A Flicker of Control

Solara drummed her fingers against the wooden desk, barely listening to the lecture. She hated theory classes. Sitting still, listening to dull explanations about elemental control—it felt useless when her own fire never obeyed the way it should.

Across the room, a group of students whispered among themselves, not even bothering to keep their voices down.

"She nearly torched the training grounds last week."

"Surprised they still let her practice with us."

"I heard she doesn't even need a match to start a fire. Just gets angry and—boom."

Solara's jaw tightened. They weren't wrong.

Her fire had been unstable for a while now, unpredictable even when she wasn't pushing herself. But hearing it turned into gossip, their amused smirks and hushed voices—it made something in her chest burn hotter.

Yasmine shot her a warning look from across the aisle. Ignore them.

Solara exhaled slowly. She tried. She really did. But then one of them muttered, just loud enough for her to hear—

"She's probably dangerous."

The chair beneath her creaked as her grip tightened on the desk.

Calm down.

She was fine. She was fine.

Then she felt it—heat building in her palm.

Her fingers curled instinctively, but a faint ember still flickered between them, dangerously close to catching onto the sleeve of her uniform.

Panic shot through her. She clenched her fist, snuffing the flame before anyone noticed.

Except… one of them did.

A boy across the aisle—Jareth, one of the more arrogant Ice Elementalists—raised a brow. "You sure you should even be here, Vaelstra?" His tone was mocking, but his expression wasn't entirely joking. "Wouldn't want you to set the classroom on fire."

The heat spiked again.

Don't react.

But the whispers curled at the edges of her mind, teasing, taunting.

"Fire does not forget."

"Fire does not forgive."

She dug her nails into her palm. If she responded, she'd prove them right.

So instead, she smirked. "Oh, don't worry, Jareth. If I wanted to burn something, I wouldn't waste my fire on you."

A few students snickered. Jareth scowled.

Yasmine stifled a groan, rubbing her temples.

The professor cleared his throat, finally noticing the tension. "That's enough. Back to the lesson."

Solara forced herself to relax, though the heat in her blood didn't fade completely.

She wasn't sure what was worse—the fact that her powers were becoming harder to control…

Or the fact that she didn't know if she even wanted to hold them back anymore.

The rest of the lesson dragged on, but Solara barely heard a word of it. Her fingers still tingled with leftover heat, her thoughts tangled between the whispers in her mind and the way Jareth's words had stung more than they should have.

She knew she had a reputation. But today, for some reason, it felt heavier.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. Solara shoved her books into her bag and stood, but before she could leave, the professor's voice cut through the murmuring students.

"Solara Vaelstra."

She froze.

Yasmine shot her a wary glance as the rest of the students filtered out, Jareth throwing her one last smirk before disappearing through the door.

Solara exhaled sharply before turning back. "Yes, Professor?"

The professor regarded her carefully. "The academy has requested to see you. A summons from the administration."

Solara's stomach dropped.

Yasmine stiffened beside her. "For what?"

The professor sighed. "You'll find out soon enough. I suggest you don't keep them waiting."

Solara swallowed hard. "Understood."

Yasmine, ever the loyal friend, grabbed her arm as soon as they stepped into the hall. "This isn't about that page, is it?" she whispered.

Solara shook her head. "They wouldn't know about that. Not yet."

Yasmine wasn't convinced. "Then what?"

Solara had no idea.

---

By the time they reached the dining hall, Solara's nerves were raw. The whispers had settled into a low hum in the back of her mind, but the weight of the summons hadn't faded.

She barely touched her food.

Yasmine, however, had had enough. She slammed her cup onto the table. "Alright, spill it."

Solara blinked. "What?"

"Don't play dumb. First, you were off all morning. Then that thing with Jareth—don't roll your eyes, you know he got to you. And now you're sitting here, staring at your plate like it's about to burst into flames."

Solara scowled. "I wouldn't waste my fire on food."

"Solara."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It's just… I don't know. My powers are—off. I feel like something's pulling at them. Like the more I use them, the wilder they get."

Yasmine frowned. "Since when?"

"Since the dreams started."

Yasmine exhaled slowly. "And the whispers?"

Solara hesitated, then nodded.

Yasmine rubbed her temples. "I hate that I'm getting used to this."

Before Solara could respond, a sharp voice cut through the hall.

"Solara Vaelstra."

A messenger stood at the entrance, dressed in the academy's official colors. Other students glanced their way, whispering.

Solara set down her fork. "Guess I'm about to find out what this is about."

Yasmine stood too. "I'm coming with you."

The messenger shook his head. "Only Solara."

Solara exhaled. "Of course." She turned to Yasmine. "I'll fill you in later."

Yasmine didn't look happy about it, but she let her go.

As Solara followed the messenger through the halls, a heavy feeling settled in her gut.

Whatever the academy wanted… she had a feeling it wasn't good.

Solara crossed her arms as she followed the messenger through the academy halls, her boots clicking against the stone floor.

"So, are you going to tell me what this is about, or am I supposed to play the mysterious summons guessing game?" she asked dryly.

The messenger, a stiff-looking young man with a ridiculous sense of self-importance, didn't even glance back at her. "You'll find out when we arrive."

Solara rolled her eyes. "Wow, what an informative answer. You must be a hit at parties."

He ignored her.

She smirked, leaning in slightly. "Let me guess—you're one of those academy loyalists who think people like me don't belong here?"

Still, no response.

"Oh, come on. No snide remarks? No 'Watch your tone, Vaelstra' nonsense?" She tsked. "Disappointing."

The messenger finally spared her a glance, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Perhaps you should take this more seriously."

"Oh, I am serious," Solara said, voice smooth as embers. "I'm seriously wondering why I'm wasting my time being dragged around by someone who thinks he's more important than he is."

The messenger's jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

Solara grinned, satisfied.

If she was going to be summoned like some criminal, she might as well enjoy herself.

---

The messenger led Solara through a set of tall, iron-bound doors, into a dimly lit chamber lined with towering bookshelves and banners bearing the academy's insignia. The air smelled of parchment and candle smoke, heavy with the weight of authority.

At the far end of the room sat three academy officials, their robes pristine, their expressions unreadable.

Solara barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Great. A whole panel.

The middle official, a sharp-eyed woman with streaks of silver in her dark hair, folded her hands on the table. "Solara Vaelstra."

Solara raised an eyebrow. "That's me."

A muscle in the woman's jaw twitched. "Do you know why you've been summoned?"

Solara leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. "I don't know. Maybe because some people think I breathe fire in my sleep?"

The official on the left, a thin man with a permanent scowl, spoke next. "This is not a joke, Vaelstra."

Solara's smirk didn't fade, but internally, tension coiled in her chest. They were watching her too closely.

The middle official exhaled. "We've received reports—multiple reports—about your incidents during training. And outside of it."

Solara's smirk flickered.

She forced a shrug. "Fire is unpredictable. That's what they teach us, isn't it?"

"Unpredictable," the woman repeated, gaze sharp. "Or unstable?"

The word sent an unsteady ripple through Solara's thoughts.

Unstable.

She clenched her fists beneath the table. "If that's what you think, then why am I still here?"

The official on the right, a stocky man with a deep voice, finally spoke. "Because we want answers."

The silver-haired woman leaned forward. "When did your control begin to falter?"

Solara hesitated. Her mind flashed to the dreams, the whispers, the way her flames felt different.

She couldn't tell them that.

So she forced an easy smile. "I wasn't aware that struggling in training was a crime now."

The woman's expression didn't change. "You know this is beyond simple struggle."

The man on the left narrowed his eyes. "Are you hiding something, Vaelstra?"

Solara held his gaze, unflinching. "If I were, do you think I'd tell you?"

A tense silence filled the room.

Then, finally, the middle official sighed. "You may go. But know this, Solara—if this continues, the academy will take further action."

Solara didn't need to be told twice. She stood, offering them a lazy mock-bow before striding toward the door.

But just before she left, the silver-haired woman spoke again.

"Be careful, Solara."

For the first time, there was something different in her voice. Something that sounded less like a warning—and more like concern.

Solara didn't turn back. She just shoved the door open and walked out.

Her flames weren't the only thing getting unstable.

And she had a feeling the academy knew far more than they were letting on.

---