He gave a final nod. "Back to it."
I turned to Torglel, rolling my shoulders to shake off the stiffness. "You ready to spar?"
He bounced like a keg with opinions, grin stretching wide beneath his braided beard. "You bet. Let's show 'em what a real sparring match looks like."
The moment I drew Celerius and Mors—vibrating in my grip, one a low hum, the other a crackling buzz—he charged. The ground echoed under his charge, a promise of pain wrapped in footsteps.
I ran to meet him, the thrill of the fight igniting my blood.
He swung hard. The hammer cut a brutal arc through the air, a low whoosh trailing behind. I dropped low, knees tearing through the dirt. The hammer passed overhead—then I was up again, blades flashing like silver wind.
Torglel leapt back—nimble, despite the bulk. I swear I saw a severed hair or two drift from his beard. Then he swung again—this time with intent. The hammer swept wide, and a wave of fire roared toward me—crimson and gold, heat warping the air.
I crossed my swords into an X. Lightning crackled down the blades, sharp and electric. Flame met thunder in a deafening blast. Sparks and embers exploded outward, shaking the clearing. The ground trembled. Char and scorched earth filled my lungs.
Before the smoke cleared, I was already moving.
Lightning surged through me. My nerves sparked and burned, raw and electric. I blurred forward—speed crackling through me, the world struggling to keep up.
Torglel's eyes widened—but he reacted fast. He planted his hammer and thrust both hands out. Flames swirled, thick and molten, like poured metal. A sphere of fire erupted—blazing, radiant. Grass blackened at its edge.
I slammed both blades into it. Sparks flew. The fire held. My swords scraped harmlessly off the barrier, heat licking at my knuckles.
I cursed and darted back, boots skidding through dirt.
Then I charged again.
I leapt, both swords out front, spinning and drilling through the flames. Heat clawed at my skin, smoke trailing from my armor as I bored a tunnel straight through the fire.
Torglel dropped the shield and sidestepped. I flew past and hit the ground face-first. I tasted dirt and possibly shame.
But I didn't stop—I sprang up and unleashed a rapid barrage of lightning strikes. Each bolt cracked through the air—jagged streaks of white-blue sizzling toward him.
Torglel launched skyward. Wings of fire burst from his back—fierce, brilliant. Flames wrapped around him, reshaping him.
And then, with a roar that shook the trees, he transformed—his entire body consumed by fire, emerging as a massive phoenix. Feathers of flame trailed embers in his wake.
Wings curled tight, he dove—a blazing comet in full flight. The sky bled light, torn open by the fury of his descent. It didn't just fall out of the sky—it descended, wearing a dwarf's fury and the full weight of fire made flesh.
"Oh, come the fu—"
That was all I got out before he hit.
It felt like the sun had a grudge and I owed it money. The impact obliterated the clearing. A pillar of flame shot skyward, blinding and absolute. The shockwave thundered out in a circle, flattening trees, sending boulders tumbling end over end. The ground fractured beneath us, chunks of earth erupting into the air. In an instant, it felt like the world itself shattered—flame, light, and chaos everywhere.
For a moment, there was no sound. Just the white-hot howl of heat and a silence so thick it felt sacred.
Then the world came back all at once—blinding light and ringing ears.
When the dust settled, we were both flat on our backs. We lay there for a moment in the wreckage. Just breathing. Not laughing yet—just taking inventory of ribs, limbs, fingers. The kind of stillness that only follows near-death or near-glory. We lived in the breath between.
Even the birds had shut up. Like the whole forest was trying to figure out if we'd just survived a miracle or a mistake. It was both.
Smoke curled from the scorched earth around us. My chest heaved. Every muscle screamed. All I could hear was the crackle of dying embers and our ragged breathing.
Then we burst out laughing—raw, unguarded.
"Did you really have to use your Emberforge signature?" I asked, grinning through the ache in my ribs, the taste of ash thick on my tongue.
Torglel snorted, rolled onto his side, and gave me a look. "You'd have done the same, ya sneaky bastard."
"If I didn't know you, I'd think you were trying to kill me."
"I know you're harder to kill than that, brother." His laughter boomed, echoing through the trees.
We hauled each other to our feet, hands clasped, shoulders burning. My legs wobbled, but the rush kept me upright.
"Are you two out of your minds?" Alythiel's voice cracked through the clearing like a whip. She stormed over. "What if that move had killed him?"
"Alythiel, it's fine," I said, brushing ash from my shoulder. "Torglel and I have built up immunities to each other's magic. We've been hit so many times, it barely registers anymore."
She stared at us, incredulous. "I know we can build resistance, but immunities? That's... that's insane."
"Torglel and Solari are experts at defying logic and throwing reason out the window," Laboritus called from a tree, voice dry, bow slung over one shoulder. "Trust me. You get used to it."
I don't think she ever did—not really.
She crossed her arms, fixing me with a stare that could've cracked stone. "I'm not sure if that makes me feel better... or worse."
Torglel turned to Laboritus, the glint returning to his eyes. "Ready to learn how to take down Solari?" he asked, winking at me.
I shook my head, chuckling. Laboritus couldn't ask for a better teacher. Torglel and I had spent years mapping out each other's fighting styles—every trick, every feint, every reflex.
Before I could retort, Alythiel grabbed my arm. Her grip was firm. Warm. "I need more ingredients for some potions I'm making," she said with a small smile that didn't hide the concern in her eyes. "Come with me?"
"Of course," I said, rolling my shoulders. "Could use a break anyway."
We walked through the city, the hum of the market all around—vendors haggling, laughter and the flutter of wings overhead, the air heavy with spice and smoke.
She broke the silence first. "Why do you act with such reckless abandon when we train?"
It wasn't accusing—just curious. And heavy with worry.
"It's the best way to get stronger," I answered. Calm. Simple.
She frowned. "I'm worried you're pushing too hard. I don't want anything to happen to you."
"That's why I train. So I can survive. So I can stop Zolphan."
She studied me. "Is it revenge? Or do you want to be a hero?"
"Neither," I said. "No one even knows Drydalis exists. If Zolphan goes unchecked, who knows what he'll do. I'm not trying to be a hero. I just... someone has to stop him. It's the right thing to do."
She fell silent. Her fingers lingered—then slid to my shoulder, squeezing it gently.
"Just remember, you don't have to do this alone. Don't let it consume you."
There was something in her voice then. Not fear. Not weakness. Just the quiet certainty of someone who'd already watched someone else disappear into their own fire.
And I didn't want to ask who.
I gave her a weak smile. "I'd rather die than be consumed."
I didn't notice how close I would come to the edge. You don't feel consumed until there's nothing left to burn.
I handed her the hope I couldn't hold onto myself, letting her believe it. Maybe the truth would find me in time.
We finished gathering ingredients—sharp-smelling herbs, glowing fruit—and headed back to the training field.
Torglel and Laboritus were locked in light sparring. Torglel's hammer swung lazily, his voice booming, "Keep your feet wider, ya lanky twig!" Laboritus adjusted, bow traded for a staff, striking with precision even while gritting his teeth through the dwarf's teasing.
"Next time I knock you on your posterior, try not to light the forest on fire," he muttered dryly, eyes still scanning Torglel's stance.
When they saw us, they stopped and came to meet us.
"Solari, you sly bugger," Torglel said, grinning as he clapped my back hard enough to jostle my thoughts from my skull. "Slipping away with a lady like that."
"She asked me to," I said with a smirk. "Nothing more."
"Uh huh," he said, still grinning. "Whatever you say."
We all laughed—raw, real. In that moment, we weren't just training.
We were a unit. We weren't tempered in triumph. We were soldered in stupidity and stitched together with pain—but somehow, it held.
Ready for whatever came next.