Silence fell over the square.
Not the quiet of peace—but the heavy, suffocating stillness that came before destruction.
Aethor's flames crackled around his clenched fist, bending the air into rippling waves. The god of fire stood tall, unmoving, like a living volcano barely restrained. Every breath he took fed the inferno.
Across from him stood Rael.
A boy. Mortal. Small in comparison.
Yet he did not step back.
The crowd watched with bated breath. Angels hovered in the skies above, wings half-spread. Priests of the fire temples whispered prayers—some for Rael's survival, others for his annihilation. Even the stone beneath their feet seemed to glow faintly, reacting to the power gathering in the air.
"You understand what you've agreed to?" Aethor asked, his voice low and dangerous. "This is not sparring. This is judgment."
Rael swallowed.
His heart pounded so hard it hurt, but he forced his shoulders straight. "I understand."
Aethor's lips curled slightly. "Good."
Without warning, he moved.
The god crossed the distance in a blink. One moment he stood several paces away—the next, his flaming fist was already descending.
Rael barely had time to react.
Instinct screamed.
Something deep inside him answered.
He threw his arms up—
—and the world exploded.
🔥
A shockwave tore through the square as Aethor's strike landed. Fire burst outward in a violent ring, sending cracks racing across the glowing stone. Several spectators were forced back, shields and wings flaring as they resisted the blast.
For a heartbeat, no one could see Rael.
Smoke and flame swallowed everything.
Then the fire parted.
Rael was on one knee.
His arms trembled violently, muscles screaming in agony, but he was still there. His skin glowed faintly—threads of golden light crawling beneath it like living veins. The air around him shimmered, distorted, as if reality itself had bent to soften the blow.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"He… survived?"
"Impossible."
Aethor stared.
Not with anger.
With surprise.
"…Interesting," the fire god said quietly.
Rael coughed, forcing himself to breathe. Every nerve in his body burned, but the pain hadn't destroyed him. Something had absorbed it. Redirected it.
He looked down at his hands.
They were glowing.
"What… am I?" Rael whispered.
High above, unseen by mortal eyes, Nerion's expression darkened.
"So it begins," the water god murmured.
Aethor straightened slowly, rolling his shoulder as flames danced higher around him. "One strike," he admitted. "And you still stand."
His gaze sharpened. "But do not mistake survival for strength."
He raised his hand again.
The sky responded.
Dark clouds swirled overhead as fire poured down from above, spiraling into Aethor's palm. The temperature soared. The square's runes ignited fully now, glowing white-hot as ancient enchantments strained to contain divine power.
"This is the second test," Aethor declared. "Endure."
Rael's instincts screamed again—louder this time.
He knew he could not block another strike like the first.
Move.
The flame descended.
Rael leapt.
Fire tore through the space where he had been standing, melting stone like wax. Rael rolled across the ground, heat searing his back, his lungs burning with every breath.
The crowd gasped.
"He dodged!"
Aethor laughed—a deep, booming sound. "Good! Run, then!"
Rael pushed himself up, adrenaline drowning out pain. His thoughts raced.
I can't fight him. I can't overpower a god.
But maybe—
He felt it again.
That warmth.
No—more than warmth now. A pull. As if the world itself was whispering to him, urging him to listen.
Rael closed his eyes for half a second.
And felt the fire.
Not as an enemy.
But as energy.
As movement.
As change.
His eyes snapped open.
He raised his hand—not to block, but to guide.
The next wave of flame curved.
It didn't vanish.
It bent.
Gasps echoed across the square as fire twisted around Rael's body, spiraling instead of consuming him. His feet skidded backward under the force, but he stayed upright, teeth clenched, arms shaking as he redirected the blaze into the air above.
Aethor's laughter stopped