Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 556: Chapter 556

"Suppressing it is not the answer." Morana said gently. "It might seem like the easiest solution but it will not be effective long term. Your fire is not separate from you. The power to control fire is no less a part of you than your blood or your soul. It isn’t some dangerous thing you’re keeping locked in a cage. It isn’t an enemy. It came from your bloodline. It was passed down through House Silhara, the same way it came to me and to my father before me. It is yours by birth."

Right then the look on his face was mostly unreadable but she could tell that he was hanging on her every word.

"The fact that it has been unruly isn’t a flaw in you, Ragnar. It’s what happens when an ability goes years without guidance. Without instruction. Without someone to teach you what it is and how to live with it. Fire doesn’t have to be so wild and unpredictable," she said. "In the right hands, it is precise. It listens. It doesn’t go anywhere it isn’t directed."

She stood up and took several measured steps toward him.

Ragnar watched her approach, yet made no move to retreat. When his gaze lifted to meet hers, there was no wariness in his eyes, only curiosity as he waited to see what she would do next.

Months ago he might not have allowed her this close at all. Now they spoke freely with each other.

Morana stopped within arm’s reach. "Hold out your hand palm up."

Ragnar blinked in confusion but still did as he was told.

Slowly, she raised her hand and held her palm an inch over his. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, but not close enough to touch.

She kept it there for a few seconds before summoning her fire.

A thin stream of warmth emerged first, no larger than a candle flame. It flowed between their hands like a living current, neither touching him nor burning him.

She used her power to gently coax his own out from where it had hidden away and by the time she withdrew her hand, a flicker of orange light appeared in the center of his palm. Fragile enough that a careless breath might have extinguished it.

The flame sat in his hand and just like Morana’s flame, this one did not burn him.

Ragnar stared down at it. His expression did not change, but Morana could see the slight disbelieving glint in his eyes.

Before now, he had viewed this ability as something destructive. Something dangerous. Something to be feared.

Now it rested in his palm, tiny and looking almost harmless.

"I can teach you how to control it properly if you want," she suggested, unable to suppress a smile as Ragnar remained completely captivated by the tiny flame dancing in his palm. "But it will take time and patience. You’ll have to keep trying even when it feels uncertain. Even when it feels like you’re making no progress at all."

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I would appreciate that."

***

They began the next morning in the courtyard before the sun had properly risen.

The palace was only beginning to wake. Servants were already moving about, and guards were changing shifts, but the courtyard itself remained quiet.

Morana was already there when Ragnar arrived. Truthfully, she hadn’t been entirely certain he would come. Agreeing to something and following through were not always the same thing, especially where his fire was concerned. He had spent most of his life being unaware that he possessed this ability and when he finally learned of it, he made it a point to avoid using it.

Still, he had come, which showed he wanted to learn, or at the very least, was curious to know more.

Morana wasted no time with pleasantries, jumping straight into the matter at hand.

"The first lesson isn’t about creating fire," she said. "It’s about understanding it."

Ragnar listened as she explained the difference between fire and shadow magic.

"Shadow responds to intention. You decide what you want it to do, and it follows that direction." frёeωebɳovel.com

That matched his experience. Shadow magic had always felt natural to him.

"Fire is different," Morana continued. "It responds to emotion. To your state of mind. That’s why it’s harder to control under pressure. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the response. Fire doesn’t misbehave, Ragnar. It reflects like a mirror. When you’re calm, it’s calm. When you’re not, it isn’t."

"Where does the boundary lay between intention and emotion when controlling fire?" He asked, the wheels of his mind already turning.

The question surprised Morana. She had not considered how much thought he had already given the subject.

Rather than answer immediately, she demonstrated. A small flame appeared in her palm.

As it burned, she talked him through the process. Not the physical act of summoning it, but the mental discipline behind maintaining it. She explained the balance required to keep it steady in her hand and how she adjusted that balance as the flame grew larger.

She let the fire expand, shrink, vanish, and return several times while continuing her explanation.

Then she lowered her hand.

"Your turn."

Ragnar looked down at his palm, brown furrowed in concentration as he tried to conjure up a flame the size of hers but nothing happened.

He tried again and a small flickering flame appeared and vanished almost immediately.

"Again," Morana said.

The third attempt lasted several seconds before fading. A hint of frustration crossed his face but it didn’t diminish his eagerness to learn.

They spent the rest of the morning that way. Morana would give him a single thing to focus on, Ragnar would attempt it, and she would adjust her instruction based on what she observed.

The progress was gradual.

Several times his concentration slipped and the flame flared wider than intended. Each time he tensed, expecting a loss of control.

Morana remained calm and patient with him, even when he made mistakes. She never seemed bothered when he got something wrong, nor did she judge him for it. In turn, Ragnar began extending that same grace to himself.

He may have hurt Circe by accident, but one mistake was not a reason to abandon a part of who he was.

By late afternoon, he could produce a controlled ball of fire in his cupped hands and hold it there for some time without it growing or shrinking beyond his intent. It was not large, and the strain of concentration was evident in the tightness of his expression, but the flame remained steady. It was his, and it was entirely under his control.

As he stared down at the soft glow dancing between his palms, a powerful sense of accomplishment washed over him. To anyone else, it might have seemed insignificant—a small flame no larger than a lantern’s light—but to him it felt monumental. For the first time, this part of himself did not feel wild or unpredictable.

More importantly, it gave him hope. Hope that one day he would be able to explore this aspect of his existence without fear or hesitation. Hope that he would no longer regard it with wariness, but with the same certainty and confidence as Morana.

He held the flame for a few seconds longer before slowly closing his hands around it and letting it vanish.