The flame were slowly, rising from the center of his hand like something waking up, curling upward in threads of deep red and warm gold that twisted around each other in lazy, slow spirals.
It didn't roar. It didn't crack or spit. It simply burned, quiet and alive, casting a soft shifting light across his fingers.
Evan stopped breathing for approximately two seconds.
Then admiration came, "Woah."
It came out as a whisper, which for Evan was remarkable in itself.
Mira stood beside him, both small hands pressed together in front of her mouth, her round eyes reflecting the gold and red as she stared without blinking.
Azael looked down at the two of them and felt something warm settle in his chest that had nothing to do with the fire.
"Beautiful, isn't it," he said, with the relaxed confidence of someone stating an obvious fact about himself.
Arista raised an eyebrow.
"You're complimenting your own ability."
