Michael needed space.
Not from Anna, not from the fire spiritonly from the heaviness of his thoughts. Pyrrhion was savage, in its own beautiful way, and Vel'Kareth preened with a pulse that he was beginning to feel in his bones. Yet there were also days when his chest was too full, too hollow, too uncertain.
So he walked.
Not far just through the lower tiers, past the iron-laced stairways and rune-lit lanterns. The rivers of lava beneath ran frostily slow here, and the streets cut into narrow, painful alleys of soot-colored stone and angular dwellings molded the way bone is forged by heat.
He passed a little shrine carved into the side of a building, flame-scorched and half-forgotten. Someone had made offerings singed flowers, melted coins, one child's drawing scorched on a piece of bark.
Then he heard the scream.
It was from a nearby plaza small, wedged between two fallen towers. A girl no more than fifteen was pinned beneath a splintered support beam, and a magma wight from a crack in the ground nearby, still only partially formed but still deadly—had crawled into the structure. It crawled on limbs of cooling stone and leaking flame, eyes like empty coals.
Michael acted on instinct.
He attempted to summon Blue but the spirit wouldn't come. It arced around him once, throbbing faintly, but provided no action. No aid.
He yelled at the beast, waved, and even tossed a smashed piece of rubble. The magma wight craned its cracked skull toward him and hissed and heat radiated from it in waves. It was moving quickly faster than he thought it could. One arm up, trailing stone and lava.
Michael steeled himself for pain, for heat, for the flames that would kill him again.
It didn't come.
A wedge of golden energy slammed into the wight's chest, cleaving its torso wide. Another flash green light arcing like a blade — and the creature fell, core hissing as it melted into the stone.
When he opened his eyes, there was someone between himself and the remnants of what had been the wight.
She stood tall, with a sharp jawline and long braids woven with small metal rings. Her armor was light, though etched with burn marks and ceremonial sigils. A sword still menaced in her hand, humming faintly with heat held in reserve.
She turned back to him, unswayed.
"You alright?"
Michael swallowed. "Yeah. Just… unprepared."
Locals already were pulling the girl from the rubble. The threat was past, but the sting of failure beat in Michael's chest like a second heartbeat.
The warrior stepped closer. "Is this one of those Thread-walkers who thinks summoning power is the same as understanding it?"
He didn't answer.
She sighed and held out her hand. "Name's Kael. No problem first near-deaths complimentary."
Later That Evening
Anna encountered them heading back, leaning against a sun-cracked statue on the plaza steps, arms folded, gently.
When she saw Michael, her expression didn't change much but she looked him over fully. She nodded to Kael.
"Thank you," she said simply.
Once, Kael blinked, surprised at how soft the words sounded in the air. "You know him?"
"He's mine," Anna said lightly. "Sort of."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "He didn't fight like he was your own."
Anna smiled. "He'll learn."
Kael seemed to want to dispute that, but Anna's tone made her stop. Just for a breath. And then she nodded, slowly as if she'd grasped something beyond what had been said.
Michael watched it happen.
Someone else retreating into Anna's quiet orbit, without even knowing.
They were seated under the slanting roof of a stone garden hidden behind the ember-lit plaza. The sweet, acrid smell of burning sage and forged steel carried on the wind. Michael stood along a wilted obsidian wall, arms folded across his torso, still aching from the day prior.
Kael sat opposite him, legs spread, sword slung carelessly against her shoulder.
"I've been through three Realms," she said, brushing a dusting of charcoal off her boot. "Born in one, killed in another, woke up in this one with ink on my soul and nothing to lose."
Michael had his eye on her, curious. "So you've been reincarnated as well?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I don't remember all of it, just flashes. Heat. Screaming. Once, you know, I have the whole scholar thing. Another time, a rebel. But this time, I came out clear."
She rapped her blade with the edge of her fetor. "I came through knowing how to live."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "So you're a summoner too?"
"No," she said. "I don't make pacts. I fight the old way. Muscle. Steel. Sigils of the flame not in the soul—etched into the blade. Less elegant. More permanent."
She stood up, shrugged, and stretched her shoulder. "But I know how Soul Threads works." And I can tell yours is raw. Untempered."
He frowned. "Thanks."
She smirked. "It's not an insult. That means you've got potential for growth. And I think I can help."
Michael cast a careful look at her. "Why? You don't even know me."
Kael's smile dropped, more contemplative. She looked over the top of the garden — Anna was back and standing by the entrance, watching them both with quiet interest.
"Because you're with her," said Kael, his voice gentler. "And I've known her for half a day, but there is something about Anna … people don't just follow her. They trust her. Instinctively. Like she has a piece of them they never knew was gone."
She made her voice softer as if saying it too loud might spoil something holy. "I don't know what she is at this point. So I know I want to be close to it. So if she's helping you, then I'll help you too."
Michael felt something lift in his chest — not an implosion of relief, not yet trust, but the germ of something.
Anna approached silently, her smile in place. "Well," she said, hands loosely folded in front of her, "are you two done pretending that this isn't the beginning of a long partnership?"
Kael inclined her head slightly in respectful acknowledgment more than she offered anyone else. "You're a different sort, Flameborn."
"I've heard worse," Anna said with a tender smile.