Mohawk punched the empty air in front of him with a serious expression on his face. With his other hand, he twirled the staff that he used as his primary weapon of choice in a brilliant display of his dexterity. Streaks of fire danced around the staff while a ball of fire about twice the size of his fist shot out from his closed fist and slammed into the target that was set up five meters away from him, setting it ablaze in a brilliant display of red flames.
The training space that he had set up for himself had some burnt planks and blackened spots on the walls. He had been trying to get a good handle on his Gift ever since he had gotten it, and he finally felt like he had gained some modicum of control over it, no matter how small it was.
"Good job." A familiar voice pulled Mohawk out of his bubble of focus. He turned his head to the side to see Malim standing there, leaning against the frame of the door.
