The arrow sliced through the air without warning and without hesitation like a comet fueled by vengeance.It wasn’t just any arrow. It glowed with alternating streaks of golden-red crystal embedded into its shaft, and the fletching crackled with tiny tongues of flame. At its head, a flame-thrusted propulsion whistled behind it like a miniature rocket, splitting the air with that sharp, searing hiss that made even the wind flinch.It screamed toward Varohn’s head, an arrow born of fury and fire.And yet—he didn’t flinch.Not even a blink.In the blink of an eye, he swept one hand across his face, and dark flames coiled upward like a living mask, swallowing the left half of his head. The arrow never stood a chance. It hit the edge of that flame… and melted. Shaft, feathers, tip—gone, like it had been devoured by hell itself.Sahen’s head jerked toward the direction it came from, narrowing his pupils.He drew both daggers, low and sleek like fangs. And his slow and wicked smirk returned

“This is just… seriously messed up,” Kaelen muttered, letting out a breath that felt heavier than it had any right to be.He rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the fiery carvings beneath him as if they might suddenly whisper a cheat code.“I mean—what’s the point of losing my memories just to unlock some grand cosmic flame mojo,” he mockingly flicked his fingers, “only to not even remember why I lit myself up in the first place?”His voice dropped. “Sure, I’m doing this for her… but also, maybe I want to punt that smug, dramatic peacock Sahen straight into the sun. Just a little. Just a toe to the jaw, slow-mo scream, teeth-flying kind of payback. You know—justice.”His smirk faded fast.“But what’s the point… if I can’t even remember who she is?”Sahar’s expression softened, and then deepened into something older, wiser… heavier.“Son,” he started gently, “your memories… they’re just a part of what drives you. But that… that’s not what defines who you are.”His tone dipped,

Kaelen’s brow tightened, the lightness from earlier was gone like the wind through cracked stone. “What do you mean,” he said slowly, “the fates of the flame-born now rest in my hands?”He tilted his head, almost scoffing. “And… flame-borns? What even are those? Sounds like a band name. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the Flame-Borns!’” He smirked, then shook it off. “No, seriously, I don’t get it.”Sahrak didn’t smile.Instead, he closed his eyes for a brief second, as if steadying a storm behind his ribs. “I appreciate the fact that you still retained your carefree personality even after losing half the memories that made you an adult…” He looked to the side, towards one of the scorched wooden dummies, then back. “Honestly, that lightness—it might save you in more ways than one. But don’t confuse it for freedom.”His gaze turned sharp.“Because what you carry now isn’t just your fire. It's a legacy. And danger. And a whole world of beings who’ve never known anything but fire i

The desert wind hadn’t calmed—not really. It hissed low across the dunes, dragging dust across bloodstains like it wanted to bury the evidence, to make it all vanish. But the silence that followed the clash was louder than the battle. It throbbed with everything unsaid and unprocessed. Every breath felt earned. Every blink felt like it might break the spell holding the air together.At the far side, where fear had pressed four the guards flat against the earth, they finally stirred. One by one, they ran—not with urgency, but with a kind of broken reverence—toward the crumpled figure lying face-down in the sand. Vael.His back rose and fell in shallow motions, breaths pulling dust and defeat into his lungs. The guards moved carefully, like touching him might set off some latent curse. They lifted him—awkwardly, slowly, like the air itself had grown heavier—and began to carry him toward the huddled group near the shattered cart.Saltana stood with her fists clenched, tightening her jaw.

FWOOM.The burst of flame hissed through the air like a wild animal tamed mid-roar. It circled tight and neat, wrapping around the misshapen scraps of wood and metal with a dancer’s grace but a butcher’s heat. The air shimmered. Sparks leapt. And in the blink between heartbeats, the cart was born anew—half wooden, half metal, clunky yet functional, with one rugged wooden wheel and a scorched, gleaming flat metallic tire on the other side. Not beautiful. Not balanced. But it would carry lives across the sands, and that was all that mattered.Silence followed. The kind that only comes after witnessing something impossible made real.Zaria blinked through the heat-haze and smoke. Her pulse still hadn’t caught up with what she just saw. The cart steamed faintly, like it remembered the fire too vividly. Everyone around her was too stunned to speak—until Rokhen broke the stillness, stepping forward with that blunt certainty that somehow made people breathe easier.“Good…” he muttered, wipin