Carriage rides were one of the most boring experiences an explorer could have, second only to sitting through an Instructor Paltise lesson. The rhythmic sway of the wagon, the crunch of gravel beneath the wheels, and the occasional creak of the wooden frame all blended into a lullaby that threatened to drag even the most alert traveler into drowsiness.

Fiona leaned against the side of the carriage, staring out at the passing landscape. To their right, the sea sparkled under the afternoon sun, its waves bashing against steep rocks as they flowed from the coast to the horizon. To the left were meadows as far as the eye could see, dotted with patches of tall grass and flowers blooming in shades of pink, yellow, and orange. In the backdrop, fang-white peaks loomed over the surroundings.

Tyrus was at the front, leaning out of the carriage as he listened to Wyford chat about his own life and whatnot. The kid listened intently, leaning against the edge with his head dangling out as the haethas trotted the rattling carriage along. This had been going on for hours, and Fiona couldn't help but feel confused at the sight.

For starters, Tyrus seemed less shy than usual. Here he was, striking up a conversation with a man he knew only for a few hours, and that was months ago. Tyrus wasn't the type to warm up to people so quickly. Then again, he had changed a lot since their first encounter, so it was most likely he was growing more comfortable around others. What she was witnessing right now was proof enough, and it warmed her heart that there was hope he wouldn't turn out as a gloomy loner given his background.

"You're awfully talkative today," Fiona said, leaning against the crates stacked behind her. "You seem way more interested in what he has to say than talking to me."

A curious look from Tyrus followed her as he glanced behind himself. "Oh, sorry about that, Fiona. It's just that the stories Wyford is telling are really interesting."

"I'm just messing with you," she said. "What I am wondering is if you've stopped those meditation sessions you'd do. Remember our first carriage ride where you were practicing?"

Tyrus blinked, looking at her with wide eyes. He excused himself to Wyford and crawled next to Fiona, crossing his legs and sitting down beside her.

"Lately, I think it's best that I slow down training for the time being," he said with a quiver in his voice. "Mana deficiency and all that is quite scary to experience."

Fiona raised a brow. "That so? You seemed pretty eager to push yourself before. What changed?"

Tyrus fidgeted, his tail curling around his leg. "I just… don't want to mess up again. Ever since that last time, I've been more careful."

"Well, I understand where you're coming from. I can still vividly remember the last time I experienced mana deficiency. That was one of the worst weeks of my life," Fiona admitted.

"You went through that as well? But you're too smart and composed to make that mistake."

Fiona chuckled, "You flatter me. This occurred in my first year at the academy, around six months in. I cast a medium-tier fire spell when I just achieved my second branch, and the consequences were intense. It felt as if a red-hot iron pole had pierced my heart and turned me inside out. I was in the infirmary for at least a few days."

Tyrus gave her a concerned look. "That sounds brutal. What made you want to use a medium-tier spell when you just got your second branch?"

"Oh, its nothing too serious. I was curious to see just how drastic the gap was between my primary affinity and fire."

"Aren't fire and water opposite elements? I heard that if your primary affinity was one or the other, then trying to use its opposite is like trying to write with your non-dominant hand. Possible, but not natural. Shouldn't fire be the element you have the least affinity with since your primary element is water?"

"It is," Fiona said. "I just wanted to see what I would be working with as I divert my attention to training that affinity."

This only seemed to confuse Tyrus further; he tilted his head. "Wouldn't it make more sense to train your primary affinity than the weakest one? From what I learned in Elementary Mastery II, the ceiling for an Elemental Sorcerer's weakest element is considerably lower than their strongest. Even if you train for years, you'll never reach the same level of mastery as someone whose natural affinity is fire."

Fiona let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "You sound just like my instructors. Always talking about ceilings and limits, like people are bound by the rules they write in books."

Tyrus frowned. "But isn't it true?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," Fiona continued. She snapped her fingers, and out came a flame at the tip of her fingers. "I don't care about ceilings, Tyrus. People have spent their whole lives defining my limits for me—what I can or can't be, what I should or shouldn't do. First, it was my family, then the academy, then every so-called expert who thought they knew what was best for me. I train fire because I choose to, not because it makes sense to anyone else."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Tyrus was quiet for a moment. "...But is that really it?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"The Lockharts," Tyrus said slowly. "I still can't get over the conversation you and Igneal had last night. Your words make it seem like you hate your family with a passion. I've never seen you speak with such venom before. And what you said about scars... Do you mean the old scars on your foot?"

Fiona's face faltered. Her foot—of course he'd noticed. She let the flame flicker out, rubbing her fingers together as if brushing away ash. "You ask a lot of questions, Tyrus."

Tyrus stood his ground, maintaining eye contact and waiting patiently. She let out a sigh and adjusted her position, placing an arm on her knee. Sharing her past with him didn't feel like a big deal, especially since he was present during her argument with Igneal.

"Yeah, the scars on my feet are a result of my shitty family's traditions. When it is time for a Lockhart to awaken, we undergo a tradition first created by Bolus Lockhart, the first family head. Underneath the Lockhart territory main residence, there's a pit of hot coals every Lockhart child walks across it before they awaken. They call it a test of resilience, of worthiness. A test designed by a man who thought pain was the only way to forge strength."

Tyrus scowled. "That's cruel! What kind of sick person would do that?"

"That's tradition." Fiona's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "They say fire runs in the blood. That we should be able to endure its bite. The stronger your fire affinity, the less it hurts. Some barely feel a thing. Others… well." She gestured vaguely toward her foot. "Some of us don't get off so easy."

Pausing, she traced the laces of her boots before removing them to reveal the scarred soles and sides of her feet. They were brutal, a patchwork of smooth, ridged skin that told a story of agony.

The worst of it covered the bottom and sides of her feet, where the fire had bitten deepest. The skin there was taut and uneven, a mix of pale and darkened patches where the burns had healed unevenly. Along her toes, the scars were fainter but still unmistakable—thin, silvery outlines where blisters had once swelled and burst.

She wiggled her toes, as if trying to downplay the sight. "Ugly, aren't they? I still remember the smell of burning flesh. The sound of my own feet sizzling. But stopping wasn't an option, even when every step felt like daggers were carving through me."

Tyrus clenched his fists. "They made you do this just to prove yourself?"

Fiona's expression was unreadable. "Not just me. Every Lockhart have walked the coals when they awaken. If your fire is strong, you barely feel it. If it isn't, you get to carry a reminder for the rest of your life."

"And your father? He just let this happen?"

Wordlessly, Fiona slipped her feet back into her boots, tugging the laces tight as if sealing away the past along with them. Her fingers paused for a fraction of a second. "Let it happen?" She exhaled a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. "No, Tyrus. The family head is the one who lights the coals."

Tyrus stared at her, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come. Fiona stretched out her legs, rolling her ankles as if to shake off the weight of the conversation.

"When I reached my limit walking across the coals, my knees buckled, and I nearly fell into the pit. As my vision blurred from the pain, Aunt Selena stepped in and carried me away, while the other members stayed back and watched."

Tyrus's brows furrowed. "She helped you?"

"She wasn't supposed to. Lockharts aren't meant to interfere. But she didn't care. She pulled me out before I could pass out completely."

"What happened after that?"

"Father was not pleased," Fiona replied. "Said she had no right to interfere. That if I was too weak to finish, I wasn't fit to bear the Lockhart name. He disowned me that night. So, with me being kicked out of my home, Aunt Selena took it upon herself to take me in and have me live with her in Valis. She hired the best healer she could find to mend my wounds, but because the amount of time passed between the burns and the treatment, they never fully healed the way they should have. The pain faded, but the scars stayed."

For a while, neither of them spoke. The creaking of the carriage and the distant cry of seabirds filled the silence. Then, Tyrus finally said, "Was Selena punished for helping you?"

"She fled before they could. Took me with her. If she hadn't saved me back then, I don't know where I'd be. Probably a disgusting freak with burn marks on her face, abandoned and left to rot in some dank alley. The life I have now, I owe it all to her."

When another stretch of silence hit her, Fiona chuckled and cupped her face. "I just realized how pathetic I sound now. Here I am, venting to you in some stranger's carriage. You probably think less of me now that I shared all that."

Tyrus shook his head. "I don't. I still think you're strong. Stronger than anyone who stood by and let that happen to you. And besides, I think I can relate a bit too. I was abandoned by the black tigers of the Tiger Tribe, tossed away because of my human half. They think because I am a Demi-human, it's only natural that I'd become as weak as one. So, just to spite them, if I ever meet them, I'll show them how wrong they were by becoming even stronger than them."

"So you get it, then," Fiona said with a smirk.

"Yeah. Being cast out, treated like you're less just because you don't fit their mold—it's not something you forget."

"Since we're two peas in a pod, how 'bout we give our dysfunctional families something they'll never forget?"

Tyrus stood up straighter and said, "How so?"

Fiona held her hand out. "I mean by becoming so accomplished that when they finally see us again, they won't know whether to grovel or run."

A slow grin spread across his face. Fangs that weren't there previously grew slightly longer. He clasped her outstretched hand, his grip firm and rough. "I like the sound of that."

"It'll be our own little club; we'll call it 'Deviants'," said Fiona.

"What about the others? I think they'd like to join."

Fiona scoffed. "You're the only one I've told this to. I'd rather bury myself alive than to tell Reo and Grant my troubled past. All they know is that the Lockharts don't see me in a favorable light. That's it. This will be our secret, Tyrus. Can you keep a secret?"

Tyrus covered his mouth with both hands and nodded. That gesture was good enough for Fiona. Never in a million years would she tell her closest friends about her shameful past. It was too embarrassing to reveal, and she refused to let them see her as some dainty lady carrying a grudge.

The conversation faded into quiet laughter as the carriage rumbled along. Herds of stonehorns bounded through the meadows, their antlers glittering in the sunlight as they weaved through the tall grass.

Other carriages passed them by, some heavy with trade goods, or simply empty save for a few people. Wyford would wave or give the other drivers a simple nod.

As the carriage rumbled forward, the terrain shifted from open meadows to uneven, rocky paths, and the distant outline of a city with no walls emerged on the horizon.

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