The victory at the ravine had earned Leo a shred of respect, but it had also deepened his fear. He knew the root-binding trick wouldn't work against the man in the gold lines. He needed to understand the flame, or he would be defenseless when the "clock" finally stopped.
The Desperate Training
In the backyard of the Black Thorns' manor, Leo stood before a series of iron target dummies. For hours, he tried to tap into that searing heat he felt in the arena.
"Come on," he hissed, his face red with effort. "Give me something!"
But all that emerged were small, green sprouts that withered the moment he tried to push them. His plant magic was rejecting the anger.
Captain Mara watched him from the porch, leaning against a rotting pillar. "You're trying to force a lock without a key, kid. You're looking for the fire because you're scared. Fire born of fear is just an accident. Fire born of will... that's a weapon."
"Then how do I find the will?" Leo shouted, his frustration boiling over.
Mara didn't answer. She simply tossed a heavy, rusted locket at him. "Your grandfather sent this. He said you'd know what to do with it."
A Vision of the Past
Leo opened the locket. Inside was a small, scorched piece of white fabric—a scrap from his father's old Magic Knight uniform. As soon as his skin touched the fabric, the world blurred.
Suddenly, Leo wasn't in the backyard. He was standing in a field of ash.
A man stood before him, his back turned. He wore a cape similar to Leo's, but it was pristine. This was his father.
"To hold the Hellfire is to carry the weight of everyone you've failed to save," the man said, his voice echoing. "It is not a gift, Leo. It is a debt."
The man turned around, but where his face should have been, there was only a swirling vortex of black-red flames. He pointed a finger at Leo's heart.
"If you want the flame, you must accept the burn."
The Dark Turn
Leo snapped back to reality. He was screaming, and his hand was clenched so tight the locket was drawing blood.
In that moment of agony, a spark finally caught.
A single, thin line of black smoke began to curl from Leo's fingertips. The air grew heavy, and the grass at his feet turned to gray powder instantly. But it wasn't a triumph. Leo felt a sickening, oily sensation crawling up his throat. He felt an overwhelming urge to destroy—not just the targets, but the manor, the trees, and even Mara.
"Stop!" Mara commanded, sensing the shift in the air. She stepped forward, her own magic—Shadow Thread Magic—weaving a web around Leo to contain the heat.
Leo gasped, collapsing to his knees. The smoke dissipated, but his hands were trembling uncontrollably. He hadn't mastered the fire; he had just invited it in, and it had tried to eat him.
The Failure
"I can't do it," Leo whispered, his voice broken. "Every time I touch it, I lose 'me.' I'm just a shell for something else."
He felt like a failure. While Elara was likely mastering new Water Spirit forms at the Silver Eagles' headquarters, he was barely holding onto his sanity in a backyard full of ash.
What Leo didn't see was the shadow beneath his feet. For a brief moment, the shadow didn't move with him. It stayed still, looking toward the distant horizon where the villain waited.
The Villain's Move
Miles away, in a chamber lit by floating violet embers, the man in the gold lines sat on a throne of bone.
"He is trying to force the awakening," the Right Hand—the man made of shifting shadows—whispered. "Should we intervene?"
"No," the leader replied, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Let him struggle. The more he fears himself, the easier it will be to turn him when the time comes. Send the Ghouls of the Border. It's time to give our little prince a reason to burn."