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Rhea Flame stood two stands down from John, her red ribbon bright as paint laid over a gray morning. The little bow caught the lamplight every time she moved, flashing like a small heartbeat. Her hands were steady, elegant in a way that said she had been doing this since before she could spell "mana."
She coaxed the flame to rise, then flattened it, then —almost shyly— made it walk through the narrow clay ring like a trained bird returning home. When it passed cleanly through, she smiled. Not with her mouth, but with her eyes lowered, the way sunlight smiles when it slips under a door.
Fizz almost clapped. His paws twitched midair before he froze, remembering he was supposed to be mysterious today. He leaned toward John and whispered, "She makes fire behave without shouting at it. That's sorcery and manners combined. I'm in impressed. She got a good mana control."
