When blades sing and fire dances, truth hides behind the mask.
A friend may bleed beside you... yet plot your final task.
In war, even salvation can wear betrayal's face.
The land trembled long before the enemy arrived.
Elira stood atop the shattered arch of the Ruined Pillars, eyes closed, her silver braid swept sideways by the wind. Below her, the valley groaned — a sound deep and old, like stone remembering fire. The scent of ash hung in the air, thick and metallic. Birds no longer sang here. Even time seemed hesitant to pass.
He stood beside her — the boy now burning with the spirits' gifts. His wrist markings no longer pulsed; they *glowed*, steady and warm like coals in an ancient hearth. He could feel the power inside him coiled like a waiting storm.
"I feel them," he said softly. "They're coming."
Elira opened her eyes. "The Hollowborn," she replied, gripping her twin crescent blades. "Kael Thorne's experiments. Not alive, not dead. Just angry and empty."
He turned to her, something ancient flickering behind his gaze. "Then let's give them something to remember."
They came from the mist — dozens of them, hunched, bone-armored things with glowing eyes and spiked limbs. They screeched like twisted metal and charged without fear.
Elira led the first strike — leaping from the arch, landing like lightning. Her blades became arcs of silver death, carving through the first wave. The boy followed, hands aflame, his strikes burning through enemies like paper held to a forge.
The spirits whispered within him — guiding, empowering.
But they were *outnumbered*.
The Hollowborn kept coming. For every one that fell, two more rose. Elira was bleeding. The boy's flames were weakening. He staggered, caught off guard by a jagged claw aimed for his throat—
**And then the air cracked.**
A storm of daggers flew from above, embedding into Hollowborn skulls.
A cloaked figure descended like a falcon, slashing, spinning — ruthless and elegant. In moments, five Hollowborn fell around them.
Elira turned, panting. "Who—?"
The stranger pulled down their hood.
She was lean, dark-skinned, with amber eyes that glowed like molten metal. A scar ran across one cheek — sharp and clean, like the truth left by betrayal. On her back, twin hooked blades shimmered with dark runes.
"Name's **Marini**," she said. "Seeker of the Forgotten Flame. And it looks like you could use a hand."
The boy stared. Something about her felt... familiar. Wrong, but right.
Still, he nodded. "Then fight with us."
With Marini at their side, the tide shifted. She moved like a storm — agile, brutal, efficient. Her blades sang. Her daggers flew with uncanny precision.
Together, they fought — back-to-back in the firelight, three against the horde.
The boy unleashed a nova of spirit-fire, Elira severed the head of the Hollowborn Alpha, and Marini ended the last one with a blade to the heart.
Silence returned. The bodies smoldered. Ash fell like snow.
Later, as they rested among the ruins, Marini sat apart — sharpening her blades, silent. The firelight danced in her eyes.
Elira approached her cautiously. "You're good. Too good to just be passing by."
Marini didn't look up. "I was hunting them. Following their trail for days. Saw your fight. Decided you weren't going to survive without me."
"And now?" the boy asked, stepping forward. The spirits inside him were quiet, watching her with unseen eyes.
Marini smiled — tired, convincing. "Now I stay. Until Thorne's dead, or I am. Whatever comes first."
He nodded. "Then we stand together."
She extended her hand. "An oath, then. Flame to flame."
He took it — and felt a *sting*. Not pain, just a spark of something…off. But he ignored it.
Far from the fire, deep in the ash-choked forest, a figure stirred.
Kael Thorne's voice drifted from the void:
> "And so, the girl slips among them.
> Let her taste their trust.
> Let her wear their loyalty like a mask.
> When the time comes, her blade will not miss."
**To be continued…**