Three Years Ago…
The voice was a silken thread, woven through the deep, sleeping silence of the forest. It found Fiero as he kept his vigil over his sleeping sister. He tucked the thin blanket tighter under Fiori's chin, his promise to return a silent vow made to her peaceful form. Then, he slipped into the consuming darkness.
The voice called again, sweet and soothing, yet it kindled a fire in his veins, a spark seeking tinder. It pulled him, an irresistible current, deeper into the heart of the woods where the moon dared not shine.
He ran, branches whipping at his arms, driven by a need he couldn't name.
"Fiero…"
He skidded to a halt, his breath ragged plumes in the chill air. "Who are you?"
And then he saw it. A bush, engulfed in a conflagration of pure, white-hot flame. Yet, the leaves remained emerald green, untouched, dancing within the inferno without being consumed. It was impossible. It was divine.
"You are tired of being powerless, aren't you?" The voice was gentle, feminine, yet it resonated with the crackling power of a star. "Tired of the slurs, the hunger, the fear?"
"Well…" he began, the admission caught in his throat.
"And your sister… you want nothing more than to shield her from this cruel world? To give her a life of warmth, of safety?"
"Yes!" The word burst from him, raw and fervent. "Yes, I do!"
The flames rippled, weaving visions in their heart: Fiero, standing proud among companions who looked at him with respect; Fiori, her face flushed and healthy, running through sun-drenched streets in fine clothes; a feast laid upon a grand table, their laughter echoing in a warm, sturdy home.
"You want that, don't you?"
His pupils dilated, swallowing the reflected fire. "Yes."
"Then help me, Fiero. Be my champion. Be my avatar of fire."
Without a second thought, without a single question for the cost, he dropped to his knees before the burning bush, his entire being trembling with awed submission.
"Yes," he whispered, the title feeling both alien and destined on his tongue. "My Lady."
The clearing was utterly still, the weight of Fiero's confession hanging heavy in the air. He had laid his soul bare before the heroes—the abandonment, the violence, the desperate love for his sister, and the fateful pact that had granted him power. He had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that the raw truth of his past would paint his present in a different light. That they might see a man trying to save his family, not just a champion of their enemy.
Alexa was silent, her expression unreadable. His story was a tragedy, yes, a tapestry woven with threads of pain. But it didn't change the stark, central fact: he was the chosen of Cantar, the entity they were sworn to oppose.
Daniel's gaze was a whetstone, sharp and assessing. "So you're the champion of Cantar, aren't ya?"
Fiero gave a single, solemn nod.
"But there are seven fires," Daniel pressed, his mind racing ahead. "Why would a goddess need both a champion and a cadre of seven?"
Fiero hesitated, the internal war between secrecy and necessity playing out in his eyes. If he wanted their help, this was the price. Full disclosure. "I assembled them," he admitted, his voice low. "I was the first."
Daniel blinked, the surprise cutting through his suspicion. "You?!"
Fiero raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Look, I'm not here to fight. You two swore to bow before Lady Cantar—that makes you her potential allies, not her enemies. And I need your help to find my sister. She's with the Seventh Fire. If we can agree on that single goal, there's no reason for violence."
"So which one are you?" Daniel asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
In answer, Fiero extended a hand. The air shimmered with heat as flames spiraled from his palm, coalescing, hardening, until they formed the shape of a long rifle, its barrel glowing with molten light, its stock carved from solidified embers.
"The first of the seven," he declared, the weapon's heat causing the air to waver around it. "The Soldier of Fire."
Before the heroes could process this new revelation, before their wary glances could solidify into a decision, Fiero's body went rigid. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the forest floor, his fiery rifle dissipating into a shower of dying sparks.
"Fiero!" Alexa shouted, springing to her feet, her hand flying to the hilt of her blade. Daniel was already scanning the tree line, his body coiled.
There. A veiled figure, standing motionless between two ancient oaks in the middle distance, watching them. As they moved to pursue, a hand fell lightly on Alexa's shoulder.
They spun around to find a slim young man standing behind them, dressed in clothes that were an absurdly regal mix of velvet and silk, utterly out of place in the wild. His long, white hair seemed to glow in the dim light.
"Are you heroes of Rhya?" he asked, his voice oddly melodic.
They whirled back toward the trees. The veiled figure was gone. And so was Fiero's unconscious form.
"Yes," Alexa snapped, anger and frustration igniting in her chest. That shadow had to be the Seventh Fire. And now they had taken their only lead.
"Great," the stranger said lightly, a faint, knowing smile on his lips. "I'm Nikolai. The wind and trees have brought me to you."
Daniel threw his hands up in exasperation. "Listen, Nikolai, neither trees nor wind can talk. Have a good day!" He turned to stalk off, muttering about "riddles and madmen."
He hadn't taken two steps when a visible wall of wind howled into existence before him, ripping leaves from branches and forcing him to stagger back, shielding his face.
"I said," Nikolai sighed, brushing a stray strand of white hair from his emerald eyes, "the trees told me you'd need my help." He crossed his arms, his gaze gleaming with unshakable confidence. "I know where the one you're looking for went. And I can help you take them down."
Alexa and Daniel exchanged another long, searching look. This Nikolai was an enigma, his attire speaking of courts, not forests, his presence as commanding as it was bizarre.
Still… he had a power they couldn't deny. And help, no matter how strangely packaged, was a currency they were running desperately short on.