The camp settled into a cautious rhythm after the gathering, the embers of the fire still glowing with the warmth of newfound hope. Yet beneath the surface, tension lingered like a shadow, fragile but persistent.
Lysa moved among the group with a quiet purpose, meeting eyes and offering nods of reassurance. She sensed the wariness, the careful measurement each person made between trust and fear.
Valerian stood at her side, a steadfast pillar in the shifting landscape of their alliance. Together, they began to organize patrols, pairing warriors who had previously kept to themselves, fostering new bonds forged in shared vigilance.
Kaelen, wrestling with his own lingering doubts, found himself drawn back into the fold, his watchful eyes softening as he witnessed the group's tentative steps toward unity.
But in the distance, unseen and unfelt, Raviel's dark gaze pierced the shadows, plotting his next move with cold precision.
The forest's breath was cold that night, mist curling between skeletal branches like whispers from another world. The first patrol moved in cautious formation, six figures slipping through the undergrowth with blades at the ready and eyes darting into the dark.
Kaelen led them, his posture tense but his senses razor-sharp. This was the first night in weeks that patrol assignments had mixed old allies with those who had kept their distance. At his side was Meris, the youngest of their fighters, her hand brushing the hilt of her dagger with every step. Behind them, two veterans walked alongside a hunter who had rarely spoken during camp gatherings, the awkward silence between them thick but unbroken.
Somewhere far to their right, an owl hooted, three short calls, the signal they had agreed upon for a clear path ahead.
But Kaelen didn't relax. Something felt… off. The forest wasn't just silent... it was watching.
"We keep moving," he murmured, signaling with two fingers. The group shifted their route, following a game trail that wound deeper into the shadows.
Meris glanced at him. "Do you think Raviel's men are out here?"
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "If they are, we'll know soon enough."
The mist parted ahead, revealing a clearing where the moonlight spilled like liquid silver. It should have felt like a relief but instead, the hair at the back of Kaelen's neck rose.
Lysa's eyes scanned every shadow, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. Beside her, Valerian's sword glowed with steady blue flames, illuminating the path ahead like a beacon of deadly precision.
And then they heard it, a faint, almost inaudible hum. Not mechanical, not natural. Something alive.
A sudden rustle...a sound too deliberate... snapped the team's attention.
"Ambush!" Lysa hissed, diving to the side as arrows sliced the air where she had just stood. Valerian's blue flames flared as he barreled forward, deflecting arrows midair and cutting down the first wave of attackers with sharp, controlled strikes. Raviel's red-and-black fire surged violently, engulfing a group of enemies in a swirling inferno that left scorch marks on the trees.
The attackers were relentless, masked figures wielding short blades and crude bows, their movements unnervingly coordinated. Lysa darted between trees, countering a strike aimed at her shoulder, while hidden archers rained arrows down from above.
"Keep moving!" Valerian shouted, his blue fire pulsing brighter as he slashed another assailant, sparks and embers scattering in the dim forest light. "Don't let them trap us!"
Raviel's flames shifted again, black smoke curling into the air as he let out a low growl. A wave of heat blasted forward with his sweeping arm, sending two attackers tumbling to the ground. Lysa used the opening, taking down a masked figure who lunged too close.
But the ambush was tightening. A trap had been set, a net sprung from the ground, aiming to ensnare them. Lysa rolled under it, Valerian's blue fire slicing the fibers just in time, and Raviel's red-and-black flames flickered angrily, burning the edges to ash.
The battle surged around them, chaos and fire intertwining. Lysa's breath came in sharp gasps, every movement a test of endurance. Valerian's blue flames glimmered like a sword in the dark, precise and relentless, each strike calculated to perfection. Raviel's red-and-black fire danced unpredictably, feeding off his fury, turning every attack into a lethal display of raw, emotional power.
Still, the ambushers pressed on, shadows in the forest that seemed endless. Lysa knew they couldn't hold forever—they had to break the ambush, or die trying.
---
[ A little while back]
It had started subtly, Valerian had noticed small inconsistencies during their missions, arrows appearing from impossible angles, traps that seemed custom-made to test them rather than truly harm, whispers in the wind that seemed too calculated to be random. At first, he suspected rival factions, maybe spies, perhaps even wild magic twisting the environment against them.
But one night, Valerian had seen it... Raviel.
They were moving along the edge of the Whispering Woods, the moon barely spilling light through the dense canopy. Valerian had paused, sensing something off. Shadows danced unnaturally, and the faint scent of smoke... red and black filled the air. Then a flicker in the corner of his vision: Raviel, crouched atop a ridge, flames licking erratically, a mischievous smirk on his face. A rope snapped, a hidden spike shifted, and suddenly a trap intended to block Valerian's path clicked harmlessly into place.
Valerian froze, heart pounding, the realization hitting him like a thunderbolt. Every "accident," every "ambush," every "coincidence" that had been unnervingly precise, it had all been Raviel.
"Why?" Valerian had asked, voice low, a mixture of anger and disbelief.
Raviel's flames had flickered black, then red, then a wild mix, dancing with amusement. "To see how sharp you've grown," he'd said, voice almost teasing. "You'll thank me one day… or maybe not."
That night, Valerian understood two things: Raviel was more dangerous than anyone realized, and he was playing a game only he knew the rules to. From that moment, every encounter, every mission, carried a double edge not just external threats, but the unpredictable fire of Raviel's whims lurking behind the scenes.
[Back to present]
The ambush had tightened into a chokehold, arrows whistling from every direction, blades flashing in the dim forest light. Lysa's movements were sharp, precise, but fatigue was beginning to edge into her limbs. Valerian's blue flames blazed brighter, illuminating every shadow, but even he could feel the pressure mounting.
Then, as if on cue, Raviel shifted. His red-and-black flames flared wildly, crackling with sudden intensity, and the temperature around them rose. The air seemed to vibrate with his energy, forcing their attackers to hesitate, their movements jerky under the oppressive heat.
Valerian had learned to read Raviel's moods, the pattern in the chaos. This was the moment.
With a roar, Raviel slammed his fists into the ground, sending a wave of red-and-black fire forward that tore through the enemy lines. Trees splintered, arrows melted midair, and the masked attackers stumbled, disoriented. Lysa took advantage, darting forward and cutting through two assailants who had been aiming for her flank.
Valerian's blue flames surged as he spun through the fray, precise strikes finding weak points in the attackers' formation. His eyes never left Raviel, moving in perfect tandem with the shifting waves of fire. Where Raviel led chaos, Valerian created control, a deadly choreography of flame and steel.
One masked figure lunged at Lysa from behind a fallen tree. She barely had time to react, but Raviel's flames flared black for a heartbeat, and the attacker was scorched before his blade could connect. The red returned in a swirl, as if Raviel's mood itself had decided the enemy should fall.
The ambushers began to falter, confusion spreading like wildfire. Valerian realized the truth: Raviel had not just been playing in the background, he had been orchestrating the battlefield, turning every threat into a tool for them. The ambush wasn't a trap... it was a severe trial, and Raviel's unpredictable flames were the key to breaking it.
By the time the last attacker tried to flee into the trees, Lysa's dagger found its mark, Valerian's blue flames cut off their escape, and Raviel's shifting red-and-black inferno roared behind them, a final warning. The forest fell silent, scorched leaves and smoke the only evidence of the chaos that had just erupted.
Valerian breathed heavily, his eyes meeting Raviel's. The faint, teasing smirk returned on his companion's face, and for the first time that day, Valerian allowed himself a small, wry smile. Raviel had been reckless, unpredictable, even maddening but in the end, his chaos had saved them all.
The forest was still smoldering. Thin curls of smoke rose from blackened leaves, carrying the sharp scent of char and iron. The air was thick and heavy, the silence almost deafening after the storm of shouts and clashing steel.
Lysa sheathed her dagger slowly, her gaze darting between the scattered bodies and the two men standing in the center of it all. Valerian's blue flames had faded to a faint glow, like the dying embers of a controlled fire. Raviel's, however, still danced in restless flickers, red licking at the edges, black swirling in between, as if he hadn't quite decided whether the battle was over.
"You're insane," Lysa said at last, her voice cutting the silence. She didn't specify which of them she meant, but her eyes lingered on Raviel.
Raviel's grin was lazy, almost infuriating. "Insane got us out of that ambush alive," he said, stepping over a fallen attacker without so much as a glance.
Valerian's jaw tightened. He remembered every subtle shift of flame during the fight, every perfectly timed surge that had saved them and every trap that might have been as much Raviel's creation as the enemy's. "Or maybe," he said quietly, "insane put us there in the first place."
For a moment, Raviel's flames flickered darker, the red receding into deep black. His smirk thinned, just slightly. "If you can't survive the fire, Val," he said, voice dropping low, "you'll never make it to the end of this war."
Lysa stepped between them, wiping blood from her cheek. "Whatever games you two are playing, keep them out of the patrol. We don't all have fire to hide behind." Her gaze swept the scorched clearing, her tone hard. "We bury the bodies. We move on."
Valerian turned away, but his mind lingered on Raviel's words and on the fact that, in the moment of truth, they had fought in perfect rhythm. Whether it was trust or simply survival, he couldn't tell.
Raviel lingered at the treeline, flames dimming, the smirk returning just enough to hint that the game wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
---
The patrol camp was quiet that night. The fires burned low, casting long, stretched shadows across the clearing. Men sharpened their blades in silence, others sat cleaning armor, the rhythmic scraping of whetstones the only sound.
Lysa stood at the edge of camp, watching them. Every face told a story, fatigue, unease, and that sharp edge of fear no leader liked to see. Fear didn't always mean cowardice; sometimes it meant they were calculating the odds, and those odds weren't in their favor.
She turned to Valerian, who was sitting with his blue flames dimmed to a faint glow, mending the frayed strap of his gauntlet. "They trust your sword," she said quietly. "But trust in command… that's a different fight."
Valerian glanced up, his expression unreadable. "Trust has to be earned, not ordered. After today…" He let the thought hang. The ambush was still fresh in everyone's mind, and while they had survived, it had been messy. Too messy.
"After today," Lysa finished for him, "we have to show them that we control the field. Not the enemy. Not… accidents." Her tone didn't accuse, but they both knew she meant Raviel.
As if summoned, Raviel strode into camp, red-and-black flames flickering faintly along his forearms. He carried a bundle of salvaged enemy arrows slung over his shoulder like trophies. "I brought souvenirs," he said with that same infuriating grin, tossing the bundle down beside the weapons rack.
No one laughed.
Valerian's jaw tightened, but Lysa moved first. "You'll keep your fire under command," she said, her tone sharp enough to cut through the quiet. "Every burst, every flicker, it serves the patrol first. Not your amusement."
Raviel's smirk wavered, but only for a moment. "You're assuming my amusement and their survival aren't the same thing," he said, eyes glinting in the firelight.
"Prove it," Valerian said flatly.
The silence that followed was thick. Raviel's flames dimmed, settling into a steadier red, and he turned away without another word.
Later, when the camp settled into uneasy rest, Lysa and Valerian stood watch together. The forest around them was calm, but both knew the peace wouldn't last.
"He's not going to change," Valerian said quietly.
"No," Lysa agreed. "But we can change how the others see him. If they think we can manage him, they'll believe we can manage anything."
Valerian's blue flames flickered faintly in the dark, steady and controlled. "Then we make that our first victory."
Somewhere in the camp, Raviel's laughter drifted softly through the night, a reminder that victory, like trust, would never come without fire.
---
The morning air was cold enough to bite. Mist clung low to the ground, curling around boots as the patrol formed up. Lysa stood at the front, her voice carrying through the fog.
"We move out in two columns," she said. "Silent advance. We keep formation until my signal. No deviations."
Her gaze lingered on Raviel, who leaned against a tree, flames idly flickering along his hands, red one moment, black the next.
Valerian stepped forward, his tone calm but firm. "We're walking into a choke point. That means they'll expect us to scatter. We don't scatter. We break through together. Raviel..." He let the pause hang, ensuring every soldier was watching. "... your fire will hit only when and where I tell you."
Raviel tilted his head, the smirk tugging at his lips. "And if I see a better opportunity?"
"You won't," Valerian said, his blue flames flaring just enough to show he wasn't negotiating.
The march began. The forest closed in around them, branches overhead knitting together until the light dimmed. They moved in silence, boots muffled on damp earth. Lysa kept her eyes ahead, Valerian's gaze scanned the flanks, and Raviel, surprisingly... kept his fire dimmed.
The enemy struck at the choke point as predicted, hidden crossbowmen in the rocks above, spearmen charging from the front.
"Hold," Lysa commanded. Arrows hissed through the mist. Valerian's blue flames surged in controlled bursts, deflecting shots before they could hit the front line. The formation stayed tight, disciplined.
Raviel's flames flared in anticipation, but he didn't move.
"Now!" Valerian barked.
In an instant, Raviel's red-and-black fire exploded forward, but this time, it was sharp, precise, directed exactly where Valerian pointed. The flames ripped through the enemy's front ranks, scattering them without touching the patrol.
"Left flank!" Lysa called.
Raviel pivoted, black fire swallowing an approaching cluster before they could close in. His movements were still devastating, still wild in appearance, but every strike was within the plan.
Within minutes, the enemy broke. The choke point was theirs.
As the patrol regrouped, Lysa met Raviel's gaze. For once, his smirk wasn't mocking, it was sharp, deliberate. "See?" he said, voice low enough for only her and Valerian to hear. "I can play your game. Question is… how long before you start playing mine?"
Valerian didn't answer, but as they marched on, he knew one thing: the fire was caged for now. How long it stayed that way was another matter entirely.