004 | The Dance of Fire

The moon has been growing fuller with each passing night, casting its silver light across the land and causing the sprout in my care to grow stronger. Its leaves have unfurled, and its small root has begun to stretch downward, searching for the earth it will one day anchor to. But before it can reach that final resting place, there is still much work to be done. The sprout must be imbued with the element of Fire, the force of passion and transformation, the very spark of life itself.

It was during one of these moonlit nights that something unusual happened.

I had been sitting by my hearth, lost in thought, when the flames began to flicker in an unnatural way. The fire shifted, not with the random dance of burning wood, but as if it were alive—alive in a way I had never seen before. And then, before my eyes, three small figures emerged from the flames—sprites, each one no larger than my hand, their bodies made of flickering firelight, their eyes glowing with mischievous glee.

"We are the fire sprites," one of them declared, bowing dramatically. "We have watched you tending your little sprout, and we have come to help you—if you can prove yourself worthy."

I raised an eyebrow. "And how might I do that?"

"By answering our riddles!" the second sprite chimed in, hopping excitedly. "If you can solve them, we will tell you how to imbue your sprout with the element of Fire without burning it to ash. But be warned, wizard—we are not easily outwitted!"

The third sprite grinned wickedly, a trail of sparks following the curve of its mouth. "Fail to answer, and your sprout will remain cold, untouched by the flames."

I had no choice but to accept. To proceed with the ritual, I would need the wisdom of these fiery tricksters. With a nod, I gestured for them to begin.

The first sprite stepped forward, its fiery form pulsing with anticipation. "Here is my riddle," it said, its voice crackling like the popping of embers.

"I am not alive, but I grow;
I do not have lungs, but I need air;
I do not have a mouth, and yet I can roar.
What am I?"

I chuckled to myself, remembering that fire sprites aren’t the smartest of sprites you might encounter. It was simple, yet still profound. The answer , of course, was "Fire," I said confidently.

The sprite’s eyes widened, and it let out a gleeful laugh. "Correct!" it cried, twirling in the air. "You are clever, wizard. But there are still two more riddles to solve."

The second sprite floated forward, its flames dancing with excitement. "Now it is my turn," it said.

"I am always moving, never still;
I can drown the land or quench its thirst.
I am gentle as a stream but mighty as the sea.
What am I?"

This riddle stirred something deep within me, a recognition of the flow of water through all things. The simple riddle reminded me of the intentions emotions I invoked during the Water Ritual last week. I took a deep calming breath as I responded.

"Water," I answered.

The sprite clapped its tiny hands together, showering sparks around the hearth. "Well done!" it exclaimed. "But can you answer the final riddle?"

The third sprite, the smallest and perhaps the most mischievous of the three, floated forward with a sly grin. I suspect I could have correctly guessed the answer before it even spoke, but fire sprites are rarely so interested in anything besides fire, and I was happy to oblige them. Its voice was soft, almost a whisper, as it posed its riddle.

"I am invisible, but you can feel me;
I can lift or destroy, gentle or wild.
I carry sound, scent, and whispers afar.
What am I?"

I closed my eyes and allowed the words to settle in my mind. This riddle spoke of something intangible yet powerful, something that connected all living things, moving unseen through the world.

"Wind," I said softly.

The third sprite let out a delighted giggle, swirling around my head in a spiral of fire. "Correct!" it cried. "You have solved all three riddles, wizard. You have proven yourself worthy."

With that, the sprites gathered around the sprout, their flames flickering but not burning the small plant. "Now, listen closely," the first sprite said, its voice serious for the first time. "To imbue your sprout with the power of Fire, you must conduct a ritual under the light of the Full Moon. Pass the sprout through a flame—a candle or a sacred fire—and speak your intentions clearly. But be mindful not to let the flames consume it. Fire is both a creator and a destroyer; you must guide it carefully."

I nodded, understanding the delicate balance that was required. The sprites faded back into the hearth, their fiery forms merging once more with the flames, and I prepared myself for the ritual ahead.

The Full Moon Ritual of Fire

On the night of the Full Moon, I stood outside beneath the vast sky, the air alive with magic. In front of me burned a sacred fire, its flames leaping high into the air, eager to impart their energy. I held the sprout in my hands, its leaves shimmering with a faint light, as if already attuned to the magic of the moon above.

With great care, I passed the sprout through the flame, allowing it to absorb the fire’s warmth without being consumed. As the light of the Full Moon bathed the ritual in its silvery glow, I spoke the words the sprites had shared with me, calling upon the element of Fire to fill the sprout with life and passion.

"By the power of Fire, I call upon the flames of transformation," I whispered, my voice steady. "Let this sprout be filled with vitality, courage, and the spark of creation. Let it burn brightly, but never be consumed."

The fire crackled in response, and as I completed the ritual, I felt the energy of the flames seep into the sprout. It began to glow faintly, its leaves and stem shimmering with a strange light—one that flickered like the flames themselves. It was as though the sprout had absorbed the very essence of fire, its small form radiating with an inner heat that pulsed in time with the beating of my own heart.

When the ritual was complete, I stood in awe of the sprout. It had not only survived the flames, but had thrived within them, growing stronger with the infusion of fire magic. The light of the moon reflected off its leaves, casting long shadows across the ground, and for a moment, it seemed as though the sprout was a flame itself—alive, dancing, and full of potential.

Now that the sprout has been imbued with Fire, it glows with a fiery vitality that flickers like moonlight through a flame. The final task is clear—to imbue it with the power of Earth and find the place where it will take root. But for now, I let it rest, its light still burning softly in the dark.

The time to plant it is drawing near.

–Jozwah