It had been twelve days since Belanor brought Reiner to Vandera.
In that time, Reiner had trained relentlessly under Thamaia's sharp eye and sharper discipline. His progress had surprised even himself. Where once he could barely coax a flicker of flame from his fingertips, now fire moved at his will—wild, imperfect, but real.
Today, the training ground crackled with heat and tension.
"Try not to get your head smashed," Thamaia called out, her voice casual—just before she hurled a boulder the size of a barrel straight at him.
Reiner ducked low, the stone whipping past with a harsh rush of air. It shattered against a distant pillar, sending a burst of dust into the sky.
He straightened slowly, lips pressed into a thin line, then drew a deep breath. The flame came with it—hot and eager beneath his skin. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he flung it outward. A fireball blazed through the air, streaking toward Thamaia like a comet.
She didn't flinch.
With a single stomp, the earth beneath her shimmered—then erupted into a wall of flame that caught the fireball and swallowed it whole.
Thamaia grinned behind the flames, eyes gleaming. "Not bad, Tar boy. You're catching on."
Reiner exhaled slowly, sweat glistening at his brow. "I'm still standing, aren't I?"
"For now," she shot back. "But let's see how long that lasts."
Under the shade of an ancient tree, Belanor watched in silence, arms folded across his chest. His face betrayed little, but his eyes followed every motion—measuring, judging, calculating.
There was fire in the boy.
But whether it would forge or burn him remained to be seen.
Thamaia stepped forward, her boots crunching against gravel. The wall of flame behind her fizzled out, leaving rising heatwaves in its wake. She rolled her shoulders once, then raised both hands.
"Let's turn up the tempo."
The ground beneath Reiner's feet shuddered. He barely had time to react before the earth split and a jagged stone spike surged upward, aiming for his chest.
Reiner leapt to the side, landing hard and rolling across the packed dirt. He came up coughing, hands already ablaze. Fire wrapped around his forearms like living gauntlets.
"Cheap shot," he muttered.
Thamaia laughed. "Then block it next time!"
Another stone spike shot toward him—this one faster, angling low to trip him. Reiner swept a line of fire across the ground, carving a shallow trench of scorched earth. The spike hit the flame line and cracked apart, brittle from the sudden heat.
He didn't stop.
Reiner charged forward, flames surging behind his back like wings. He closed the gap fast, throwing twin arcs of fire that licked toward Thamaia's sides.
She dropped low and slammed a hand to the ground.
With a grinding roar, a slab of earth erupted beneath her like a shield, blocking both fire streams. Reiner skidded to a halt, panting, as smoke and dust filled the space between them.
From behind the stone, her voice rang out—amused and sharp. "Not bad at all."
Then the wall exploded.
Chunks of stone flew in every direction as Thamaia burst through it, riding a platform of levitating rock. She launched herself high above Reiner, arms raised, hair streaming like black banners behind her.
"Let's see you dodge this, fire boy!"
She brought both fists down.
The floating platform shattered and dozens of boulders, sharp-edged and brutal, rained from the sky like the wrath of gods.
Reiner's eyes widened. He threw both hands up, forming a crude dome of fire around himself. The stones struck with deafening crashes—flame flickering wildly under each hit. For a moment, the shield held.
Then it cracked.
One stone slipped through—then another—until the whole barrier collapsed with a burst of smoke and sparks.
A final rock caught Reiner square in the chest.
He hit the ground hard, all air driven from his lungs. Dust curled around him as he groaned, limbs sprawled, fire guttering out across his skin.
Silence.
Then footsteps—slow, unhurried.
Thamaia appeared above him, silhouetted against the afternoon sky. She offered a hand, grinning like a cat who'd cornered a mouse.
"You lasted longer than I thought," she said. "That's something."
Reiner coughed, then took her hand reluctantly.
"I'll do better tomorrow," he muttered.
Thamaia hauled him to his feet with surprising gentleness. "You'd better. I'm only using half my strength."
Off to the side, Belanor finally stirred, stepping out from under the tree. His expression was unreadable.
He spoke at last, his voice low and measured.
"Your fire is growing—but it's still just rage and instinct. If you want to survive what's coming, you'll need more than that."
Reiner met his gaze, chest still heaving, a flicker of defiance in his eyes.
"Then teach me."
Belanor paused. Then he gave a single nod.
"We will."
Serapha appeared, and beside her walked Helena—her younger sister and a vision carved from summer light. She wore an emerald dress that flowed like wind-touched leaves, cinched at the waist with a bronze-clasped belt. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders, and her skin seemed kissed by the sun. Tall, graceful, and striking, Helena moved with the ease of someone who knew she was being watched—and enjoyed it.
She was smiling now.
She often did, especially when Belanor was near.
Belanor met their approach with a nod, eyes flicking to Helena, unreadable as ever.
"Training's over," he said curtly to Reiner and Thamaia.
The two trainees groaned in unison but obeyed, jogging back toward the house, already recounting the clash with wild gestures and half-laughed boasts.
As Reiner and Thamaia disappeared inside, the heat of the battle still clung to the courtyard air. Belanor didn't move, not until Serapha's voice broke the silence.
"Reiner's getting sharp," Serapha remarked, folding her arms as she watched the boy disappear into the house.
"Not as sharp as Belanor," Helena added with a teasing lilt, her eyes dragging unapologetically along Belanor's frame. Her gaze was bold—playful, provocative—the kind that lingered just a second too long.
Belanor gave a low grunt, choosing silence over acknowledgment.
"He'll need to be sharper if he wants to cut through the Empire," he said at last, voice as cool and even as stone.
Serapha arched a brow. "Hmm… I get the feeling you're grooming him for something bigger. A piece in your rebellion, maybe?"
Her tone was mild, but her eyes narrowed—probing, suspicious.
Belanor didn't deny it.
"Right now, he's a pawn," he said plainly. "He hits, but not hard enough. I see potential in him… The Flame Emperor does too. But if this war is to be won, he'll have to evolve. He must become something more dangerous…"
A pause.
"A queen."
Helena laughed softly—a musical sound laced with both flattery and sarcasm. "How poetic, Belanor. Still playing your little war-board games."
She turned to her sister, expression shifting—less amused now, more pointed.
"I know someone who used to be one of your 'queens.'" Her voice dropped to a purr. "I don't think she ever graduated from your board."
Belanor's jaw tightened. His gaze slipped to the horizon, unreadable—but his posture shifted, just slightly. Shoulders taut. Brows furrowing. A hint of discomfort flickered across his features—the rare crack in his marble composure.
"Don't bring up the past," Serapha snapped, her tone sharper now.
But Helena only smiled—utterly unfazed.
"She still loves you, you know," she said, her voice soft and sly, laced with mischief. "My sweet sister still dreams you'll take her back into those brooding arms."
She turned to Belanor again, eyes gleaming like polished amber.
"But I plan to steal her place," she whispered, her lips curving into a wicked smile. "And make you mine instead."
Her expression was intoxicating—equal parts charm and challenge. She knew exactly what she was doing.
"Helena!" Serapha hissed, warning pulsing behind her words.
Belanor's stoic mask faltered. Just for a heartbeat.
A faint blush touched his cheeks—the ever-controlled Belanor, caught off guard.
Helena's grin widened.
"Okay, okay," she said, throwing her hands up in mock surrender, eyes dancing with amusement. "I'll behave. For now."
But no one really believed her.
"When are you leaving?" Serapha asked suddenly, her tone clipped, betraying more urgency than she meant to.
"In a few days," Belanor replied. "Five at most."
"Where to?" Helena chimed in, arching a brow. "Escos?"
Belanor nodded. "It's the best place for the boy to test what he's learned. The Rebellion is stirring there—we'll join them."
At that, Helena looked down, fingers gently tracing the edge of her belt. Her smile faded, and for a moment, her eyes clouded—not with fear, but with thought. Something had shifted in her.
"Then I'll go with you," she said quietly.
Serapha blinked. Her expression stiffened, the breath catching in her throat.
"What?" she said flatly. "You're serious?"
Helena didn't flinch. "Don't look so shocked, sister. This place won't stay quiet forever. The Empire's patience is smoke in the wind—and we both know it."
Serapha's jaw tightened. "We've had peace for fifty years."
"That peace is fraying," Helena said, her voice soft but firm. "You can feel it in the air, can't you? The calm before the firestorm. And when it breaks, I'd rather not be trapped behind stone walls waiting for them to knock."
Serapha turned to Belanor, seeking reassurance—something solid in the shifting ground beneath her.
"They won't come, right?" she asked, though the words lacked conviction. "They wouldn't dare…"
But her voice trailed off.
Because Belanor's silence said more than words.
His face was carved from stone, but his eyes—dark and unblinking—told her the truth she didn't want to hear.
"They will," he said at last, his tone quiet but absolute. "The Flame Emperor is not a man of peace. He honors only his bloodline—and burns whatever threatens it."
He looked at Serapha then, not unkindly, but with a warning.
"If I were you… I'd start watching the horizon."
....
The wind stirred the fields beyond Vandera's walls, golden and quiet—for now. But in their silence, a storm was gathering. And soon, no corner of the realm would be untouched by fire.