The training grounds of the Fire Sect were usually loud.
Not today.
Today, they were silent.
Ming stood alone in the central ring, surrounded by scorched stone pillars and students pretending not to stare. Some watched her with awe. Some with fear. One boy whispered, "That's her." No one said her name.
The instructor gave the command. "Light the flame."
A simple task. Level 1. Focus. Ignite.
Ming closed her eyes. Reached inward.
Heat answered instantly.
Not just in her veins—but in her bones. Her breath. Her memory.
She raised her hand.
A soft, golden flame hovered above her palm. It shimmered perfectly. Silent. Obedient.
Everyone relaxed.
Then it changed.
Without warning, the flame expanded. Not wildly. Not out of control. It didn't roar—it grew quiet. Focused. Hotter than it should've been. The golden edge darkened. Became brighter, denser. Compressed like it had purpose.
It didn't just burn.
It listened.
The instructor stepped forward. "You're losing shape. Rein it in."
But Ming hadn't done anything.
She tried to dim the flame.
It refused.
Instead, it twisted once in her palm, then snapped toward her other hand—like it knew it belonged there.
Someone in the crowd stepped back. Another shouted, "She's not controlling it—"
The instructor moved to intervene.
But Ming spoke first. Quiet. Calm.
"It's not hurting anyone."
The flame hovered between her hands now, a sphere of heat that pulsed like a heartbeat.
She breathed.
It breathed with her.
Then it vanished. Not exploded. Not faded.
It just… blinked out.
As if it had made its point.
She looked up. Dozens of eyes stared back.
Not one person clapped.
The instructor said nothing. Then finally nodded. "Class dismissed."
The students scattered like dry leaves in wind.
Ming stood alone.
Again.
Later that day, as she walked the stone halls back toward her quarters, someone followed her.
Not an elder.
A trainee.
He was tall, sharp-eyed, with a fresh flame mark still red from trial.
"I saw what you did," he said.
Ming didn't stop walking.
"You shouldn't be able to do that. Level 1 can't compress flame like that."
She paused.
Then said, "It wasn't me."
He blinked.
"Then who was it?"
She looked at him. Not cold. Not warm. Just honest.
"I don't know. But it wasn't me."
That night, as she lay in her darkened chamber, eyes open to the firebowl flickering at the far wall, the voice returned.
"You're trying to hold me back," it said.
She sat upright. "I didn't ask for this."
"You didn't have to."
A beat of silence.
Then it added, softer this time:
"You were born burning."
Outside her door, the same instructor stood listening.
He didn't report what he heard.
But he left a note on the High Elder's desk that night.
Only four words.
"The flame disobeyed her."