widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbow on the desk. “Because what you're asking for will cost more than you're prepared to give. And by the time you realize it, it'll be too late to turn back.”