Chapter 56 – The Sky's Hunger
The desert woke before the sun.
Wind scraped the dunes in whispering spirals, carrying grit that tasted of salt and rust. The horizon burned faint orange, the last of the night dissolving into heat haze. Against that endless gold, the mesa rose—a dark tooth of stone jutting from the sands, its shadow cutting the morning in half.
John stood at its base, one boot on the cracked trail, eyes fixed on the swarm above. Hundreds of dark specks circled the cliffs—black wings glinting, long tails cutting arcs through the light. Every few seconds, a screech peeled across the sky.
Tamara drew in beside him, hood tight around her silver hair.
"Arrowhawks," she said quietly. "And too many."
"Three hundred by my count," Lysa murmured from a crouch, the desert glass glinting in her eyes.
Mara's shield hit the sand with a low thunk. "Well this is going to hurt."
John shook his head once. "Let's get ready."
He let the silence settle. The air felt wrong—alive, buzzing with motion that hadn't yet begun. His fingers brushed the haft of his spear before he exhaled and raised his voice, level and precise.
"Mara, you're the wall. Hold the front; keep Sera behind you. Lysa, traps along that ridge—use the stone veins for anchors. Blake, right flank—. Tamara, cool the air; choke the wind. Ember…"
The silver-furred creature at his heel lifted its head.
"…guard Sera. Nothing gets past you."
Ember chuffed once and padded forward.
No one questioned him. The rhythm of movement filled the quiet—metal sliding, boots scuffing, glass clicking beneath traps being laid. Above them, the circle of black shapes thickened.
John's chest tightened, but not from fear. This was it.
The first real test of J-Crew.
The sound hit first—a roar of feathers.
Then the sky broke open.
Arrowhawks dove in a torrent, black streaks slicing the dawn, their wings whistling like blades. The first impact was deafening: talons screeching against stone, the crack of shields, the hiss of frost.
John's voice cut through the chaos.
"Rotate left! Blake! Tamara, freeze the currents!"
A white pulse tore from Tamara's palms; the air solidified mid-flight, a wall of glittering frost. Hawks slammed into it, wings snapping, bodies tumbling in burning arcs.
Mara drove her shield into the sand—thoom—sending a ripple of stone outward that crushed a cluster of fallen birds.
Blake darted through the gaps, blade gleaming with dull green venom; each cut left smoke where blood should have been.
"Keep them grounded!" John shouted, twisting his spear to parry a dive. The shaft shuddered under the impact, but his counterstroke split the hawk's chest.
Lysa's sigils erupted along the ridge—explosive bursts of orange light that flung dust and feathers into the wind. Sera lifted her hands, Light blooming between them; when it burst, half the field went blind.
Ember leapt into the fray, claws aflame, each swipe tracing fire through air.
For a heartbeat, chaos felt controlled—like a rhythm they all shared.
But then the second wave screamed down.
The Fire that Moved
John felt it before he saw it—the pattern fracturing. Too many, too fast. He dropped his spear, breath steadying. Heat coiled beneath his ribs.
Alaric's voice murmured inside his skull, low and even.
"You've studied the theory long enough. Now let it breathe."
John slid one foot back, weight low, fists open. Fire answered.
It gathered along his forearms in living veins of light, crawling like molten glass beneath the skin. The air warped around him. Then he struck.
His first punch tore the air apart—a column of flame shaped like a fist erupted outward, slamming through a cluster of hawks. The detonation painted the dunes orange.
A step. A pivot. His heel swept low, carving a crescent of fire that curved into the sky before bursting in a chain of smaller explosions. Each motion was exact, equations rewritten through muscle.
Tamara paused mid-spell, her breath catching. Mara muttered through the noise, "That's not just fire."
Blake grinned, panting. "That's a statement."
John didn't hear them. He was already moving—striking, redirecting, flowing between offense and command. His shouts were sharp, clipped.
"Mara, three steps forward! Lysa—trap that hollow! Tamara, wall right—now!"
They followed without thought. In the space of minutes, the chaos became choreography.
The heat from John's strikes distorted the air; Tamara's frost snapped it back into shape. When one of his fire-fists detonated near her, she reacted instantly—raising a barrier of ice to contain the blast. Steam burst around them, veiling the field in mist.
Through it, he saw her silhouette—calm, steady, beautiful in the stormlight.
Then the next hawk shrieked, and he was moving again.
Mara's shield cracked a beak in half; Blake's poison burned through feathers.
Sera's healing light flickered between them like breath.
For a moment, the impossible felt almost easy.
But easy never lasted here.
A new sound rolled from above—a deeper pitch, heavier wings.
Ten shadows broke from the swarm. Each one larger than a horse, their feathers etched with violet sigils that glowed faintly.
Tamara's frost cracked before they even touched it. The runes on their wings shimmered, diffusing her magic like sunlight through glass.
"John!" Mara shouted. "They're warded!"
He already knew. He punched—a perfect Flameflow strike—but the fire scattered off their hides like rain.
The lead hawk dove, shrieking. Mara blocked, but the impact hurled her backward, shield fracturing. Blake slashed at another; his poison hissed uselessly on its feathers. One hawk ripped through the mist toward Sera—too fast.
Ember launched himself at it, intercepting mid-air. Claws met steel beak. The explosion of light and blood sent both spinning. Ember crashed hard, whimpering, silver fur stained red.
"Ember!" Sera screamed, diving toward him.
John's world narrowed to that sound. His pulse hit like a hammer. The air trembled.
Alaric's tone sharpened in his mind.
"Your fire can't burn this alone. Ignite your spirit packed with ember."
John's hand clenched. He could feel Ember's Light flickering.
He moved.
John dropped to one knee beside Ember, palm pressed to the creature's chest. Silver light pulsed beneath his hand.
"Then let's see what happens," he whispered.
The world ignited.
A rush of silver spiraled upward, wrapping around him in a cyclone of heat and ash. Ember's Fire turned into motes of light that sank into his skin. Runes appeared on John's arms flared gold and crimson; his veins shone through his flesh.
When he stood, the air itself bent. His eyes glowed white-gold.
Sand at his feet turned to glass. Even the sparrow hawks hesitated mid-flight.
Alaric's voice came, awed for the first time.
"Spirit Beast… Synchrony."
John inhaled, and the desert exhaled with him.
Then he struck.
Every punch birthed a storm.
Dozens of flaming fists tore from his movements, each one trailing ribbons of silver light. They collided with the swarm, detonating in blossoms of white-orange fire.
The sound was beyond thunder—raw heat rolling like waves.
John moved faster than thought, weaving martial rhythm into destruction.
Tamara raised ice walls to contain the inferno, shaping corridors of frozen air that directed his blasts. Blake darted through those openings, cutting down the stunned stragglers.
"Push with him!" Mara roared, driving her shield into the sand. Earth surged upward in ridges, forcing the remaining hawks into the storm.
Sera's Light pulsed between the intervals, sealing burns, mending fractures, keeping the rhythm alive.
In the heart of it, John was silent. Only motion.
Each strike perfect. Each breath contained fire.
Flame and Light twined into one unbroken dance.
One of the Step 3s tried to flee skyward—John's final blow reached it first, a single massive echo-fist that slammed into its chest and exploded mid-air. The creature vanished in a shower of feathers and molten shards.
Silence fell slowly, piece by piece.
Smoke rose in thin white threads.
The sky cleared.
John's knees hit the sand. The glow in his arms dimmed to embers.
Across the clearing, bodies burned and cooled—black husks littered with faintly glowing cores.
Ember was beside him in a shimmer of light, smaller than before, panting hard but alive. John reached out and scratched behind his ear. "Good job, partner."
Tamara approached first, cloak singed, frost still trailing from her fingers.
"when did you learn how to do that?."
John shook his head. "Just now."
Behind her, Blake limped up, grinning despite the blood on his face.
"Yeah,next time, maybe warn us before you turn into a volcano."
Sera laughed weakly, kneeling beside Mara to heal a bruised arm.
Lysa was already collecting cores, silent and efficient.
John looked over the field—what remained of the swarm—and let the breath he'd been holding slip out.
Alaric's voice came softly, not in command but approval.
"The flame remembers its shape."
The words sank deep. He didn't answer.
The desert wind shifted, carrying the scent of iron and smoke.
Then the ground trembled.
A low growl rippled through the sand from somewhere far to the east. The dunes themselves seemed to shiver.
Mara's head snapped up. "That's not wind."
John rose slowly, eyes narrowing toward the horizon. Heat shimmered there—something vast moving beneath it, the rhythm heavy, deliberate.
He wiped soot from his face and sighed