The night was cold, but dry. For once, the wind didn’t bite—it just wandered lazily through the trees, brushing leaves like a bored observer.
Towan crouched beside the firepit, stacking kindling the way Leon taught him—though admittedly less patient. He snapped a twig in half and muttered under his breath.
“Why is it always firewood that tests my will the most…”
Behind him, Eryndar returned with an armful of branches—each stacked by size and shape, perfectly uniform.
“Your angles are off,” he said, setting them down without breaking stride.
“Yeah, thanks,” Towan grumbled. “I know. I’m just building it with character.”
Eryndar didn’t smile, but a faint grunt of amusement escaped him. He knelt across from Towan and tapped one stick with the back of his knuckle.
“This one goes here. Fire follows balance. Uneven shape leads to uneven burn.”
Towan adjusted it, and sure enough—the structure held better.
The fire lit with a faint fwoom, and warm orange light washed over them. For a moment, they sat in silence, watching flames dance.
Then Towan broke it.
“You said earlier… something about the best way to strike.”
“Depends,” Eryndar replied.
“Depends on what?”
“Who you’re fighting. And why.”
Towan leaned forward, interest piqued.
“Okay, so say you’re against someone stronger than you. Faster. What then?”
Eryndar picked up a dry branch and idly scratched a rough circle into the dirt.
“Then you don’t aim to strike. You aim to control.”
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He drew a second circle, tighter, overlapping.
“Pressure their rhythm. Make them move how you want.”
“And if they won’t?”
“Then you let them move freely… until they trip over their own weight.”
Towan stared at the diagram. It made sense—sort of. But it still sounded like a gamble.
“That ever actually worked?”
Eryndar nodded slowly.
“Once. Against someone I thought I couldn’t beat.”
“Did you win?”
“No.”
He looked Towan in the eye.
“But I survived. And sometimes, that’s the more important outcome.”
They let the words settle. The fire cracked again, throwing sparks into the air.
Towan leaned back on his elbows, watching the stars flicker between tree branches.
“Leon always taught us to strike first. Take initiative. Be the one who forces the pace.”
“Leon fights like a firestorm,” Eryndar said, not unkindly. “I fight like a landslide. Both are dangerous. But fire burns itself out if it spreads too fast.”
Towan gave a small smirk.
“So I guess I’m more of a brushfire right now.”
“No,” Eryndar said without hesitation. “You’re still the spark.”
Towan blinked.
“…Thanks? I think?”
“It’s not an insult. Sparks are unpredictable. Dangerous in the right place.”
He looked into the fire.
“But they also fade if not fed.”
That quieted Towan again. A cold breeze returned, just enough to rattle the branches.
He glanced at his ring. Silver, faintly warm against his skin.
“Hey, Eryndar?”
“Hm.”
“You ever get the feeling… something’s coming? Like the air gets thicker, even when it’s still?”
Eryndar’s gaze lifted slightly.
“Yes.”
“Do you feel that now?”
The older warrior didn’t answer immediately. But his body shifted—just a little. Shoulders tense. Jaw firming.
“Go to sleep. We move early.”
Towan nodded slowly, but he felt it too now. Something just under the silence. A vibration that hadn’t happened yet—but would.
The stillness was too perfect.
And sparks… don’t last forever.
The forest didn’t sound right.
Birds had gone quiet—not the natural hush of dusk, but a razor’s-edge silence, as if the air itself had frozen mid-breath. Even the wind had stilled, leaves clinging to their branches like terrified hands.
Towan opened his eyes.
Eryndar was already standing. No sound, no alarm. Just the coiled readiness of a blade half-drawn from its sheath. Moonlight etched the lines of his shoulders, rigid as a cliff face. (How long has he been awake? Did he ever sleep?)
"Don’t speak," Eryndar murmured. "Just listen."
Towan sat up slowly, fingers digging into the cold soil. His heart thudded against his ribs—a drumbeat of primal warning. He didn’t know why yet, but—
Pulse.
The ring on his finger vibrated, a jagged tremor that shot up his arm like lightning. Not the subtle hum from before. This was a scream. A last gasp.
(They’re here.)
Eryndar’s gaze shifted slightly, tracking something unseen.
"They’re here."
A second later, the forest exploded.