Steven’s POV
A soft knock came at the door.
Not loud. Not demanding.
Just Aqua’s gentle presence asking permission to exist near my mess.
“Steven?” she called quietly. “Tea’s ready.”
My throat tightened.
For a second, I stayed still, staring at the ceiling like it could tell me what version of myself to bring back out there.
Fang remained coiled near the bed, silent—only his steady presence through the bond reminding me I wasn’t alone in my own head.
I forced myself up anyway.
Because hiding wasn’t control.
It was surrender.
When I stepped into the living room, Aqua was already seated at the table with two mugs steaming between her hands.
She looked up like she’d been waiting—calm, soft, pretending this was just tea and not a lifeline.
I sat down slowly.
Aqua slid one mug toward me.
“I made it light,” she said gently. “In case you didn’t want anything too strong.”
The carefulness in her voice hit harder than any scolding ever could.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “For snapping earlier.”
Aqua’s expression didn’t shift into drama.
She just nodded once, like she accepted the apology but didn’t pretend it erased the moment.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “You’re dealing with something new. Big emotions come with that.”
She made it sound simple on purpose, like she was trying to keep me from drowning in it.
It almost worked.
Almost.
“Aqua,” I said, voice low, “am I… a monster now? Because of the fire?”
Aqua went still—not scared, not pitying.
Just thoughtful.
“The fire doesn’t decide what you are,” she said gently. “Your choices do.”
My throat tightened.
“It felt like it decided yesterday,” I admitted. “It answered my anger like it wanted to.”
Aqua’s gaze stayed on me.
“That means you need control,” she said. “Not shame.”
Shame still sat in my chest anyway.
Aqua reached across the table—not to force touch, not to trap me.
Just to set her hand near mine like a quiet offer.
I didn’t take it right away.
Because I hated how much her steadiness helped.
Then I made myself do it.
My fingers brushed hers—light, brief—like a promise without pressure.
And then I pulled back before my core could start humming again.
Aqua didn’t chase the touch.
She just let it be what it was.
“Get some sleep,” she said quietly. “Tomorrow we train again—properly. With boundaries.”
I nodded once.
Boundaries.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
A word Worths probably said like prayer.
---
That night, sleep fought me.
Every time I closed my eyes, my mind returned to the same things:
Fire.
Falling.
Aqua’s voice.
Aqua’s glow.
The way my core reacted to warmth like it recognized food.
Fang’s presence settled through the bond, steady as a weight on my chest.
Not smothering.
Anchoring.
You will feel it more the longer you cultivate, he said quietly.
I swallowed.
“And I just… live with that?”
You train above it, Fang replied.
Or you become ruled by it.
I stared into the dark until my eyes burned.
Then I forced myself to close them anyway—hoping tomorrow would be better than today.
---
Morning came too fast.
I woke before the apartment stirred, heart already beating like it had something to prove.
The room was dim, the air cool.
My body felt… charged.
Not hungry.
Not exactly.
Just restless.
Like the fire in my veins had woken up before I did.
I sat up slowly.
And the first thing my mind said was simple and terrifying:
I need to control it.
Not later.
Not someday.
Now.
I moved quietly through the apartment, careful not to wake Aqua.
Fang wasn’t on the couch.
He was near the door.
Waiting.
And the moment I reached for the knob, he slithered closer like “alone” was not an option.
You’re going back, he murmured into my head.
I nodded once. “Yeah.”
His emotional state tightened through the bond—firm caution.
Then I’m coming.
I exhaled through my nose. “I figured.”
I slipped out anyway, the morning air cold enough to sting my cheeks.
---
The clearing opened up like a private secret—open sky above, dirt under my shoes, trees standing like silent judges.
I stepped into the center and stared at my hands.
Normal hands.
Hands that had burned yesterday.
Hands that had been smothered by Aqua’s water like I was a child with matches.
My jaw tightened.
“Okay,” I whispered. “On purpose.”
Fang coiled near the stump, watching.
He didn’t tell me what to do.
Not yet.
He waited—like this was something I needed to admit to myself first.
I breathed in.
Slow.
I didn’t think about humiliation.
I didn’t think about anger.
I thought about heat.
Simple heat.
The warmth of an oven.
A candle flame.
The idea of light obeying you without taking everything with it.
My Beast Core pulsed.
Low. Steady.
I held my hands out in front of me and tried to summon it.
Nothing.
For a second I felt stupid.
Then I felt irritation rise.
And with it—
a flicker.
Orange-gold flame blinked above my palm.
Small.
Alive.
My breath caught.
I stared at it like it was a miracle.
Then it grew.
Not because I wanted it to.
Because something inside me liked being seen.
My chest tightened.
Steven, Fang warned softly through the bond.
I forced myself to breathe.
Forced the flame smaller.
It obeyed.
Barely.
Like a dog that listened, but didn’t respect you yet.
“Again,” I whispered.
I tried to produce it faster.
A second flame sparked above my other hand.
This time my eyes burned—pressure blooming behind them like they wanted to glow red.
My throat tightened.
I clenched my jaw and held steady.
Two flames.
My hands weren’t shaking.
But my core was humming.
Wanting more.
“Okay,” I muttered. “What about… outwards?”
Fang’s presence sharpened.
Not yet.
“I have to learn,” I snapped quietly—then immediately hated that I snapped at him.
But the need inside me didn’t care about manners.
It cared about power.
I aimed my palm toward a patch of dirt a few feet away and pushed.
Not physically.
With my core.
With my will.
Heat surged down my arm like a current.
The flame shot forward—a short burst.
It hit the dirt and fizzled, leaving a black scorch mark.
My breath stuttered.
I did it.
I actually did it.
And the rush that followed was sickly familiar.
Clean power.
Clarity.
That same addictive bright feeling I’d gotten from feeding.
My stomach turned.
Because I liked it.
Because I wanted it again.
I tried again.
A stronger burst.
Another scorch mark.
The heat in my veins climbed.
My eyes burned harder.
I could feel them wanting to glow.
Fang’s voice cut through the rising thrill—firm, sharp.
Stop.
I froze.
Panting.
Heat crawling under my skin like it wanted to live there permanently.
“What?” I rasped.
Fang’s presence tightened like a leash.
You’re chasing the rush.
My jaw clenched.
“I’m training,” I snapped.
No, Fang replied. You’re feeding on power the way you feed on love.
The words hit like a slap.
I swallowed hard, staring at the scorch marks.
My hands were still warm.
My chest was humming.
My mind felt too clear.
Like I could do anything if I just kept pushing.
And that was the problem.
I slowly lowered my hands.
The flames died.
But the urge didn’t.
My throat tightened.
“How do I make it stop wanting more?” I whispered.
Fang’s answer came quiet and brutal.
You don’t.
You make yourself stronger than the wanting.
I stood there, breathing hard, staring at my palms like they were strangers.
Then I turned and walked out of the clearing before I could change my mind and light the whole forest up just to feel powerful for ten more seconds.
---
When I got back to the apartment, the world felt too small.
Too quiet.
Aqua was awake now, moving around the kitchen.
She looked up and smiled softly when she saw me—like she didn’t know she was smiling at a boy trying not to become something dangerous.
My chest hummed low.
Not hunger.
Not yet.
But awareness.
And it made me hate myself all over again.
I forced a smile back.
“I just went for a walk,” I lied.
Aqua’s gaze searched my face like she could tell there was smoke behind my eyes.
But she didn’t push.
Not yet.
I walked into the spare room and shut the door, pressing my back against it for one second like I needed the wood to hold me upright.
My hands were clean.
My palms looked normal.
No one would know what they’d done twenty minutes ago.
But I knew.
I stared at my fingers until my vision blurred.
And the thought that landed in my chest didn’t feel like fear anymore.
It felt like acceptance.
I really am a Salvatore after all.