NOVEL NEXT (Chapter 87) Miuson's Trial
"I understand," Miuson bowed, "and I am ready, Chief."
Without instruction, the young guard folded himself into the same cross-legged posture Liam had used, palms cupped just so, with his back facing his chief.
The chief glanced at him, wearing a quiet steadiness on his face. "You know what to do, Miuson?" Okun asked.
Miuson gave a short nod and tried his best to imitate Domitius' example. "I know, and I understand the risks." His voice was even, steeled in fact—something sharpened by responsibility compared to Liam's curiosity or Dama's abnormality. Then, as if to close off any doubt, his jaw tightened and his gaze hardened. "I have the memory I need."
Okun considered him for a few moments, giving Dama the chance to speak up. "W-Wait," he raised his hand, catching everyone's attention, "before you start, can I see it—your Fire Affinity—Mr. Miuson?"
Silence filled the air as Miuson and Okun looked at Dama, confused and intrigued respectively. Panicking in response, Dama tried to peddle back a bit as he waved his hand dismissively. "I-If you don't mind, of course...!"
Miuson looked down back at his hands, a flicker of doubt creeping into his steeled demeanor. "Right now? I...I don't know if—" He began to say, only to be stopped by a reassuring hand on his shoulder—Okun's hand.
As the boy looked up to meet his gaze, Okun chuckled with a grin as he gave his shoulder a pat. "I don't see why not, Miuson. According to my daughter, you've been practicing in secret, no?
Miuson thought for a moment, then nodded, heeding his chief. "Yessir." Was all he said before standing up and reaching for his spear, then walking to the torches in the room.
Now standing in front of the three torches, Miuson took a deep breath and raised his spear, as if preparing to thrust. However, just like he has practiced numerous times before, to the point it was near muscle memory, he began performing what Dama could only describe as a dance.
To Okun, he recognized the steps and manuevers as part of the guard cirriculum; a small smile etching itself onto his face.
Admist all the twists, turns, and thrusts of Miuson's practiced movements, the small kindling fires of the torches began wiggling about. The more Miuson sank into his own rythym, the more the fire responded to his movements, bending to his will.
At the end, Miuson stood up straight before driving the blunt end of his spear into the floor. With a resounding thud, the previously small fires responded by geysering upward into tall pillars of fire, almost hitting the roof.
Dama's face lit up, both from his own enthusiasm and the light show he was briefly shown before the fires settled. "So cool!"
"Indeed, it is," Okun concurred whilst rubbing his beard before turning his gaze to Dama, "I'm assuming, young man, no one in Enohay has a Fire Affinity?"
Dama met Okun's gaze, his eyes still as bright as ever. "Actually, no! Mr. Damien is a man born in Enohay Village who has a Fire Affinity! I've never seen it in action, and maybe never, since he left the village to move into Jufuris sometime ago."
Nodding, Okun began clapping for Miuson. "Well, now thanks to this young man here, I can bet you're over the moon with such a performance. I am myself, to be able to do this at such a young age is admirable, Miuson. Your potential continues to show."
Miuson bowed. "Thank you, chief. I cannot wait for the day I can wiled my full potential for you and the village."
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"In due time, young man." Okun chuckled before turning his attention back to Dama. "When it comes to you, I have a feeling you didn't ask Miuson to show his affinity just for the spectacle, right? Speak your mind, Dama."
Taken a back for a moment, Dama smiled. "Was is obvious? But, yes, I wanted to see it in action, then ask this: If soulura fuels Affinity Techniques, then how can Mr. Miuson do what he just did even though he doesn't know how to control his soulura?"
It was a question that has been on Dama's mind for awhile. It was one that even bamboozled Miuson, who had never thought of it himself.
However, Okun's face lit up, as if he was wishing Dama asked that specific question. "Solid question, young man! The answer is simpler than you'd think. Keep in mind that 'Affinities' and 'Affinity Techniques' are technically different. Almost every Affinity Technique is fueled by soulura, but what Miuson just demonstrated isn't an Affinity Technique."
Dama and Miuson exchanged confused glances, telling Okun that he needed to go a bit deeper as he cleared his throat. "Affinities, at their basic roots, is the natural attraction an affinity element has to our souls—and by proxy, our soulura. Your soulura guides its respective element. And remember, our souls are always producing soulura—some of which is used subconsciously, and most just leaks out."
Okun paused to give the boys time to think what he was getting at, studying their expressions. Both reflected contemplation, processing the chief's words.
A few moments later, Miuson perked up, his face a mirror of understanding. "And our soulura is guided by our emotions—an instrument of our will. The elements that are naturally attracted to our constantly leaking soulura bends to our will...!"
"Exactly!" Okun belly laughed and clapped once more. "It doesn't take much soulura to influence the Affinity Elements. For the average person with an affinity, when you're doing something that pushes your body or you start to feel an overwhelming emotion, your soulura levels increase just enough for your respective element around you to answer. Affinity Techniques is the next step, when the user is able to pour greater amounts of soulura into their element and completely take control of it instead of simply influencing them. At the highest levels, users can produce their element from their own soulura."
Turning back to the torches, Miuson stood unflinchingly for a few moments. As his mind went to work storing Okun's words, his body raised a palm toward the small flames. Their light reflected in his eyes, then, without thought, his fingers flexed inward. The flames quivered in response—a small reaction, but a reaction born from Miuson's influence nonetheless.
Miuson's mouth opened slightly at this, only to settle back into a small smirk. Without words, without taking his gaze off the fire, he sat down in the position needed for the first method. "Thank you for the lesson, chief. I'm ready—now more than ever."
Okun couldn't help the pride he felt show on his face hearing Miuson's resolution. Settling himself behind the boy as he had behind Liam, he placed his palms just over Miuson's shoulder blades. "Breathe," he said, "gather whatever is loudest in you. Make it fill your chest."
Miuson's eyes closed. The first image he reached for came suddenly, hot and raw: the night he returned from training the whole day to find Miron curled cold and still beneath the blankets. He saw his brother's face pale in the lamplight, heard their mother's ragged sobs—the throat-wrenching sound of a woman who'd thought she might lose her child.
He remembered the panic that clawed up his spine, the frantic checks for a pulse, the helplessness before the fever. Most of all, he felt the hate that settled into him like iron when he realized why Miron had been in danger at all—because of the Oni, because of an enemy that made the village life unbearable for no reason one day.
That memory did not bloom gentle and warm like Liam's thought of Alexandra. It flared—sharp, bright, angry. The heat began at the base of Miuson's sternum and climbed. Not in soft pulses, but in a steady, rising pressure, like a forge feeding on coal.
Anger condensed into fuel; resolve hardened into flame. The thought of Miron, of every small life the Oni could end selfishly, stoked that fire until it flared.
Okun felt it under his hands. Where Liam's soulura had been a gentle, Miuson's was a coiled and escalating heat—less the rhythm of heartbeat and more the expansion of an oven's bellows. The chief's eyes narrowed with interest, as the warmth he sensed was different from most, holding the forward-leaning momentum of someone who had trained that feeling into a tool.
In the quiet, the old man's mind ticked over the small clues: the way Miuson steadied his breath, the intensity that didn't dwell in sorrow or in love but in protective fury.
"He's practiced this." Okun thought, watching the boy collect the embers of his anger into his core. "Whatever that memory is, he's used to it, honing it."
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Next: (Chapter 88) Miuson's Trial: Part 2