"Quiet, now," one of the men hissed, his voice barely a whisper. "The beasts are lying just below." Beneath the bridge that led to the entrance, a pool of flaming magma churned, a fitting moat for the fire goddess's domain.
First step in, a wall of dry, chilling heat assaulted Alexa. The air itself seemed to shimmer with a suffocating intensity. She fanned the front of her dress in a futile, repeated motion.
"D-Don't you feel that? It's gotten so much hotter, Danny."
"Huh? Oh, not really." Daniel's reply was absent, his focus entirely on scanning the architecture with a cold, analytical intensity. He was so engrossed he hadn't even registered the nickname he despised.
The hall seemed to stretch on forever, its end swallowed by shadows. The only sounds were the echo of their footsteps and the low hum of the stone beneath. After a walk that felt both endless and measured, the path terminated at a wall of formidable, riveted steel—a door so vast it seemed less an entrance and more a fortress wall.
As they halted before it, the seven hooded figures stepped forward. In a voice that was neither a shout nor a whisper, but a resonant hum that vibrated in the bones, they chanted as one:
"Āgatāḥ sma, sapta agnīnām." (We have arrived, the Seven of Fires.)
With a low groan, the steel gate creaked open. The air filled with the repeated, rhythmic thud of scabbards: it's not a mere tribute, but a tribal welcome for a foreign soul.
As Daniel and Alexa stepped across the threshold, Cantar's voice spread through the room, cold and absolute.
"Stop."
Her voice echoed, not as a sound, but as a vibration that shimmered across the soldiers' forged armor. The Goddess slowly placed an elbow on the gargantuan throne, her lips curling into a faint, cruel smile before she uttered a single, pointed question.
"I heard you seek to meet my proudest creation, mortal."
Daniel bowed, his posture a perfect picture of reverence. "Agniṃ namati eṣaḥ martyaḥ," he intoned, the ancient syllables flowing from his tongue with the ease of a practiced devotee. (This mortal bows before the Goddess of Fire.)
Behind him, Alexa went rigid. A cold dread tightened in her chest. An Outer God worshipper? The thought was unthinkable. Her voice emerged as a sharp, hushed whisper. "Daniel, what are you doing?"
They had no telepathy, but in that suspended moment, an understanding passed between them as clearly as spoken words. Daniel's eyes met hers, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips as he gave a single, deliberate nod upwards.
That was all it took. The pieces clicked into place in Alexa's mind, and she knew—this was all part of his scheme.
A short, derisive laugh escaped the Goddess of Fire. "So," she mused, her voice like embers shifting in a grate, "you finally recognize true power, mortal?" In one fluid motion, her hooded figure ascended from the throne of flame. Her next command was absolute. "All disciples, leave us."
As one, the followers paused. A silent conversation passed between them in the space of a single breath before they turned and processed out of the hall in unnervingly perfect unison. The great doors boomed shut, leaving Daniel and Alexa alone in the cavernous space with the Seven of Fires—and their goddess.
"Now," Cantar purred, her fingers lifting Daniel's chin. "What changed your mind? Do not simply tell me you've developed a taste for fire." A low giggle escaped her, the sound of cracking embers.
In a move of breathtaking audacity, Daniel seized her wrist. He leaned in, close enough for her to feel his breath, and scoffed. "Power. It is the only thing I have ever needed."
In an instant, the air hissed as the Seven of Fires drew their blades, a ring of steel and imminent death. "How dare you lay a hand on Her Grace!" a voice roared—soothing in tone, yet venomous in intent.
Cantar merely raised her free hand. "Peace, my shield," she murmured, her gaze locked on Daniel. The weapons lowered in unison, though the threat in the air remained.
A laugh burst from Daniel's lips. "Truly amazing, Your Grace! This is the power I seek to understand! To wield!"
Like a fever taking hold, his fervor proved infectious. A wide, predatory smile spread across Cantar's face. "How fitting you are, mortal." In a whisper of displaced heat, she teleported back to her throne, her expression turning pensive as she considered the bold creature before her.
"But how do I ensure your loyalty, mortal?" The Goddess's fingers drummed a slow, impatient rhythm on the arm of her throne. She rose to her full height, her voice a whip-crack in the hall. "Then swear it. Swear on your very names."
Without hesitation, Daniel knelt. "I, Daniel Kynthos," he declared, his voice ringing with false conviction, "swear upon my soul that I will follow the Goddess of Fire." As he bowed his head, his eyes flickered back to meet Alexa's for a single, charged moment.
She understood instantly. Stepping forward, she too knelt, her voice clear and steady. "And I, Alexa Renghod, swear upon my soul that I will follow the Goddess of Fire."
To any listener, it was the ultimate betrayal of Rhya—a sacred vow given to an Outer God. But their cleverness was their shield. In that crucial moment, they had done the one thing Cantar would never think to suspect: they had swapped their family names.
A cruel smile played on Cantar's lips. "Say it," she commanded, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried through the throne room. "You know it."
For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then, Daniel's voice cut through it, steady and deliberate, performing the sacred words like an actor on a stage.
"Agnidevyai Namaḥ." (Reverence to the Goddess of Fire.)
The last of his performative fervor evaporated, leaving only a hollow, burning frustration. "I pledged my soul," Daniel bit out, the words tight and low. "What more does she want?" He kicked at a loose piece of slag, sending it skittering across the stone like a fleeing insect.
"A demonstration, apparently," Alexa replied, her tone weary as she came to stand beside him. She didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the oppressive horizon. "Next time you get a divine-inspired plan, maybe consult me before we have to master pyromancy in seven days. And why are we even leaving Thermyra?!"
The oppressive heat in the training chamber felt heavier than the colossal steel doors they'd passed through. The weight of the impossible task—master pyromancy in seven days—pressed down on Alexa until she could barely breathe.
"It's suicide," she whispered, her voice tight. "We can't do this. We're warriors of Rhya, our souls are aligned with growth and life. We can't conjure this." She gestured at the simmering fissures in the floor.
Daniel didn't answer immediately. He was staring at his own hand, clenching and unclenching his fist. The frustration that had made him kick the slag-rock was gone, replaced by that cold, analytical intensity Alexa knew all too well.
A slow smile, sharp and genuine, touched his lips.
"You're looking at it backwards, Alexa," he said, his voice low and electrified. "She thinks she's testing our loyalty, our devotion. She's given us a chore." He finally looked at her, and his eyes were alight with a terrifying, brilliant fire. "But she's actually handed us the key. This isn't a punishment. It's an opportunity."
"An opportunity to what? Burn ourselves alive?"
"To learn," he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Think about it. We are being personally instructed in the magic of an Outer God. We will learn its principles, its weaknesses, its source. We're not just learning to throw a fireball. We're learning how to break one. We're learning how the enemy thinks."
He took a step closer, his gaze boring into hers. "Every spell we learn, every 'secret' we're given, is another weapon we can use against her. We're not just becoming pyromancers. We're becoming Cantar's executioners, and she's kindly providing the training."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The impossible task suddenly looked like an open door. The fear in Alexa's chest didn't vanish, but it was now joined by a thrilling, dangerous hope. Daniel wasn't just surviving the scheme; he was expanding it.
"So… how do we start?" Alexa's voice was barely a whisper, the daunting reality of their task settling upon her shoulders like a physical weight.
The answer came not as a voice, but as a light. A sudden, warm pulse—the color of spring leaves and living things—emanated from the pouch at her hip. Its gentle, nurturing glow was a stark defiance of the chamber's suffocating, fiery aura.
"Alexa!" Daniel's voice was sharp, his analytical gaze locked on the light. "Open it. Now."
With slightly trembling fingers, she worked the clasp and reached inside. Her hand closed not around the familiar leather binding of her book, but around something cool, solid, and unnervingly heavy. She pulled out a small, unadorned block of grey stone.
"What in the…?" Daniel plucked the object from her palm, his fingers probing its surface. He shook it, as if expecting a secret compartment to spring open. "This is just a slab of rock."
Alexa blinked, her certainty clashing with the evidence in his hands. "What are you talking about? It's a book." Alexa pulled the book back from Daniel. Her fingers, now sure and steady, traced the embossed leather cover that only she could see.
"It's not a rock," she said, her voice firm, leaving no room for his argument. She opened it, and her eyes began to scan lines of text that, to Daniel, were nothing but the random, pitted imperfections of stone.
"It's… adapting," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "Rhya's teachings… they're weaving themselves around the principles of fire. It's talking abou—"
"Wait."
Daniel's voice cut through hers, not with frustration, but with a spark of cold, calculating fascination. He watched her eyes track lines across the blank stone, her finger tracing invisible text. She wasn't pretending.
"Think about the 16th Article, 5th section," he said, the reference slipping out with the ease of a shared language. It was a test, a calibration.
His gaze fixed on her face as if she, herself, were the text to be deciphered. "Now," he commanded, his voice low and intent. "Read it to me. Word for word."
Alexa began reciting. "When the two heroes crossed the bridge of fire, greeted by the vibration of scabbards, they fooled the Goddess of Fire into thinking they submitted. Now, to prove their loyalty, they were ordered to—"
"No…" Daniel muttered, the blood draining from his face.
"What's wrong?" Alexa asked, her worry spiking at his pallor.
"That's not the 5th Section," he said, his voice hollow. "It was supposed to be a parable about sowing seeds in barren soil." His eyes locked onto the stone in her hands with dawning horror. "When the two heroes barged into the domain of fire, greeted by the edge of swords, they were forced into submission. Escaping the wrath of Cantar to collect more strength," he recited, the old text a stark contrast to the new.
"Daniel! Section 6 changed too!" Alexa's voice was a panicked whisper.
In a single, fluid motion, Daniel closed the distance, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to pull her—and the stone—close. When she turned her head, her cheek nearly brushing his, she was flustered by the intense proximity, his focus absolute.
"Quick! Read it to me!" he urged, his eyes glued to the slab.
"O–Okay!" She looked down, her voice trembling slightly. "Once-In-A-Millennium genius, Daniel, finally began suspecting the block of—"
Daniel's mind raced, processing the phrase 'began suspecting'. He rubbed his chin slightly. "Why did you stop?"
She stared, wide-eyed. "It changed again! Now it's… Once-In-A-Millennium genius, Daniel, finally noticed the strange ability of the sacred stone—foreseeing the future."
A chilling silence fell between them. The stone wasn't just recording history. It was writing it. And it was listening. A slow, breathy laugh escaped Daniel's lips—not of joy, but of sheer, bewildered revelation.
"Hah…"
He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the seemingly inert stone with a new, profound respect. A wry, almost impressed smile touched his lips.
"You should've told me about this, Rhya," he said, addressing the empty air with the familiarity of someone chastising an old mentor. "You sly old fox."
He finally looked at Alexa, his eyes alight with the thrilling, terrifying scope of their new advantage. He tapped the stone gently.
"This," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "is what I'm talking about."