We didn't sleep that night.
Lirien said dreams were how the divine watched those touched by fate. "You're loud now," she said, as if I were some magical fire alarm the gods couldn't un-hear. "Your presence echoes."
Great. Echoes. Love that for me.
Instead of rest, she led me deeper into the ruins—down broken stairs swallowed by moss and time, past murals that had been scorched blank. The air grew cooler the further we went, until our breath fogged faintly in front of us.
Eventually, we emerged into a wide, circular chamber lit by shafts of pale-blue glowstone embedded in the walls. At the center stood a cracked pedestal with unfamiliar runes carved around it.
"Welcome," Lirien said, "to the Cradle of Ash."
"That name inspires so much confidence."
"It should," she replied. "This is where Kaer learned his first magic."
"…And exploded?"
"Something like that."
She handed me a smooth, flat stone from her satchel. It vibrated faintly in my hand, like it was alive.
"This is an anchor," she explained. "It ties intention to form. Thought to power."
"Right. Just plug my brain into the rock and cast Fireball."
She arched an eyebrow. "Magic here isn't about shouting words or waving sticks. It's will. Shaped. The gods made it clumsy with incantations. Kaer stripped that away."
"And you want me to just... try?"
"Yes."
I stared at the anchor stone. "What if I explode?"
"Then we'll try again with fewer limbs."
I don't think she was joking.
I took a breath and focused. "Okay. I want to create fire," I muttered. "Tiny. Controlled. Very not-kill-everyone fire."
Nothing happened.
I tried again. "Fire. Flame. Light."
Still nothing.
Lirien knelt beside me. "Don't *speak* it. *See* it."
"See it?"
"Close your eyes. Imagine the shape of what you want. The warmth. The hunger. Focus on how it feels to summon something that shouldn't exist here. Let your intent pour into the anchor."
I closed my eyes and tried. I imagined a small flame cupped in my hands. Not destructive, not wild—just warmth in the dark. A campfire. Something human.
The stone pulsed once.
Then again.
I opened my eyes—just as a burst of flame erupted from the anchor stone and rocketed upward, slamming into the ceiling and showering us with sparks.
We hit the floor hard.
"...I *did* say tiny," I groaned.
Lirien coughed beside me, her hood smoking slightly. "Better than expected."
"That was better?!"
"You summoned something real. Without words. Without runes." Her eyes glinted. "Kaer took three weeks."
I blinked. "Wait, are you saying I'm *better* than—"
"No," she cut in. "I'm saying *you're accelerating*. Which means we're running out of time."
Before I could reply, the ground trembled beneath us—once, twice. Like distant footsteps echoing through the bones of the world.
Lirien froze.
"They're coming," she whispered.
"Who?"
Her hand tightened around her staff.
"The Holy Knights."
Absolutely! Here's the continuation:
We bolted.
The Cradle of Ash trembled again—dust slipping from the vaulted ceiling as another *boom* echoed through the ancient halls.
Lirien led the way, her steps sure despite the dark, weaving through collapsed corridors like she'd run them a hundred times. I stumbled after her, anchor stone still clutched tight, heart pounding in my throat.
"How did they find us?" I hissed.
"You lit a magical beacon *straight through the ceiling!*" she snapped. "Even the dirt above screamed."
Fair.
The next quake was closer. Louder. A golden glow bloomed at the far end of the corridor behind us, like sunrise made angry.
"They're using relics," Lirien said grimly. "Divine artifacts. Blessed tracking."
"Can you stop them?"
She glanced back. "No. But *you* might."
"Hilarious."
She shoved me behind a broken pillar just as the glow rounded the corner.
Six knights in resplendent armor marched in formation, led by one bearing a massive sword that hummed like a tuning fork on the edge of shattering glass. Their armor wasn't polished—it *radiated*. Sunlight that never dimmed.
Their leader halted.
"He's here," he said. "I feel the god-taint."
God-taint? That felt rude.
The knight raised his blade. "You, Kaer Xal'zhur. In the name of the Sevenfold Church, surrender or be sanctified."
I stood slowly. "Right. Bit of a mix-up. I'm not Kaer. Just visiting. Very sorry."
"Blasphemer," the knight growled.
"I mean, I *am* a bit of a heretic if you think about it," I offered. "But not *that* heretic—"
He lunged.
The world blurred. His blade screamed through the air, and instinct—or fate, or sheer panic—moved me.
I thrust the anchor stone forward.
And *willed*.
The explosion was worse than the first.
A burst of violet flame erupted, not from the stone this time, but *me*—a shield of fire and shadow that shattered the knight's charge and hurled him backward into the wall. Two of his followers were caught in the edge of the blast and hit the ground, armor sizzling.
The hallway was silent, except for the soft crackle of residual flame licking along the stones.
I stared at my hands. "...Did I just cast a spell without the stone?"
"You're adapting," Lirien breathed. "Faster than I thought."
I turned to her, wide-eyed. "Is that good?"
"It's *dangerous*."
The lead knight staggered up, helm dented.
"This changes nothing," he snarled. "You *are* the Evil One."
I clenched my fists. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't *want* this."
"But you have it," Lirien whispered behind me. "And now you must decide what to *do* with it."
I looked at the knights, at the flame-charred stone, at the shadows curling at my fingertips.
I could run.
Or I could fight.
The knight raised his sword again—and I raised my hand.
This time, I didn't hesitate.
---