Honor and Glory | ATEEZ

058

In a flash of bright light, the flames suddenly turned purple.

I let out a squeak of surprise and accidentally dropped the ball of fire onto the mattress, immediately regretting it as my bed for the night began to smolder and smoke, quickly shuffling over as I desperately tried to extinguish the flames.

I took a deep breath before trying again, lighting another flame only to watch it burn with its usual red colour.

I let out a deep sigh, feeling disappointment wash over me.

And then it turned purple again.

This time, I didn't drop it, though keeping my concentration fixed on the flame proved more difficult than anticipated as I tried to figure out what had happened and how I was going to do it again.

"Purple is progress," I told myself, my voice sounding foreign and too loud in the silence of the lonely tent.

Purple was somewhere between the fierce, untamable red, and the calm, peaceful blue.

Purple was progress.

I stayed like that for several hours, the night outside slowly turning into morning as I sat there by myself on top of the old and tattered mattress, alone in the crimson red tent, surrounded by soldiers and warriors.

Working out my thoughts and theories as the flickering flames of the fire reflected in the steely determination of my eyes.

And in the end, I finally go it, feeling more than overwhelmed as I finally found myself staring at a small sapphire flame in the palm of my hand, swaying lazily back and forth.

A tear rolled down my cheek, burning my skin before dropping onto the ground and disappearing forever, without a trace of my suffering or hardships.

I had done it.

Most people associated orange and reddish tones with fire and flames, but that wasn't always the case, I had realized.

The Santua Prophecy, my feelings, and my kingdom had taught me that everything depended on your motivation and drive in life, your fuel, including your own element.

The red, orange, and yellow flames burned along with my inner fire, surging through my blood, feeding off of feelings of anger, hatred, desire, and love.

But blue fire came from somewhere deeper within me.

The Fire of Ambros came from the soul itself.

The royal flames were fueled by the sadness that weighed me down, the honor I felt, my loyalty to my friends and family, my wishes to see only peace and prosperity in my kingdom.

Blue burned from the soul itself, I had realized. Blue-

The sudden sound of a war-horn splitting the silent air, echoing over the camp shook me out of my thoughts as I whipped my head in the direction of the cry.

I immediately scrambled to my feet, stumbling off the old mattress and clenching my fists to soften my fall, the fire on my hands dying out in the process.

The sound came again, stronger this time, accompanied by others like it.

Signaling the impending battle, the war.