The next morning, Lila wasted no time. The moment I woke up in the bunker, stiff from sleeping on a makeshift cot, she was already in my face with a steaming mug of coffee and a grim expression.
"Drink up," she said. "We start now."
"Start what?" I muttered groggily, taking the mug.
"Your training," she said simply.
"Training for what? Running? Because I think I nailed that last night."
Lila smirked, but her tone remained serious. "Running won't save you forever. Your power is a weapon, Ethan. If you don't learn how to control it, it's going to control you. And trust me, that never ends well."
After a quick breakfast of protein bars and canned fruit, she led me to an open section of the bunker. It looked like a repurposed gym, with padded mats on the floor, punching bags hanging from the ceiling, and an assortment of weights and strange equipment I didn't recognize.
"First thing's first," she said, crossing her arms. "What do you know about your power?"
"Not much," I admitted. "It just… happens. When I'm scared or angry, it comes out. I can feel it building up, like heat under my skin, but I don't know how to control it."
She nodded. "That's pretty common for new Manifests. Emotions act like fuel, but they can also make your power unpredictable. The goal is to channel it—use it on your terms, not the other way around."
"And how do I do that?"
"Practice," she said. "A lot of it."
She walked over to a small, scorched metal target mounted on the wall. "Let's start simple. See if you can light this up without burning down the whole bunker."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're not exactly filling me with confidence."
"Good," she said. "Confidence is for people who already know what they're doing. Now focus."
I sighed and stepped up to the target, raising my hands. The familiar warmth began to stir in my chest, but it felt wild, like trying to hold back a rushing river.
"Focus on the target," Lila instructed. "Visualize the fire leaving your body and hitting it. Keep your emotions in check. The fire's not your enemy—it's part of you."
Easier said than done. I closed my eyes, trying to summon the flames without letting them take over. At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, I felt the heat creep into my palms.
When I opened my eyes, my hands were glowing faintly, embers flickering along my fingers.
"Good," Lila said. "Now aim."
I took a deep breath and pushed. The fire leapt from my hands, slamming into the target with a loud whoomph.
It wasn't perfect—the blast was too wide, and some of the flames licked at the walls—but I'd done it.
"Not bad for your first try," Lila said, smirking. "You're not completely hopeless."
"Thanks, I guess?"
She grabbed a fire extinguisher from the corner and sprayed the wall where the flames had spread. "Now do it again. This time, focus on control. Less power, more precision."
The rest of the day was a blur of trial and error. I learned quickly that controlling fire wasn't just about summoning it—it was about balance. Too little focus, and nothing happened. Too much, and I risked an explosion.
By the time we finished, I was drenched in sweat and my hands felt raw, but I'd made progress. I could summon small bursts of flame at will, and I was starting to get a feel for the connection between my emotions and the fire.
Lila handed me a water bottle as we sat on the floor, catching our breath.
"You've got potential," she said. "But don't let it go to your head. You're still a walking fire hazard."
"Gee, thanks," I said, taking a long sip of water. "So what's next?"
"Next," she said, "we work on endurance. Right now, you can only use your power in short bursts. That's fine for beginners, but if you're going to survive a fight with Umbra, you need to be able to sustain it."
"Great," I muttered. "More pain."
"You'll get used to it," she said with a grin. "Or you'll pass out. Either way, it'll be fun to watch."
As the days turned into weeks, the training became more intense. Lila pushed me harder than I thought I could handle, but every time I wanted to quit, I thought about my mom. About the look on her face when those men stormed into our house.
I couldn't let Umbra win.
By the end of the second week, I was starting to feel more confident. I could summon fireballs the size of basketballs, create a steady flame in my palms, and even generate a heat wave strong enough to knock Lila off her feet during sparring.
But there was still so much I didn't know—about my power, about Umbra, about what it meant to be a Manifest.
One night, after a particularly grueling session, I sat alone in the bunker, staring at the scars my flames had left on the training mats. Lila found me there, her usual smirk replaced by something softer.
"Rough day?" she asked, sitting beside me.
"Just… a lot to take in," I admitted. "I don't know if I'm cut out for this."
"You're stronger than you think," she said. "Umbra's counting on you to give up. Don't give them the satisfaction."
Her words stuck with me.
For the first time, I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could fight back.