The white flame crackled softly.
Frowning as I stared at the slowly burning fire, I couldnât help but question it.
"Is this even a flame?"
It was so unexpectedly white that calling it a flame felt strange.
âWhat is this?â
Pure white. It was so pale that it was hard to distinguish whether it was fire or snow. Even the way it flickered was unlike anything Iâd seen before.
Slowly, gently, it wavered as if it were alive. It was difficult to describe, but it was entirely different from the fierce and untamed flames I had always conjured.
Should I call it soft and tranquil instead?
"..."
I clenched my fist experimentally.
With a soft whoosh, the shimmering haze that had enveloped my body vanished. I understood now. If I wanted, I could let the flame ignite again, or I could keep my body in its original state.
âIs this what they call mastery?â
This was the pinnacle of the Nine Flames Firewheel Technique.
Was this the sensation my father described as becoming one with the flame?
âItâs... an odd feeling.â
Explaining it was difficult, but I understood one thing: the phrase "becoming the flame" wasnât metaphorical. It was literal.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om
The white flame crackled again.
When I used the Flames Firewheel Technique in the past, I always thought of it as creating flames.
But now, I didnât need to make any effort to ignite anything.
"â¦Hmm."
This sensation, from start to finish, was completely foreign. But it wasnât unpleasant.
In fact, it was exhilarating.
I barely managed to suppress a smile from creeping onto my face, but the overwhelming elation was hard to ignore.
The sensation I had failed to grasp before was now wholly within me.
It felt as though I could do anything.
The problem was...
âWhy is it white?â
Why had the flameâs color changed so suddenly?
It didnât make sense. My fatherâs flames were crimson, and I doubted this transformation was solely due to reaching mastery.
âAnd just how strong have I become?â