It seems a shame to be drafted into such a role simply because you have hands!

[Maybe it is the psychic thing? Well, anyway. Ingo takes a breath, focusing. He's still not at a point where using his moves comes quick and natural; acting instinctively in battle is actually easier than working on them calmly and deliberately. He does succeed, though, in spitting a small ember at the jug. Between it and the faint glow of his spots, the kitchen now shines with a dim ghostly glow.]

That will probably take a while to boil. But I suppose I prefer that to lighting the room ablaze.