Forged Destiny [Book 2: Ch. 8]

"Come on," I begged and rubbed my hands together. "Not too hot or they'll be incinerated. I just need to start a fire." I blew on my palms and held them out towards one of the chair legs, concentrating on generating heat, but not enough to turn it to ash.

It was something I'd practiced at home, as sort of a gimmick after seeing my father do it. The trick was to rub the wood and slowly heat it up, so that it caught fire instead of your hand branding fingerprints into it. I bit my lip as I tried to focus past the hypothermia I felt creeping through me. Come on, I begged. Please work… A light flickered. There was a tiny sizzle. My eyes widened and I had to resist the urge to grip the wood tighter. Slowly, frustratingly so, an ember sparked to life and began to glow. I leaned in to blow gently on it, coaxing it to life. Our own very much relied on it, after all.

Relief poured through me as it took hold and began to burn, creeping down the chair leg as a stead flame appeared.

—Forged Destiny [Book 2: Ch. 8]