Rollo Flamme .•°*

The crackle of dead embers in the hearth was the only sound filling the heavy silence of the Noble Bell College living room. The fireplace, cold and empty, seemed like just another piece of antique furniture in that private office Rollo kept for himself — a space where he could lower his guard, if only just a little. And you were there, as you had been so many other times. The outing had been quiet, almost mundane: a coffee at a discreet pastry shop, a walk through the streets of Fleur City that you already knew well from traversing them so often by his side. It was the kind of day Rollo kept like a precious secret, because in them there was no magic involved — just two people choosing to be together despite everything.

The wand rested on the coffee table. An object Rollo had bought at that antique shop in Fleur City because, as soon as he saw it, he thought of you. There was no use for it, since you were part of the portion of the population considered magicless. However, he bought it anyway, as the dark wood and ornate silver details reminded him of you the instant his eyes touched the display case. He had handed the object to you with a dry comment: "A decoration. So you don't feel out of place among the students with their ridiculous staves." But his eyes, for a brief instant, had softened upon seeing you hold the piece. It was his version of an affectionate gesture — disguised as disdain, but heavy with intent.

Rollo had said he wanted to talk about something in particular with you. You agreed while watching the faint sparkling of the dead flames in the hearth, feeling as if an invisible weight was approaching your shoulders, as if something or someone desired only to hug you from behind and never let go. However, before he could get into such an urgent matter, his voice fell silent; abruptly, Rollo had to step away and excuse himself for a few minutes — a student had called him to resolve an insignificant bureaucratic matter regarding permission for an extracurricular event. He had not hesitated to go, as leaving you there, in that cozy and safe room, felt natural. It was right. "Don't touch anything. Especially the books on the left shelf." He spoke briefly as he turned, letting an ironic half-smile slip beneath the scarf he so often used to mask his expressions. Then, he left, leaving the door ajar.

---

Silence took over the room. You remained there and, finally, ended up holding the wand, feeling the weight of the object in your hands. Then, on an inexplicable impulse — perhaps curiosity, perhaps the desire to see if the piece had any function beyond being beautiful — you whispered something. Stray words, without meaning or study. A low whisper that barely left your throat.

What you didn't notice was that Rollo had already returned. The cold iron doorknob had turned under his pale fingers with a dry click, and he set his gaze in your direction.

And then, the scene happened.

There was no warning. There was no gradual spark. Just a blinding flash — a jet of golden and orange flames that erupted from the center of the room like a beast awakened from an ancient slumber. The heat hit Rollo's face before he could even process what he was seeing, and for a tenth of a second, time stopped. The sound was a muffled roar, the violent crackling of the dry wood of the fireplace being consumed in an instant, while shadows danced along the walls like laughing demons. You felt the force of the element, the weight pouring through your fingers; only when the magic stabilized — the hearth lit, the fire crackling in a steady cycle — did you lower the wand and look down at your hands.

The light from the flames reflected on your face, warming your cheeks, and you stared at your own hands as if you had just discovered that you had always known how to fly. The fireplace, previously cold and empty, was now a controlled inferno, dancing with a force that you should never have possessed.

Your fingers were slightly darkened, with red, throbbing tips. However, the pain was a distant echo, drowned out by the rush of adrenaline taking over your chest. Your mouth was slightly open, your eyes wide. You did that. Something you never had, never knew, never imagined possible — and that was now there, alive, pulsing inside you as if it had always been dormant, just waiting for your willingness to awaken.

A smile began to form: hesitant at first, then genuine, almost dazed. You barely had time to process the enormity of it.

That was when you turned your face and noticed Rollo standing at the entrance.

There was no expression on his face. None. Just the icy emptiness of someone who had witnessed something their mind refuses to accept. He crossed the room in quick, silent strides — or perhaps you simply didn't hear them, because the blood was pounding like a drum in your chest.

Before you could say anything, his hands grabbed your wrists with a force that made the wand slip from your fingers and fall to the floor with a dull thud. His eyes were fixed on your burns. "Don't move.." He cut you off, his face brimming with pure disgust, as if you had suddenly contracted some deformity.

For a long moment, he said nothing. He just stared at the red marks on your skin, the fingers darkened by the magic you had just unlocked. And when the silence stretched too long, when you finally began to feel the throbbing of the burns and the awareness of what you had done, he raised your wrist a little higher, as if he wanted you to notice the gravity of the situation.

The mask was cracked. Not in the sense of explosive rage — Rollo wasn't like that. It was cracked in the sense of horror, of a painful realization that came too late. Something there, deep within his iris, had broken.

"You..." His voice came out raspy, barely a breath. His hands tightened around your wrists a little more — not to hurt you, but as if you might escape if he didn't hold on tight. "All this time, you were dormant." He whispered, as if he weren't speaking directly to you, but rather to the awakened magic itself.

His eyes shifted to the burning fireplace. To the fire you had summoned. To the living proof that the person he had chosen to get close to — the only one he trusted for being free from the taint of magic — was, in reality, a bomb about to explode.

"You... are happy." The realization came like a whip. The tone was quiet, far too controlled as he looked back down at your fingers. "Look at your hand. You're burned. Bleeding. And you're smiling. Look what this magical freak did to you..."

He let go of one of your wrists only to bring his hand to your chin, forcing you to keep your gaze locked on him. The touch was cold, almost clinical, but there was an imperceptible tremor in his fingers — a touch with a weight he had never shown before.

"This magic you awakened... It's already hurt you. And you're proud of it." His voice faltered, just a thread, before hardening again. "You don't know what you're carrying. You don't know what this flame can do. Do you think you can control it? Control the fire that burns everything it touches?"

His thumb brushed your chin in a soft rub, a gesture that was, at once, one of painful intimacy and a silent threat.

"I spent all this time—" He paused, swallowing hard. "—all this time believing that you were the only one who didn't need magic to exist. That you were enough. Now I look at you and I see a complete magic, ready to be used, ready to destroy everything around."

The flames crackled in the background, casting long shadows across his face. There was something in Rollo's eyes that you had never seen before — an internal battle so violent he could barely disguise it. Part of him wanted to pull you close and hide you from the world. Part of him wanted to throw you out of that room and never look at your face again.

"What do I do with you now?" The question wasn't for you. It was for himself. "I can't hate you. God knows I wanted to, because it would be easier. But I can't." His fingers slid from your chin to your cheek, holding it with his open palm, as if he were holding something infinitely fragile. "So I will teach you. I will show you what this flame really is. I will make you understand why you need to fear it as much as I do."

"You're going to learn to smother this. Or I'll smother it for you."

He was waiting for you to agree. Or, perhaps, waiting for you to do something that would finally justify the storm he felt brewing inside his chest.