Gottfried Dialogue
What was my purpose for being here?
I'd asked myself that question countless times since the day I opened my eyes in this world—reborn, disoriented, yet strangely... at peace. Life here wasn't bad at all. In fact, it felt like the start of something meant for me.
And then there was my gift pyrokinesis. Fire shaped by thought, breath, and will.
My older sister, Almira, had been a prodigy from the moment she could walk. Her flames roared like a living sun, heat shimmering off her in waves. I, on the other hand, struggled just to keep a steady flame in my palm. Compared to her brilliance, I was a flickering candle—until Father looked at my fire and told me I was something else entirely.
"My flames don't just burn," I remember muttering, staring at the ember-orange glow forming above my fingertips, "they... harden."
And they did.
Where most fire-users shaped heat, I shaped form. A blade of solid flame. A shield glowing like molten metal. A spear that crackled as it sliced the air. Those were my earliest victories.
But a hand cannon?
The moment I tried conjuring that thing, my legs buckled and I collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
I wasn't strong enough—not yet.
Still, I had one trick no one expected. A flash of pure, intense heat—so bright it stunned even seasoned fighters. My accidental flashbang.
"Hah! It worked!" I shouted the first time. Father only laughed and dodged out of the way, moving in to tap my forehead as gently as a falling leaf.
"Good creativity, Gottfried," he said. "But if you drain yourself that quickly, you're finished the moment you use it."
He was right. The technique burned through my stamina like dry tinder. One careless use and I'd be left wide open.
So I trained harder.
And harder.
"Oh, welp—Dad's calling for another round—"
Sixteen years later.
He doesn't treat me like a kid anymore.
Not in training. Not in the way he looks at me. Every attack he throws now carries real force
I get it.
He wants a strong son.
A fire-user who won't crumble in battle.
Someone who can stand on his own when the world decides to burn.
The open landscape stretched far and wide beneath a warm afternoon sky, the gardens shimmering under gentle sunlight. Birds circled lazily above, the world at peace—
Until an explosion shattered the stillness.
A crack split the earth, dust billowed upward, and the shockwave rippled through the grass.
"DO BETTER, Gottfried!" Elias roared, flames trailing behind his blade as he charged forward.
Gottfried staggered back, panic tightening his face as he raised his sword, barely deflecting the incoming strike. His hands trembled. His breathing hitched. Desperation made his fire flare.
He thrust out his palm—
A burst of flame shot forward.
Elias simply tilted his body aside, dodging with effortless grace. His counter came instantly—a swift, punishing kick to Gottfried's abdomen that sent him tumbling across the dirt. His sword spun from his hand, skidding to rest several paces away.
Elias approached calmly, sliding his sword back into the sheath at his waist. He extended a hand down to his fallen son.
"Stand up," he said, voice firm but steady. "You still need to practice the techniques I taught you."
Panting hard, Gottfried grabbed his father's hand and pulled himself up. Sweat streamed down his forehead. A sharp jolt of pain stabbed his side.
"Damn it—urgh..." He clutched his upper waist and hissed through his teeth.
Under his breath, he muttered, "I'm not done with you, old man..."
He swung a tired fist toward Elias—only for it to cut empty air. Elias leaned back with a grin.
"Nice try, but your eyes give you away, son."
With a smooth motion, Elias drew his sword again and lunged.
"Damn y—!" Gottfried barely managed to yell before bracing himself.
High above, Almira sat perched on a thick tree branch, a book of mage techniques resting on her lap. Wisps of flame curled around her fingertips as she practiced adjusting temperature, muttering to herself between glances at the battle.
"He's struggling again," she murmured, amused. "Dad always goes too hard on him..."
She giggled softly, confident her brother would eventually rise to the challenge.
Back on the ground, Elias dodged another wild swing. "Go grab your sword," he ordered.
Gottfried glanced at the real blade lying in the grass... but shook his head.
Instead, he raised both hands.
Fire burst to life between his palms, shaping itself into a bright, crackling blade—its edges glowing like molten steel.
Elias's eyes narrowed with brief admiration. "That's it. Use your advantage."
Gottfried charged. Elias welcomed him with a smile, igniting his own sword; red-hot heat crawled across the iron until it burned like a miniature sun.
Their blades clashed, sparks spiraling into the air.
Elias stepped in, faster than Gottfried could react, and drove a hard kick into his stomach. The fiery sword flickered—then vanished altogether.
"Shit—I'm losing concentration!"
He barely registered Elias slipping behind him.
Elias dropped his sword and brought his hands together, generating a sphere of intense heat. Flames warped and compressed between his palms—pressure building until the air itself vibrated.
A deflagration—strong enough to send a shockwave.
Gottfried's eyes widened. "Flash Ignite!"
His fire burst into a blinding flare. Elias instinctively closed his eyes.
Gottfried dodged to the side, panting. "I... can't use fire for a moment after that... drains too much stamina... I'll just punch him—"
He froze.
Elias hadn't released the blast yet.
He stood with eyes shut, but he still tracked Gottfried perfectly.
"Seriously?" Gottfried whispered.
Elias unleashed the compressed flames.
The explosion hammered into Gottfried, flinging him across the field. He crashed and rolled, finally stopping in a heap of dust and smoke. His body trembled with exhaustion as he tried to stand.
"This is totally not fair..." he wheezed.
Elias walked over, expression firm but not unkind.
"Why not? I'm doing this so you can take my place one day." His voice softened—just slightly. "I abandoned my kingdom so you two could become the best. Don't you want that? To take the throne, to know the people, to be praised as their savior?"
Gottfried stared up, swallowing hard.
"But that's for later," Elias said, straightening. "Right now, you focus on your studies and your strength. One day, you'll surpass me, son."
Gottfried slumped, panting.
"And since you lost again today," Elias continued, "your homework is one hundred push-ups—three sets."
Gottfried's jaw dropped. "Hey! Listen, old man! You punched my waist!" He pointed accusingly at the swollen bruise forming. "And you expect me to do three sets?!"
"Enough," Elias replied calmly. "Your mother will heal it later. Finish before sundown. Dinner will be ready soon."
He turned and walked away, leaving Gottfried glaring at his retreating figure.
"Tch... I'll just do fifty and lie about it..."
Back at the house, the door creaked open as Elias placed his weapon on the stand. He walked to the kitchen where Marie was stirring a pot of stew. He slipped his arms around her waist from behind.
Marie flinched, then smiled warmly. "How did training go?"
Elias sighed heavily. "Gottfried still needs more experience... maybe I should send him to a warrior competition."
"You're too harsh on him," Marie replied gently.
Time passed until dinner. Almira sat at the table, flipping a page of her book while waiting. Gottfried joined her, equally impatient for food—mostly to distract himself from the throbbing in his waist.
Elias came down the stairs and joined them.
"So, how was your exercise today?" he asked Almira.
She looked up. "It went okay. I tried holding my flame longer, but my stamina drains too fast."
"That's fine," Elias said with a nod. "Push a little harder each time. Overload the mana. It'll raise your stamina threshold. Eat well and rest."
He patted her head before heading to the kitchen to help Marie bring the dishes.
Once everyone sat down and began eating, Elias glanced at Gottfried.
"Hey, son, is your waist okay?"
Before Gottfried could answer, a sharp smack hit Elias's arm.
"Ow! Honey?!"
Marie glared at him. "You hurt him again, didn't you? I told you to be efficient! not to bully him!"
She grabbed his ear and twisted.
"Ow—ow! I'm sorry!"
Gottfried and Almira burst into laughter.
"Pff—HAHAHAHA!"
After dinner, Gottfried relaxed on the couch, the warmth of the fireplace comforting him. He lifted his shirt and revealing the bruise.
Marie knelt beside him, her hand glowing with soft green light. A soothing aura wrapped around his waist as the swelling faded.
She finished healing him, patting his hand. "There. All better."
Then, with a playful wink—
"If your father ever goes too far again, tell me. I'll give him the silent treatment."
Gottfried blinked. "Uh—got it, Mom..."
He gave her a hesitant thumbs-up, and she laughed softly.