The ground split beneath a scream.
It was not merely sound; it was a force—ancient, raw, older than words. Heat rolled from the far side of the ruins and turned every shadow into flame. Stone cracked. Water hissed into steam before it ever reached the fire.
Through that blinding light the shape came forward—wings first, vast and molten, bending the air as if the sky were glass. Glisarin Ignis. Her body shimmered like living ore, veins of fire pulsing under translucent scales. When she breathed, the world bent around the exhale.
Hunnt and Alder stood among the ruins. Behind them, frightened villagers huddled beneath half-collapsed walls.
Alder's sword caught the blaze, glowing pale against the inferno. Hunnt flexed his gauntlets once, shoulders loosening, face unreadable.
A whimper broke the stillness—a child's cry somewhere near the fallen wells.
The monster's head turned at once, pupils shrinking to slits. The glow in her throat deepened.
"Hunnt!" Alder shouted.
But Hunnt had already moved. The air displaced; ash swirled behind him. One heartbeat later he was at the child's side, scooping the boy up and rolling behind a stone arch as fire ripped through where they had been. The wall blackened instantly.
He set the boy down, voice even but iron-edged. "Run. Don't look back."
The child stared at him—terrified, soot-streaked—then bolted toward the other villagers.
Hunnt turned again, eyes narrowing through the glare. The Glisarin tracked him, molten veins pulsing. He felt the pressure build—an animal breath before violence.
"Get ready!" Alder barked.
The world erupted.
Flame roared down the street in a torrent. Hunnt dove sideways, cloak searing at the edges, the heat stealing air from his lungs. Alder dropped behind his sword, steel biting into earth, shielding his face from the storm. When the fire passed, the street glowed red like a forge floor.
Alder coughed once, smoke leaving his lungs. "That thing breathes hell."
Hunnt said nothing. His gaze stayed fixed on the monster's wings—the twitch before lift, the contraction before strike. There was rhythm hidden beneath chaos. If he could find it, he could survive it.
She moved first.
The Glisarin lunged, claws gouging trenches through the street. Alder met her in a frontal rush, sword sweeping in a broad arc. The impact rang through the ruins; sparks cascaded like meteors. The blade bit shallowly, barely parting scale, but enough to make her recoil with a shriek that rattled the ribs.
Alder grinned, teeth ash-grey. "Not bad for a walking bonfire."
Hunnt was already on the move. He slipped under the creature's wing, momentum rolling through his frame. The tail came whipping round—a wall of molten iron. He planted his heel, grounding the motion, letting the shock travel through his stance instead of breaking him. In that still instant he drove his fist up into the joint beneath the jaw.
The sound cracked through the heat—short, clean, brutal. The monster's head snapped aside; the light in her throat faltered. Alder seized the heartbeat of weakness and drove his blade into her flank. Sparks burst; liquid fire hissed against the steel.
"Keep her down!" he shouted.
Hunnt didn't answer. Talking wasted breath. He felt each movement in his bones—the timing between her wingbeats, the pauses between roars. Every shift of weight was a sentence he could read.
The Glisarin twisted suddenly, wings flaring. Light fractured. Three images burst outward, dancing through the haze—three burning queens circling prey.
Alder spat, eyes darting. "Which one's real?"
Hunnt closed his eyes for half a blink and listened. The air trembled differently around one of them—denser, heavier, threaded with the vibration of a real heart.
"There." He pointed once.
Alder didn't hesitate. He charged. The sword met flesh; false flames vanished; the true body screamed, staggering back. She beat her wings, and a wave of hot wind hurled both hunters across the street.
Hunnt slid, boots digging furrows, stance catching before he fell. Alder jammed his sword into the earth to stop himself.
"She's testing us," Alder muttered, panting.
Hunnt's voice was quiet. "She learns fast."
"Then we hit harder."
Hunnt's lip twitched. "Your turn."
Alder grinned, reckless and alive. "Don't tempt me."
He surged forward again. Talons came down like falling towers. Alder caught them on the flat of his blade; sparks shrieked; stone buckled beneath his knees. Hunnt darted beneath the clash, his fist slamming into the hinge of her arm. The limb jerked. The wing above them opened wide, tearing the air.
"Now!" Alder roared.
He twisted, driving his sword upward through the exposed membrane. The strike split scale and sinew; fire bled from the wound. The Glisarin's scream shook the clouds.
But triumph lasted a breath.
Her tail lashed sideways—faster than thought—and caught Alder across the ribs. The blow threw him through a half-collapsed wall. Stone exploded outward; dust swallowed him.
"Alder!"
No answer. Only the echo of flame.
Hunnt turned back, the monster's glare fixing on him. Her chest expanded; orange light gathered between her fangs.
He drew one slow breath. The world thinned.
At the moment she exhaled, he moved—just a shimmer at the edge of vision. Firestorm roared past, missing by inches. He felt his skin blister in the heat and ignored it. He was already at her chest, inside her guard. Three rapid strikes—shoulder, neck, collar. Each blow landed with the weight of a drumbeat. The third made her stumble back, bellowing, wings slashing at the air for balance.
Hunnt landed, dust swirling around his boots. His lungs burned; the metal of his gauntlets glowed faintly red. Above, the Glisarin's wings beat once, twice, then she took to the sky again. Ash fell like snow.
He watched her rise, feeling the ache crawl through his arms. Every muscle screamed; every nerve felt alive. He looked toward the rubble.
Alder crawled free, coughing, armor cracked, grin still there somehow. "Still breathing, kid?"
"Barely."
"Then we're ahead."
They both looked up. The Glisarin circled high, two suns blazing where her wings should be. Her cry tore the air open again, scattering ash like sand from the heavens.
Alder lifted his sword; Hunnt rolled his shoulders. Neither needed words.