Sindhu ran, not out of fear—heroes don't flee, naturally—but in what he'd call a tactical withdrawal. And Sindhu was simply doing that.
"Somebody help!"
Yes. Very heroic.
And since our hero is busy "writing his legend" at full sprint, let us leave him in motion and let me turn the flame back to the clearing I left behind. Do you remember? The boy with the golden blade, steady as stone, and Sihilotte, fire burning around his shoulder? Yes, that's the part I skipped. So let us return to that night, to the opening blow, and see what really followed...
Smoke curled into the clearing. The boy's golden blade hummed, steady as stone, a few dying embers scattered at his feet. Opposite him, Sihilotte burned, fire coiling around his shoulders, his scarf snapping in the heat. His eyes blazed.
"You split it? Just like that?" His fist clenched, flames erupted across his knuckles.
The boy didn't answer, his infuriating calm never broke.
Sihilotte stomped forward, heat rolled off him, the ground charring beneath each step. "I don't miss. My powers... no one cuts my fire like that ..." he points towards the boy, his voice drops to a seething whisper. "You're worth killing."
He leapt—fast, savage—hurling a fireball as he descended. The boy's sword flashed in a single precise motion. The flames split clean down the middle with a furious hiss, scattering embers into the night.
Sihilotte's eyes widened. For once, disbelief cracked through his rage.
"That blade... it shouldn't exist. I'll break it—and you with it."
The boy lowered the blade, still as stone, silence, heavier than any insult..
But the flames didn't fall—they bent, dragged sideways as if caught in a tide that wasn't his own.
The boy's gaze followed. Sihilotte felt it too—a sickening lurch in his gut as the heat twisted, answering another pull, a violation of his very connection to the flame.
His flames flared higher, instinctively defensive.
"What the hell...? Another one?" Sihilotte growled. "You brought backup?"
The forest groaned. Voices—low, guttural—seeped from the dark. The warped fire curled toward a shadow cloaked in black.
"A asur," Sihilotte muttered. His teeth clenched. "I knew it."
Still, he raised his fist at the boy. ""I don't care what else is coming. You cut my fire. That's enough—even hell itself can't take you from me. I'll burn you first."
The boy didn't even blink. Then he did the unthinkable—he pivoted, turning his back on Sihilotte—an ultimate dismissal—his eyes locked on the unnatural pull of fire in the forest.
"Hey!" Sihilotte roared. "Don't you dare turn your back on me!" He hurled a fire-spear. But the boy slipped past it without breaking stride, the sword in his hand glowing hotter, runes burning bright.
The trees shuddered. The forest itself seemed to exhale a laugh—scraped out of the dark, jagged and raw, like a throat never meant for sound.
Sihilotte froze for half a breath, fists still blazing, caught between fury and dread. The presence pressing from the forest was thick and wrong, a suffocating weight that had nothing to do with heat. "That... thing..." His lips curled.
Then he shouted after the boy, voice ragged with rage. "I'm not done with you!"
Both men broke into a sprint. Enemies, yet side by side, they charged into the trembling dark.
Ahead, the bent flames gathered, coalescing around a figure that stepped slowly into the light.