The forest was still. The wind had died, the last light of day filtering weakly through the trees. Leaves rustled under Oswald's shoes as he stood facing Lyra and her team, his breath steady but his heartbeat pounding in his chest.
Lyra raised a hand, the faint shimmer of a sealing sigil forming between her fingers. "Oswald," she warned, her tone firm, "don't make this harder than it has to be. Whatever you are—whatever that thing inside you is—it's dangerous."
Oswald took a step forward, his shadow stretching long across the forest floor. "You think I don't know that?" he said quietly. "But I didn't ask for any of this."
The tall boy beside her shifted, magic sparking faintly between his palms. "Then stop running. Let us contain it before it spreads."
Something inside Oswald snapped. The hum in his chest roared to life, flooding through his veins like liquid fire. His hands trembled—not with fear, but with energy.
A faint orange glow began to pulse from his fists, at first dim, then brighter, swirling like molten light. The air around him vibrated, leaves lifting off the ground as if gravity itself bent around his power.
Lyra's eyes widened. "That energy again—"
Oswald's head tilted slightly, his gaze hardening. His pupils shimmered, and then his eyes ignited with a blue aura, bright and alive. The glow cut through the dim forest light, fierce and unnatural.
He raised his glowing fists, the orange energy crackling and flaring with every heartbeat. The ground beneath him quivered.
"Last night I ran," he said, voice low but steady. "Not this time."
He clenched his fists tighter, the glow intensifying until it lit the trees around him like a firestorm.
Oswald's eyes locked onto Lyra's. A faint smirk crossed his face.
"Let's go."
The forest erupted.
A blast of energy burst from his fists, shaking the branches and scattering leaves through the air as Lyra shouted a spell of protection, her two allies leaping into action beside her.
The real fight had begun.