Varen’s breath hitched as Lucavion’s words cut through the chaotic storm of flames around them.
“Fire may be safe when controlled,” Lucavion said, his voice steady yet laced with that maddening edge of irreverence. “But that’s not what fire is for.”
Something shifted.
Varen felt it—not just the oppressive weight of Lucavion’s black flames, but something deeper, more insidious. It was as though the chaotic tendrils of those flames had reached past the heat of battle, bypassing his defenses, and curled around the thoughts he had buried for so long.
‘What is this?’ he wondered, his grip tightening around his greatsword. He had always been sure of his path, of the discipline instilled in him by the Silver Flame Sect. Control was his strength. Control was his shield.
And yet, as he faced Lucavion, the embodiment of chaos, doubt crept into his mind.
The black flames surged again, wild and unrelenting, their movements mocking the rigid discipline of his own fire. For the first time, Varen faltered—not in his stance, but in his conviction.
‘Is he right?’ The thought was unwelcome, foreign, and yet it persisted. ‘Have I caged my flames, my emotions, for so long that I’ve forgotten their true nature?’
The memory struck him like a thunderbolt.
Lira.
Her betrayal wasn’t just a moment—it was a fracture, a splintering of everything he had believed in. He had told himself that he was over it, that he had buried it beneath layers of discipline and control. But had he? Or had he merely built a dam that was now beginning to crack under the weight of the emotions he refused to acknowledge?
The night at the Iron Matron’s inn came flooding back. Seeing Lira, hearing her voice—it had been too much. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but his outburst had revealed the truth. He wasn’t in control, not then. The rage, the bitterness—they had slipped through the cracks, slipping past the walls he had worked so hard to build.
‘And now,’ he thought, his gaze locking onto Lucavion, ‘this man, this chaos… he’s pushing me to confront it.’
The black flames flared higher, their chaotic energy battering against his disciplined inferno. Varen’s silvery-red flames wavered, their structure cracking under the relentless assault. And still, Lucavion’s voice echoed in his mind.
“Fire isn’t meant to be caged, Varen.”
Varen’s chest tightened as his thoughts spiraled. He had always believed that control was strength. He had trained his emotions, his power, to bend to his will. He had made himself unshakable.
But now… now he wasn’t sure.
‘At that time, when Lira…’ The memory surfaced unbidden, and with it, the pain. The betrayal had been a firestorm that burned everything he trusted, and his answer had been to douse the flames, to contain them. But was that the right choice? Or had he extinguished something vital in the process?
Lucavion stepped closer, the black flames coiling tighter around his estoc. His smirk remained, but his eyes—those piercing eyes—seemed to bore into Varen’s very soul.
“You’re holding back,” Lucavion said, his voice low, almost gentle. “Not just your flames, but yourself. Do you even know why anymore?”
The words hit like a hammer.
Varen felt his grip on his greatsword falter for a fraction of a second. The silvery-red flames around him flickered, as if responding to the doubt creeping into his heart.
‘Have I been wrong?’ he thought, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. ‘All this time, have I been fighting against myself?’
But even as the question took root, a spark of defiance ignited within him.
‘No.’ His jaw tightened, his grip firming on his greatsword. ‘Control is my strength. Discipline is what separates me from chaos. I am not wrong.’
Yet, as the thought solidified, another voice whispered in the back of his mind—a voice that sounded disturbingly like Lucavion’s.
‘Or are you just afraid to let go?’
The clash of flames around them intensified, but the true battle was within. Varen’s silvery-red fire surged once more, its disciplined brilliance roaring to life. Yet, for all its power, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was missing—something vital.
Across from him, Lucavion’s smirk widened as though he could see the conflict raging within.
“Let it burn, Varen,” Lucavion said, his voice echoing in the charged air. “Show me your true fire.”
For a moment, time seemed to pause. The arena, the crowd, the roaring flames—all of it faded into the background. Varen’s world narrowed to the man before him and the truth he didn’t want to face.
And in that moment, Varen knew: this fight wasn’t just about strength. It was about conviction. About who he was—and who he wanted to be.
“How?” Varen’s voice echoed in his mind, quieter than the roaring flames, quieter than the crowd’s cheers, but loud enough to drown out everything else. “How can I let go of my fire?”
The question lingered, a thorn buried deep in his thoughts. Letting go—it wasn’t something he’d ever been taught, nor something he had dared to consider. Control was his foundation, the cornerstone of his strength. Without it, what was he? What would he become?
His grip tightened around his greatsword, the heat of his flames coiling around him like a protective shield. Yet for the first time, that shield felt suffocating.
“What does it mean to let it burn?” he whispered under his breath, the words a plea to the chaos before him.
Lucavion didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The black flames surging around him, wild and untamed, carried their own response—a visceral, unspoken truth. It wasn’t an answer Varen could hear; it was one he had to feel.
And so, he let go.
The silvery-red flames surrounding him surged outward, no longer disciplined or refined. They roared to life, breaking free of the structure he had imposed upon them. For the first time, his fire was wild, chaotic, and utterly honest. The crowd gasped as the flames twisted and surged, their brilliance reaching heights that rivaled even Lucavion’s black inferno.
Varen’s chest heaved, his breathing ragged as he poured everything into the flames. The heat consumed him, but it wasn’t painful—it was liberating. Yet, even as his fire raged, his gaze remained fixed on Lucavion.
And that’s when he saw it.
Amidst the swirling chaos of black flames, something struck him. It wasn’t the raw power of Lucavion’s attack or the suffocating pressure of his mana. It was his sword. That estoc, shrouded in pure black fire, wasn’t just a weapon—it was a window.
A window into Lucavion’s soul.
Varen’s breath caught as he realized what he was witnessing. The black flames weren’t random. They weren’t a mindless force of destruction. They were chaotic, yes, but they carried something deeper—something raw and unfiltered. Emotions. Anger, grief, joy, resolve—all of it laid bare, without pretense, without disguise.
Lucavion’s sword, wreathed in that chaotic fire…
It was Honest.
‘How?’ Varen thought, his mind racing. ‘How does he do this? How does he pour himself into his blade like that?’
The chaos was incomprehensible. Varen couldn’t fathom the storm of emotions that fueled Lucavion’s flames. He couldn’t understand the turmoil that gave them shape.
But he didn’t need to.
He just needed to understand one thing.
One thing with absolute clarity.
Right now, standing before him, Lucavion was completely exposed. No masks. No shields. Just raw, unfiltered existence.
“He’s bare,” Varen whispered, his voice trembling. “He’s… everything, laid bare.”
The realization struck him like a thunderclap. He, Varen Drakov, had always worn a mask. His stoic demeanor, his disciplined movements, his pursuit of what was “right”—it was all a facade. A cage he had built for himself to keep the scar hidden. The scar left by betrayal.
‘Lira.’ Her name surfaced again, unbidden. Her betrayal wasn’t just a wound—it was a shattering, a breaking of something fundamental within him. And in response, he had buried it. He had buried himself. Discipline, control, order—these weren’t just principles; they were armor. Armor to shield him from the chaos within.
But now, as he stood before Lucavion, he couldn’t deny it anymore. His armor wasn’t protecting him—it was holding him back. He had been running, not from chaos, but from the pain. From the scar.
‘Let it burn,’ Lucavion’s voice echoed in his mind, a challenge and a truth.
Varen’s flames surged higher, their silvery-red brilliance mingling with the black fire that surrounded them both. He took a deep breath, his grip steadying on his greatsword.
“Laying everything bare…” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute. “Is that what it means to let it burn?”
For the first time in years, Varen allowed himself to feel. The anger. The grief. The longing. The betrayal. He didn’t cage it. He didn’t suppress it. He let it flood through him, pouring into his flames, his blade, his very being.
The flames around him changed. They burned hotter, wilder, more alive. And in that moment, Varen understood. Control wasn’t about suppression—it was about balance. About wielding chaos without denying it. About embracing the fire, not taming it.
And this man before him.
Varen knew that Lucavion could withstand it.
‘If it is him….if it is this man…He can do it.’
Thus he poured his fire…..
Even if he lost this battle Varen knew.
He had won, something far more important than that.
‘Ah…..’
He could finally feel the burning anger that he suppressed expressing itself.
‘This is enough.’
And it was enough.