The sun crested the jagged peaks as Kael and his team crouched on the ridge above the Vale of Cinders. Below, the Flame Court's vanguard moved with disciplined precision—rows of soldiers in black-and-crimson armor, their formation unnervingly perfect. At the center, the Flame Judge stood unmoving, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as if already sensing they were being watched.
Kael's pulse thudded in his ears.
"She's waiting for us," he muttered.
"Then we don't give her the pleasure," Elara replied, eyes sharp. "We move fast, strike hard, and disappear before they regroup."
Nyra's voice crackled over the whisper-stone Kael wore at his belt. "Kael, we've confirmed the Judge's identity—High Inquisitor Veyra. She's known for hunting phoenix-bearers. Never failed a mission."
"Great," Kael said under his breath. "Just the kind of welcome I was hoping for."
"She's not invincible," Elara said. "But she'll expect a firestorm. So don't give her one—yet."
Kael nodded. "We split them. Confuse them."
They moved.
Down the rocky path and into the haze, silent and quick as smoke.
Elara struck first, loosing an arrow into a guard's exposed throat. The soldier crumpled without a sound. Kael followed, sweeping his hand through the air and sending a blast of searing heat into another, knocking him clear off his feet.
Cries erupted through the camp.
"Ambush!"
"Protect the Judge!"
Steel clashed and fire sparked as the rebels engaged. Kael moved like the flame itself—fluid, fast, and devastating. A soldier lunged at him with a curved blade, but Kael caught the weapon mid-swing, his hand blazing. The metal melted between his fingers.
"You picked the wrong phoenix," Kael growled and slammed the soldier back with a wave of fire.
To his left, Elara fought with precision—daggers flashing, cloak flowing like shadow. They moved together like they had trained for years.
But the fire shifted.
A gust of pressure filled the air, and the battlefield went silent.
Kael turned.
Veyra stood at the center of the camp, untouched by chaos, her pale eyes glowing gold.
She raised her hand—and the flames bent toward her.
Kael's fire.
"What—" he stumbled, the heat draining from his limbs. His flames flickered and died.
"She's a siphon," Elara said, breathless. "She's stealing your fire."
Kael gritted his teeth. "Then I'll fight her without it."
He drew the obsidian blade from his back and charged.
Their blades met with a metallic shriek. Veyra was faster than he expected—graceful, cold, and unyielding. Her strikes were calculated, as if she already knew his next move.
"You're not worthy of the flame," she whispered. "Just another cursed child wielding something you can't control."
"I don't need to control it," Kael growled, ducking under her blade. "I need to believe in it."
He rolled, dodged her thrust, and landed a slash across her side. Her robes tore, blood darkening the white fabric.
She hissed and staggered back.
Kael felt it then—a flicker of warmth inside him. His flame, fighting to return.
Elara leapt in beside him, blades gleaming, and together they pressed the attack. Steel met fire. Flesh met resolve.
Veyra snarled. "This isn't over."
She slammed her staff into the ground. A shockwave of fire blasted outward, throwing Kael and Elara back.
By the time Kael scrambled to his feet, the Judge was gone.
So were half the soldiers.
The battle was over.
But the war had just begun.
Elara limped over to him, face streaked with ash. "You alright?"
He nodded. "She'll be back."
"And next time?" she asked.
Kael looked toward the burning horizon. "Next time, I'll be ready."