Embers of Determination

John sat on the bed, staring intently at the flickering flame of the lighter in his hand. Its light danced in the dim room, casting shadows on the walls.

"Alright, let's do this," he muttered, determination sharpening his tone.

He moved his other hand closer to the flame, hesitating for a moment before reaching out. There it was again—that strange pull. The fire seemed to respond to him, as if it were alive and listening. The warmth kissed his skin, yet he felt no pain, only a faint hum of energy.

Slowly, he brought his hand directly above the flame. Still no pain, just the sensation of raw power coursing through him. Taking a deep breath, he snapped his fingers, willing the flame to obey.

To his surprise and triumph, the fire leaped into his palm, hovering like a living ember. A small, victorious smile crept onto his face. He had done it. He was finally in control—

But the moment was fleeting.

The flame sputtered and disappeared, leaving his hand empty and cold. The smile vanished with it.

"Damn it!" he growled, hurling the lighter onto the bed. His fists clenched as frustration gnawed at him.

Three days. Three days of trying, and he still couldn't make the flames stay. No matter how much he focused, no matter how hard he tried, the fire slipped away from him.

He thought back to his memories. Even the original John hadn't truly mastered this. When the fire at his home stopped, it wasn't because of skill. It was instinct—a desperate, reckless instinct born from the fear of losing his parents. He had been so focused on saving them that the fire simply obeyed.

"But instinct isn't enough anymore," he muttered under his breath. His gaze fell back to the lighter. He had the connection. He knew the power was there, but every time he reached for it, it eluded him like smoke through his fingers.

Determined, he tried again. This time, he changed his approach. Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift, calling upon the memories he tried to bury.

The torturous month. The endless pain. The man with the unnerving, white smile and his mocking words: "You're just a defect."

Those words cut deep, but they fueled him now. He remembered the agony, the helplessness, and the rage. Most of all, he remembered his will to survive. Survival was his strength—it was what had kept him alive when everything else was stripped away. Even his system was of no use if he didn't have will to survive.

The flame responded.

From a faint flicker, it grew, spreading and swirling in his palm. First, the size of a fist. Then it expanded, forming a sphere as large as a coconut, steady and vibrant, dancing like it belonged to him.

For a moment, John just stared at it, awestruck by his success. Then, a grin broke across his face—a grin that quickly turned into a crazed, triumphant laugh.

He had done it. He had control.

This time, the flame didn't vanish. It stayed, burning brightly in his grasp.

...

X-Mansion

"Still no information," a blue-furred Beast in a white lab coat muttered, glancing toward a bald man seated in a wheelchair, wearing a strange device on his head. This was Henry McCoy, one of the brightest minds in the Marvel Universe.

"No, I still couldn't locate the source of that energy," Charles Xavier responded, his voice heavy with thought, as he removed the Cerebro helmet from his head.

With a small motion, Xavier manipulated the joystick on the armrest of his chair, turning it toward the exit. Without another word, he began leaving the room, his expression contemplative. McCoy followed closely behind, curiosity and concern evident in his demeanor.

"You don't think it's a human, do you?" McCoy inquired, keeping pace with the Professor's steady movement.

Xavier paused briefly, glancing back at his old friend. "No, Hank. This energy... it's something else entirely. And whatever it is, it's powerful."

The two continued down the corridor, the polished floors of the X-Mansion reflecting their muted footsteps.

Xavier's thoughts churned, though he kept his expression guarded. Both Jean and I felt it, he reflected silently. It wasn't telepathy. Jean couldn't discern much, but I could. It was as if someone was spying on us, probing us.

His expression darkened for a moment as he considered the implications. And then it stopped—abruptly—after sensing Jean.

As they stepped outside, the sounds of laughter filled the air. Children were playing on the sprawling lawns of the X-Mansion, their joy infectious. Watching them, a soft smile appeared on Xavier's face.

"Don't worry, Henry," Xavier said gently, his voice carrying a quiet determination. "I will protect them all—from everything, and from everyone.

McCoy glanced at him, realizing Xavier had read his lingering thoughts. He had been unable to shake the unease about the mysterious energy. But seeing the resolute expression on the Professor's face, a hint of reassurance settled over him.

Together, they stood for a moment, watching the children. Despite the looming threats, the world still held moments worth fighting for.

**********

Author's pov

Template ideas not related to fire .

Like Hans Humpty for blade, shion from Hell's paradise or Tigrevurmud Vorn for archery .

I don't want him to get fire template in starting and makeup for the weakness of not creating fire early.