The forest was quiet. The sound of wind and water's gentle movement.
"Where am I. My head hurts. I feel heavy"
Arthur Zenith knelt beneath an ancient ash tree, one hand pressed to the dirt. Every root, every grain of soil, vibrated with layered voices—murmurs from deep below the earth, where magic once slumbered and now stirred.
"Host… you hear them now."
The parasite's voice slithered through his mind, calm, cold, amused. Arthur gritted his teeth. His arms still ached from the steam blast at the temple, and the strange cyan lines glowing beneath his skin had retreated—for now. But something had changed. He felt things now. Heat shimmered off bark. The pulse of a nearby deer brushed the edges of his perception.
And the dagger. The obsidian blade from the cloaked stranger clung to his belt like a curse. Whenever he reached out to touch it, the parasite would shrink back as if it has tasted poison.
"What is this place?" Arthur muttered aloud.
The parasite's tone darkened. "A memory. The scar of a battle your kind forgot. You step upon buried fire, child of Zenith."
A snap of flame echoed behind him.
Arthur spun, conjuring a swirl of mist instinctively—but it sputtered out, raw and unstable. Before him stood a girl—no, a walking wildfire. Hair like cinders, eyes glowing ember-gold. Flames wreathed her hands, pulsing without control.
"You!" she snarled. "You're from the temple ruins. The one they say used steam and shadows."
Arthur raised his hands. "Don't do something silly I'm not your enemy."
"I didn't say you were," she muttered, but the flames danced higher. "Name."
"Arthur Zenith."
Silence.
Then, with a snarl, the girl launched a searing flame. Arthur dodged—but not fast enough. Fire grazed his arm, burning through cloth. His marks glowed. He hissed in pain, ducking behind a root-laced boulder.
"I knew it," she muttered. "Zenith blood. Supposed to be extinct or cursed into oblivion."
Arthur peered out. "And you must be a fire mage whom everyone is talking about . I heard your training went… sideways?"
A flicker of irritation crossed her face. "Nyra Vale. Exiled. Like you, apparently."
Another firebolt streaked past, but this time Arthur reacted. He inhaled—and the air condensed, the moisture curling into mist. Then he forced heat from the stone around him into the mist, creating a thick, blinding fog that snuffed out the flames mid-flight.
Nyra staggered. "What was that?!"
Arthur stepped into view, steam swirling around his arm like a gauntlet. "I don't have an affinity. I adapt."
She lowered her hands slowly. "That's not possible."
Arthur gave a small smile. "Welcome to impossible."
Later, the two sat beneath the charred tree, wary but truce-bound.
Nyra rubbed a bruise on her forearm. "I was part of Ignis Guild—until my flame turned black one day. Burned part of the arena during training. They said I was cursed. Said I smelled like parasite magic."
Arthur stiffened. The parasite inside him murmured, curious. "Another touched? No. Not fully. Just scarred."
"I ran," she continued. "Figured if I could find a Zenith, maybe I'd get answers. Guess fate likes irony."
Arthur stared at his hand. "We're both marked. But I think mine goes deeper. I… absorbed something at the temple. A being. It speaks to me."
Nyra leaned forward. "Like it's alive?"
He hesitated. "Yes. Ancient. And dangerous. But also… wise. It showed me visions—wars of stone and flame, gods with no names. One wielded a dagger like this—" he drew the obsidian blade "—and sealed a fire spirit inside a Zenith ancestor."
Nyra's face paled. "That blade. It's called Ashrend. It's a Seeker's relic. My father once told me the Seekers hunted hosts—parasite-bearers."
Arthur's grip tightened. "Why would they leave it for me?"
The voice answered, silken. "Because you are no longer prey. You are evolution."
By nightfall, stormclouds brewed. They sought shelter in a cave laced with glowing lichen.
Inside, Arthur and Nyra spoke in hushed tones. He shared what little he understood—the fusion of elements, the parasite's hunger, the strange cost each time he bent magic.
"So you can't just use it?" Nyra asked, brow furrowed.
"It burns me if I overreach," Arthur admitted. "I created steam to escape earlier, and I collapsed. It takes something from me."
"Magic always takes," Nyra said bitterly. "Just depends on what you have to give."
Arthur met her gaze. "Do you think people like us… can be more than what they fear?"
"I think," she said slowly, "people fear what rewrites the rules."
A silence passed. Then, a tremor.
They stood. The lichen dimmed. Outside, lightning flashed—and with it, movement. A cloaked figure descended the rocks, trailed by armored shadows.
"Storm Guild," Nyra hissed. "They found us. I think we should escape from here without being caught. If we get caught we are going to get in a big problem"
"Yes we should get out of here" Arthur admitted.