Chapter 36 – Birth of Flame
Cafer was sitting at the edge of the bed, carefully sharpening his daggers as always. The soft scraping of steel against stone filled the room—not with the scent of swords, but with the quiet intensity of preparation. While Cafer tended to his blades, Kasım sat in a lotus position across the room, eyes closed, immersed in silent training.
When Cafer finished, he rose slowly. Balibey's final words echoed in his mind: "The Sultan's safety is in your hands." With measured steps, he left the room and headed toward Murad's chamber.
Now alone, Kasım took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Sweat beaded at his temples. After a moment of rest, he stood, drank deeply from a jug on the table, and felt ready to resume. He sat again, straightening his spine and closing his eyes.
He focused on the ring. A faint blue glow began to shimmer around it. Somewhere deep inside, nature's energy had been summoned. Kasım drew it in. The energy coursed through his veins with a calming warmth—not scalding, not chilling, but settling into him with a quiet serenity. A slight smile formed on his lips.
"How did I even live without this feeling before?" he thought. It was as if he were truly breathing for the first time. But this time, he wouldn't stop at simply drawing in energy. The next step was to shape it into an image.
He reflected on himself. He wasn't skilled with a sword, nor did he excel at close combat. He needed something that could reach from a distance—something that could protect. Not a weapon, but an extension. And suddenly, a memory struck him.
Back in the monastery, he would read by candlelight in his dark cell. The flame of the candle cast light as it melted away the wax—cutting through the darkness with a gentle flicker. Fire. Warm, formless, mesmerizing.
"Maybe," he thought, "my image is fire."
He began shaping the energy in his mind. At first, it was a vague, glowing form. But the more he focused, the clearer it became—the warmth of flames, the curling edges, the crackle of burning wood. He conjured it all in his mind.
"Bright… warm… formless, but powerful," he whispered.
He channeled all the energy he had drawn into this image. The flame was no longer just in his mind—it began to stir within his body. A vibration started in his chest and rippled to his fingertips. Then…
He opened his eyes.
Floating before him was a small orb of fire, suspended in the air. Wisps of smoke curled around it, and tiny flickers danced inside. It was small—perhaps the size of a pomegranate—but for a first attempt, it was a miracle.
"I did it," Kasım murmured, his heart swelling with joy.
He reached out toward the orb and realized he could guide it with his thoughts. When he moved his fingers to the right, it swayed right. When left, it drifted left. He thrust his hand forward suddenly, and the fireball shot across the room, landing on the opposite bed.
"I can control it!" he rejoiced… but—
A thin column of smoke began rising from the bed. The fireball had ignited the blanket. Kasım leapt up in panic, grabbed a cloth, and smothered the flames. After a few tense seconds, the fire was out.
The edge of the blanket was scorched. Kasım, now breathless and sweating, wiped his forehead.
"I'll need more control..." he muttered. But then he smiled.
It was his first step.
And now, it had begun.
Meanwhile, Viki and Balibey had left the shop and stepped back into the narrow but bustling streets of Venice. The sun was slowly descending westward, casting long shadows between tall buildings onto the cobbled paths. Viki walked confidently ahead, head held high. Balibey followed one step behind, silent and alert.
Viki suddenly stopped and glanced over her shoulder with a slight irritation.
"Balibey... why are you walking behind me like that?"
Balibey paused briefly before replying in a calm tone.
"It just... feels more appropriate this way."
Viki grunted and shook her head, her thoughts flickering across her face: "New clothes, same oafish manners…"
They continued walking. Viki discreetly scanned the area and noticed the way women on the street were glancing at Balibey. Some whispered, others smiled as they whispered to their friends. At first, she ignored it. But when it happened again—and again—she began to feel a twinge of jealousy.
"He's too good-looking for his own good," she thought. "Should've let him dress like a peasant."
Caught in her thoughts, she stopped abruptly. Balibey, walking just behind, accidentally bumped into her.
"Apologies," he said. "Didn't realize you stopped."
Viki blushed slightly. "No harm... It was my fault for stopping so suddenly."
Then, without warning, she grabbed his arm.
"We're walking like this now," she said.
Balibey instinctively tried to pull away.
"No," Viki whispered. "Stop walking behind me like some stalker or bodyguard. We're on a mission, remember? We need to blend in."
Balibey didn't like it, but he knew she was right. With a silent sigh, he lowered his head.
"Duty…" he thought. Then said quietly, "Very well."
They continued down the street. The whispers from other women were now replaced with glares of envy. When Viki noticed, a smug smile played on her lips. She glanced at Balibey again. Her heart skipped. She blushed. A strange warmth spread through her chest. She pulled her arm away abruptly.
"What is it?" Balibey asked, surprised.
Viki quickly recovered. "We're here," she said, pointing ahead.
"That small palace across the street... that's the Gritti Estate."
But her heart was still racing—not because of duty, but something deeper and unfamiliar.