"What if he is the seventh fire? He knows so much, and he's been leading us in circles, and…"
A sudden, subtle tremor shuddered from her pack, a vibration that felt less physical and more psychic, like a plucked nerve in the world itself. She fell silent, pulling out the ancient book. Its leather cover was warm to the touch. As she opened it, the pages rustled on their own, settling on a new passage filled with a script that seemed to writhe in the fading light.
Her voice was a hollow reed as she read the words aloud. "A deep silence looms over the town for the red-headed mongrel, who fell valiantly for their salvation. This repeats once more, though with an unexpected outcome."
"Sounds ominous," Daniel said, the words feeling inadequate.
"It's a riddle that leads nowhere," Alexa groaned, massaging her temples again as if she could physically squeeze the meaning out. "How does this help us? 'Who fell valiantly'… 'repeats once more'… It makes no sense!"
"You know," Daniel offered quietly, "there is in fact a redhead accompanying us on our journey."
"Who fell valiantly for their salvation…" Alexa repeated, the cryptic verse a taunt. She was on the verge of tearing at her own hair when a pair of warm hands settled gently on her shoulders from behind.
She jumped, a small gasp escaping her as Fiero leaned in, his voice a low purr next to her ear. "What makes no sense?"
"Nothing!" she stammered, snapping the book shut and shoving it deep into her pack, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The sun had finally surrendered, draping the world in deep blues and purples. A collective, weary sigh passed between the three of them, a shared admission of defeat.
"It's no use searching in the dark," Daniel said, stating the obvious as the first stars pricked the sky.
In the resulting silence, Fiero turned to him, the embers of a forgotten conversation glowing in his eyes. "You wanted to learn pyromancy, right?" he asked, a single eyebrow raised in question.
A spark, sudden and brilliant, kindled at the tip of Fiero's index finger. It was no mere trick of tinder and flint; it was a tiny, breathing sun, painting their faces in shifting amber and gold, pushing back the oppressive gloom. The shadows they cast danced like anxious spirits.
"Sometimes," Fiero murmured, his voice low and intimate in the new light, "the best way to find someone is to first learn to see in the dark."
Daniel, his jaw set with determination, held up his own hand, focusing with all his might. Nothing. Only a faint wisp of smoke that curled from his fingertip and vanished, a pathetic echo of Fiero's vibrant flame.
Fiero chuckled, a warm, crackling sound. He reached out and laid his free hand over Daniel's, his grip surprisingly firm. "You're trying to command it like a soldier. All cold intent and rigid will. Fire is none of that. It is a living breath. To wield it, you must be heated with passion, strong in spirit, but unpredictable as a summer storm."
"Less riddles," Daniel gritted out, frustration simmering beneath his skin. "Just tell me what I'm doing wrong."
"Loosen up!" Fiero exclaimed, and as if in response to his unleashed emotion, the flame on his finger swelled, roaring briefly to the size of an apple before settling back down. "The flame is born of chaos, not control. Let it find the kindling in your soul."
Daniel took a sharp, steadying breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders, unclenching the fist of his concentration. He held up his finger again, not with command, but with invitation. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a sputter. A flicker. And suddenly, a single, wavering tongue of fire erupted from his fingertip, casting its own, smaller, golden light.
Fiero clapped his hands together with genuine delight, the sound sharp in the quiet night. "There you go! You see?"
"Wait!" Alexa's voice was a blade, slicing through the moment.
The two pyromancers turned, their fledgling lights swinging to illuminate her. She was staring, not at them, but at a point just beyond the circle of their fire—a moss-eaten log where a scrap of crimson fabric lay neatly folded. It was a small, red handkerchief, looking utterly alien and deliberately placed in the wilderness.
Fiero's triumphant smile vanished. His eyes widened, the playful light in them extinguished by a sudden, profound shock. He knew it.
"It must be a sign," Alexa breathed, her intuition humming like a plucked string. "I can feel it… a connection to the seventh fire. It's a trail."
In two long strides, Fiero was across the clearing, snatching the handkerchief from the log. His knuckles were white as he clutched it, tucking it swiftly into his pocket as if to hide a wound.
"Hey, fireboy?" Daniel's voice was laced with suspicion. "We kinda need that."
Fiero shook his head, his back to them for a moment before he turned. The mask of the carefree trickster was gone, replaced by a raw, paled fear. "It's my sister's," he said, the words barely more than a haunted whisper. He looked into the middle distance, his mind racing down a dark path. "She's in danger. The Seventh Fire must have taken her." He muttered the next part to himself, a terrible realization. "Perhaps he manipulated her… with the promise of escaping my lady…"
"Your sister's?" Alexa asked, her voice softening.
The strength seemed to leave Fiero's legs. He sank onto the log, the very one that had held the damning evidence, the weight of his fears pressing him down. He sighed, a deep, shuddering exhalation that seemed to come from the core of his being.
"The Seventh must have taken her," he repeated, the words thick with self-recrimination. "I should have known. I should have taken better care of her."
The heroes stood in silence, the crackle of their magical fires the only sound. They were no longer just pursuers on a quest; they were witnesses to a confession.
"She's… everything to me," Fiero began, his voice gaining a fragile strength as he stared into the memory. "She is the trigger to my flame. She is the one who keeps me alight." He looked at his hand, where the fire had danced so easily moments before. "When the whole town was against us, calling us mongrels, filth, after our parents left us… she was always there. She would find a wildflower, tell a stupid joke… anything to make me smile. If not for her…" He trailed off, the sentence hanging in the dark, the unfinished thought more terrible than any specific fate. "I would be in a much, much darker place."
Fourteen Years Ago…
The air in the room was still and warm, smelling of clean linen and a faint, new-baby scent that felt alien in Fiero's world. He stood, a small, rigid statue of resentment, just inside the doorway, refusing to venture closer to the woven crib that had suddenly become the room's centerpiece.
"Fiero," his mother said, her voice a soft, tired melody. She gestured toward the sleeping bundle. "This is your new sister, Fiori. Please take care of her like a good older brother."