Dust kicked up behind Orion and Damien as they crested the ridge.
Below them, the town of Altair sprawled across the desert like a weathered stone left beneath the sun.
Trade wagons crawled along the main road beneath towering sandstone formations. Thin pillars of smoke rose from chimneys scattered between closely packed buildings. At the main gate, travelers waited in a slow-moving line while armed guards inspected wagons and watched everyone with the exhausted suspicion of men who expected trouble eventually. Orion stopped at the top of the ridge.
His cloak fluttered behind him, faded from sun and dust. His boots were cracked and his canteen empty. The last few days had been miserable: hot days, cold nights, bad sleep, and almost no money. There was absolutely no sign that rebuilding the Eternal Flame was going to get any easier. Orion rubbed his stomach.
"If we don't find food soon, I might start eating you."
Damien spread his arms. "You'd be lucky to find any meat. I'm all bones and regret."
Orion stared down at Altair.
"Town looks alive."
Damien folded his arms.
"Let's hope they don't shoot us on sight."
"If they do..."
Orion started down the ridge.
"...at least I won't die of thirst."
Damien followed.
"You planning on dying today?"
Orion didn't answer. Damien frowned.
"Comforting."
Altair
They passed through the gates without much trouble. The guards asked almost nothing. They simply stared a little too long before waving them through. That somehow made Orion trust them less. Altair was nothing like noisy, industrial Constellion, with its factories and steam. This place felt rougher and meaner. The streets were crowded with merchants selling whatever they could carry. A boy snatched a loaf of bread from a stall and disappeared between two buildings.
The merchant saw him. He didn't bother chasing. Nobody did. Everyone seemed too busy watching everyone else. They passed a saloon with cracked windows and a peeling sign. The woman behind the counter looked like she kept a shotgun beneath the bar simply to settle disagreements over drink prices.
"Friendly place," Damien muttered.
Orion scanned the surrounding alleys.
"You sure you don't wanna turn around and try our luck with the vultures?" Damien asked.
"We need supplies and money," Orion said.
"And food." Damien nodded toward the shops. "Mostly food."
Orion sighed.
"We can't take on Five Points on empty stomachs."
Damien glanced toward him.
"You planning on taking on all of Five Points now?"
"Not today."
"Good."
Damien looked toward a nearby restaurant.
"I'd like lunch first."
They eventually found an inn. Calling it an inn was generous. One side of the building leaned slightly toward the street. The sign hung from one chain. The owner was an old man with a limp, a pipe, and absolutely no interest in learning their names. He handed Orion a key.
"Lock's broken."
Orion looked at the key.
"Then what's this for?"
The old man stared at him.
"Tradition."
Damien snorted. The owner pointed toward the stairs.
"Second floor."
Then toward both of them.
"Don't bleed on the sheets."
Orion paused.
"That happen often?"
The old man returned to his pipe.
"Often enough."
The Inn
Orion dropped his pack onto the floor.
"We're running on fumes."
Damien collapsed into the only chair.
"No kidding."
He tilted his head back.
"We're outlaws, Orion." Damien sat forward. "Have you thought about how we're actually going to operate? Because at the moment we can barely afford a room with a broken lock."
Orion looked toward him. "I noticed. What are you suggesting?"
"I'm saying I don't exactly see us robbing farmers."
"Good."
"Or stealing from rich people and giving everything away."
"Wasn't planning on it."
"And we're definitely not mercenaries."
Orion shrugged.
"Depends on the job."
Damien pointed at him.
"See? That's what I'm talking about."
He leaned forward.
"Who we are doesn't keep us fed."
Orion went quiet. For a moment, he thought of Cyrus. Then Jace. Cyrus had spent years hiding from what he'd been. Jace had spent years living with what the Eternal Flame had become. Neither had handed Orion instructions for what came next. Only principles. Orion looked toward Damien.
"We don't steal from people who can't fight back," Orion said. "But gangs that make a living hurting people, running towns through fear? I'd have no problem going after them."
Damien nodded slowly. "And if they happen to be sitting on money they stole from everybody else, we take it."
"That would keep us fed without turning us into the people we're fighting."
Damien leaned back, grinning. "I can live with that. Now we just need to find someone conveniently awful and wealthy."
A knock came at the door. They both stopped. Damien looked toward Orion. Orion looked toward Damien.
"Expecting someone?"
"Nope."
Orion stood. His hand rested near his revolver. He opened the door only a few inches. A thin, twitchy man stood outside, one hand resting on a cane and the other clutching a leather satchel. His eyes darted from Orion to Damien.
"You looking for work?"
Orion narrowed his eyes.
"Depends."
He opened the door slightly farther.
"Who's asking?"
The man swallowed.
"Sirven."
He adjusted his grip on the satchel.
"I move goods through Altair."
"What kind of goods?"
"Spices. Medicine. Tools."
Sirven shrugged.
"Junk people will kill over if you're in the right town."
Orion leaned against the doorway.
"Get to the point."
"I've got a shipment leaving tomorrow."
Sirven lowered his voice.
"Route cuts through Black Fang territory."
Damien sat up.
"Black Fang?"
Sirven nodded.
"Local gang."
His expression soured.
"They've been bleeding me dry for months."
"Protection money?"
"Call it whatever you want."
Sirven tapped his cane against the floor.
"I'm not paying again."
Orion studied him.
"So you want guards."
"I want people who won't run."
Sirven looked between them.
"You protect the wagon, I pay you enough to eat, resupply, and drink until you forget how miserable this town is. I'll provide two horses for the escort. Finish the job and you keep them as part of the payment."
Damien looked toward Orion.
"Strong sales pitch."
Orion ignored him.
"And if we say no?"
Sirven shrugged.
"You stay broke."
He glanced at Damien.
"And hungry."
Damien pointed toward Orion.
"That's mostly his problem."
Orion frowned.
"How'd you even know we were here?"
Sirven stared. Then slowly looked around the room. Broken lock. Cracked wall. Water stain on the ceiling.
"Let's be honest, kid."
He looked back at Orion.
"Nobody stays at this inn because it was their first choice."
Damien laughed. Sirven continued.
"People around here keep to themselves."
He adjusted his satchel.
"They also like extra coin."
"I've asked other people too."
Orion crossed his arms.
"How many Black Fangs?"
"Twenty."
Damien whistled.
"That's it?"
"That's not what makes them dangerous."
Sirven's expression became more serious.
"Their leader."
Orion waited. Sirven lowered his voice.
"Their leader is a former Five Points lieutenant. Combat Core." That got both their attention. Orion's expression hardened as he waited for Sirven to continue. Sirven swallowed. "Word is they threw him out because he was too violent even for them."
Damien stared.
"That's reassuring."
Orion understood the arrangement immediately.
"You hire us, and if we succeed, your shipments start moving again." Orion smiled faintly when Sirven said nothing. "If we die, there's nothing tying any of this back to you."
Sirven smiled.
"You catch on quick."
He stepped away from the door.
"That's good."
He looked back.
"You just might make it out alive."
Damien sighed.
"Not like anybody else is literally knocking on our door."
Orion looked toward him. Then Sirven.
"Fine. We're in." Orion pointed at Sirven as the merchant's eyebrows lifted. "But if you've left anything important out..."
"I haven't."
"Everybody says that."
"The shipment leaves before sunrise."
Sirven started down the hall. Orion watched him go. Damien leaned into view.
"You trust him?"
"No."
"Good."
Damien stood.
"Just checking."
The Canyon Trail
The job began before sunrise. Sirven had kept his word about the horses, and Orion was grateful to give his feet a rest. He and Damien had walked from town to town until now; having mounts would make the roads ahead considerably less miserable. By evening, though, Orion understood why Sirven hadn't volunteered to accompany his own shipment. The caravan followed a narrow trail carved between steep walls of stone. Rock formations rose on both sides. Sparse shrubs clung to cracks in the earth.
Heavy clouds gathered over the caravan, with thunder rolling in the distance. Rain began as scattered drops, then fell in thin sheets. Damien rode near the back with his hood pulled low, looking miserable. Water ran from the brim of Orion's hat as he rode beside the middle wagon. Damien called forward.
"I thought deserts were supposed to be dry!"
Orion looked back.
"You complaining about water now?"
"I'm complaining about everything!"
Thunder rolled. Orion almost smiled. Then—
BANG.
A guard fell from his horse. Orion's expression changed instantly.
BANG. BANG.
Controlled gunfire. Not panicked. Not random. Two more guards dropped. Horses screamed. A driver yanked desperately on his reins. One wagon tipped sideways and crashed into a ditch.
"AMBUSH!"
Orion jumped from his horse.
"Cover!"
Damien dropped behind an overturned crate. Gunfire echoed through the canyon. Then stopped. Abruptly. The silence that followed was worse. A figure stepped onto the ridge. Long black duster. Wide-brimmed hat. A half-metal mask covered the lower portion of his face. Old Five Points lieutenant insignia remained pinned to his coat like a trophy from another life. A weathered revolver rested in his hand. Across his back hung a brutal curved saber.
One of the drivers went pale.
"No..."
The figure looked down. The driver whispered—
"It's the Reaper."
The man chuckled.
"I swear."
His voice carried easily through the canyon.
"You lot make it too easy."
Nobody moved. Rain struck the rocks. The Reaper spread his arms.
"Tell you what." He stepped closer to the edge. "I'm feeling generous." He looked over the caravan. "If one of you has the balls to face me..." His hand settled on the saber. "...I might spare the rest."
Behind the overturned crate, Damien slowly looked toward Orion.
"When we took this job..."
Orion started walking.
"...I was really hoping for an easy payday."
Damien closed his eyes.
"Of course."
Orion stepped into the open. Rain trailed from his coat. One hand rested near his revolver. The other near his blade.
"Yeah..."
He looked toward the ridge.
"...figured this was gonna happen."
The Reaper tilted his head. Orion stopped.
"Guess I'm your man."
For a moment— nothing. Then the Reaper jumped. He dropped from the ridge in a single controlled leap. His boots slammed into the muddy ground. His saber was already in his hand. He lifted it toward Orion.
"Let's dance."
The Reaper
The Reaper moved first. Orion barely drew his blade before steel collided and sparks scattered into the rain. He twisted away from the pressure, avoiding a second slash by inches, then drew his revolver and fired. Wind snapped around the Reaper. The bullet curved away.
(Star power.)
The Reaper grinned behind his mask.
"Come on, boy."
The Reaper rushed forward. Orion fired twice; wind redirected one shot, and the saber knocked the second aside. Their blades met again. Orion ducked, turned, and slashed, but the Reaper stepped clear with infuriating calm. He was enjoying himself. Heat stirred inside Orion. A whisper brushed against his thoughts.
"Burn them."
Orion gritted his teeth.
"Not now."
The Reaper attacked. Orion blocked. The whisper came again. Louder.
"Burn."
Orion's concentration broke. Just for a second. That was enough. The Reaper's saber sliced across his side. Blood struck the ground. Orion crashed backward.
"ORION!"
Damien moved from cover. Orion raised one hand.
"Stay back!"
He pressed his other hand against his side. Heat spread beneath it, tightening the damaged flesh as internal flame cauterized the wound. The bleeding stopped. Pain remained, but the cut began closing. Orion stared at it while the Reaper laughed.
"Oh..."
Orion looked up.
"...now that's interesting."
Orion rose. His eyes glowed faintly crimson. Steam curled from his body as rain struck heated skin. The Phoenix wasn't whispering anymore. Orion could feel it. Awake. Excited. Waiting. The earth beneath Orion's boots began to scorch. The Reaper spread his arms.
"YES!"
Wind erupted around him.
"This!"
He laughed.
"This is what I live for!"
Orion crossed the distance in a burst of flame. Their blades collided, sending fire and wind outward while rain hissed into steam. He attacked again. The Reaper blocked with wind wrapped around his saber, then released a blade of compressed air. Orion ducked as the stone behind him split. The Reaper laughed harder.
"It's been ages since I've felt a presence like this!"
Orion stopped. The Reaper's head tilted. Then—
"...I get it."
His laughter softened.
"Cyrus must've finally kicked the bucket."
Everything in Orion went still.
"What did you say?"
The Reaper lowered his saber. Orion's jaw tightened.
"You knew Cyrus?"
The Reaper slowly removed his mask. Burns twisted half his face from jaw to temple, leaving one eye pale and useless. The other fixed on Orion with hatred. A jagged smile stretched across what remained.
"Knew him?"
The Reaper laughed.
"The bastard burned half my face off."
Orion stared. The Reaper touched the scar.
"As if I'd ever forget those flames."
His smile widened.
"I'd been planning on returning the favor."
He looked Orion over.
"But this?"
Wind gathered violently around him.
"This is even better."
He raised the saber.
"Way more fun than killing an old man."
Orion's fire surged.
"Come at me!"
Flame and Gale
The canyon erupted with gunfire, steel, wind, and flame. The Reaper's saber sent compressed air tearing across the ground. Orion jumped aside as stone exploded, then threw fire back at him. A violent gust split the blaze, and the Reaper charged through its center. Orion barely blocked the next strike.
"Ten years, boy!"
The Reaper struck again.
"Ten years!"
Another slash.
"They've sent dozens!"
Wind exploded. Orion was thrown backward. He caught himself. The Reaper pointed toward him.
"You know why I still have this power?"
He laughed.
"Because not one of them could take me down!"
Orion breathed hard. Cuts covered his arms, cheek, and chest. Some were closing; others weren't. The more fire he used, the slower the healing became. Jace had warned him that the shard could consume as well as give. He couldn't keep burning and healing forever.
When the Reaper rushed him, Orion stepped aside and drove his dagger into the man's flank. The blade ignited. He ripped it free as the Reaper screamed and stumbled back, smoke rising from the wound. Orion raised his weapon again.
"Give up if you don't want to die," Orion said.
The Reaper looked toward him.
Blood ran from the corner of the Reaper's mouth. He grinned.
"Death..."
He tightened his grip on the saber.
"...can have me when I say so!"
He charged. Orion holstered his revolver and sheathed his dagger. Damien stared from behind cover.
"Orion?!"
Orion raised one hand.
His fingers trembled. Holding the fire under control had become harder with every wound it closed. He tried to steady himself, but the presence surged before he could gather his strength.
"What are you doing?!"
The Reaper closed the distance. Then the world seemed to slow. Orion felt the Phoenix move. Not merely power. Presence. His vision changed. For an instant— he wasn't looking at the Reaper. He was looking through him. Broken memories flickered. Men in Five Points uniforms. A younger Reaper standing among them. Comrades laughing. Orders. Blood. A battlefield. Someone screaming for him to stop. A superior stripping him of his command.
The first outlaw he killed after leaving. Then another. And another. Years of violence. Until the man beneath the mask had forgotten why he was fighting at all. Orion staggered. These weren't his memories. The Reaper's charge slowed. His eyes flickered. For the first time— the madness disappeared. He looked tired. So tired. Orion heard something within the flames. Not a command. Not quite. Understanding. The Reaper's eyes widened. Around him— the canyon vanished.
He stood somewhere else. Sunlight. Grass. People waiting ahead. Men and women wearing uniforms he hadn't seen in years. Friends. Comrades. People long dead. One held out a hand. The Reaper stopped. His saber slipped from his fingers.
"...Guys?"
In reality— he dropped to his knees. Orion's arm remained extended. Damien stared.
"Orion...?"
When Orion spoke— his voice sounded deeper. Layered beneath something ancient.
"Cremation."
Fire erupted. A pillar of flame swallowed the Reaper. There was no screaming. Only fire. Inside the vision, the Reaper walked toward his fallen comrades. Someone embraced him. For the first time in years— his face looked peaceful. Then everything turned white. Outside— the flames collapsed inward. The Reaper was gone. Only ash remained. Rain struck the scorched ground. Silence.
Aftermath
The remaining Black Fang members stared toward the place their leader had stood. Then ran. No orders. No resistance. They abandoned weapons, horses, anything that slowed them down. Orion remained motionless. Rain fell around him. The Reaper's saber stood embedded in the mud. Beside it lay his revolver. And the old Five Points insignia he'd continued carrying long after leaving them. Orion looked toward the sky. The fire beneath his skin flickered. Then weakened.
The rain finally began winning. His legs gave slightly. Damien ran forward.
"Whoa."
He caught Orion beneath one arm. Orion tried to stand.
"I'm fine."
"You're currently losing an argument with gravity."
"I'm fine."
"Sure."
Damien helped him toward the caravan.
"What the hell was that?"
Orion didn't answer.
"Orion, talk to me."
"I don't know what happened."
Damien looked toward the ashes. "You turned him into nothing."
"I know." Orion couldn't bring himself to look back.
That was the problem. They climbed into one of the surviving carriages. The caravan resumed its journey slowly, with nobody inclined to complain about the ruined schedule or the rain. Nobody said much of anything.
Altair
By the time they returned, the story had arrived before them. Caravan workers talked. Guards talked. Merchants talked. And Altair, apparently, loved a rumor. Damien noticed something almost immediately. The Reaper's saber was gone. So was the revolver. And his old insignia. He looked toward Orion. Orion was half asleep inside the wagon. Damien smiled.
"Opportunity."
The bounty office was crowded. Damien pushed through. A clerk barely looked up.
"Name?"
"Damien."
"Target?"
Damien placed a wanted poster on the counter. The clerk looked. Then looked again. His eyes slowly rose.
"The Reaper?"
Damien smiled.
"Formerly."
The clerk stared.
"You killed him?"
"No."
Damien pointed vaguely toward the street.
"My idiot did."
The clerk frowned.
"Your what?"
"Long story."
The clerk looked toward several caravan workers waiting nearby. They all nodded. One said—
"Saw it myself."
Another swallowed.
"Burned him alive."
The clerk looked back down. Then began counting gold. Damien watched. For someone who hated bounty hunting— he found himself surprisingly comfortable collecting the money.
"Money's money," he muttered.
Especially with Orion barely standing. Meanwhile, Orion found Sirven. The merchant looked considerably less confident than before. Orion stood across from him. Bandages covered several wounds. His coat was torn. He looked exhausted. Sirven counted out the agreed payment. Then stopped. He removed several coins. Orion watched. Sirven pushed the smaller pile forward.
"Considering damages—"
Orion looked at him. That's all. No threat. No raised voice. No fire. Just one cold stare. Sirven froze. Everyone in Altair had already heard the story.
(He burned the Reaper.)
Sirven slowly looked at the reduced payment. Then at Orion. Then quietly returned the missing coins. And added one more. Orion raised an eyebrow.
"For the inconvenience," Sirven said.
Orion took the money.
"Smart."
The Inn — Later
Rain continued falling outside. Orion sat alone beside the lantern while Damien was downstairs, probably gambling or drinking, most likely both. The Black Fang had been driven off, the caravan had survived, and they could afford food and supplies again. A dead outlaw with a decade-long bounty would only make the Eternal Flame name spread faster. He should have felt victorious. Instead, he felt sick. He looked at his hand. He remembered raising it.
Remembered the Reaper stopping. Remembered seeing things he had never lived. Friends. Memories. Regret. Then—
Cremation.
Orion closed his fist.
"That wasn't me."
The flame in the lantern moved. Orion stared. For a moment, he thought he saw a feather inside it. Then it vanished. The presence remained quiet. He could feel it somewhere deep inside. The Phoenix. Watching. Waiting. Orion lowered his head. The Reaper had been dangerous. A killer. A man who probably would have murdered every person in that caravan without hesitation. Orion knew that.
But knowing the man deserved to be stopped wasn't what bothered him. The choice had not felt entirely his. He had watched himself do it. Felt another presence moving beside his thoughts. Maybe guiding them. Maybe amplifying them. Maybe something worse. Orion looked toward the lantern.
"Next time, if I take a life, it'll be my choice." His voice was quiet, and the flame flickered.
Silence. Then— a faint pulse of heat beneath his chest. No words. No answer. Just acknowledgment. Orion wasn't sure whether that made him feel better.
A New Legend
By morning, everyone in Altair seemed to know. At the market—
"He burned the Reaper."
At the tavern—
"One attack."
At the bounty office—
"Nothing left but ash."
At the gate—
"Some Eternal Flame kid."
Each telling became larger. Faster. More impossible. The Reaper had killed fifty men. Then a hundred. Orion had fought him for an hour. Then five minutes. Then supposedly one strike. Damien heard one version where Orion had summoned an enormous flaming bird that ate the Reaper whole. He immediately decided that was his favorite. The Eternal Flame name had carried weight before Orion arrived. Now— it carried his.
With new supplies and money in their pockets, Orion and Damien changed plans. They would stay in Altair. At least for a while. Sirven might be irritating, dishonest, and entirely too comfortable sending strangers into dangerous territory— but he had connections. Merchants traveled. Merchants listened. Merchants knew which roads were safe, which towns were struggling, which gangs controlled what territory, and where Five Points activity was increasing. Wandering blindly from town to town wasn't going to build the Eternal Flame.
Information might. So they stayed. For the first time since Beltor, they had money, food, a roof, and a direction. That night, Damien slept like the dead. Orion eventually did too. And somewhere deep inside him— the fire cooled. Just for a moment.