Present – The Clearing (continued)
Lyle staggered back, coughing through a throat full of grit. His snarl crumbled into a raw, broken growl as arcs of static crackled wildly across his shoulders. The unstable energy surged again—barely restrained, a tempest on the verge of collapse.
Across from him, Rowan slowly rose.
The axe in his hands felt heavier than before—not from fatigue, but from clarity. The weight of what it might have to do.
He didn't want to kill Lyle.
But worse than that… he didn't want to be too late.
"Lyle," he said, voice low and steady. "Fight it. Don't let them turn you into another warning."
⸻
Eight Hours Earlier
Geneva's steely eyes locked onto Lyle with a flicker of recognition. Beside her, Genevo stepped forward, gently placing a hand on the boy's head.
"He's possessed," Genevo muttered. "Cursed."
Markus, Aria, and Finn froze in place as luminous etchings blazed to life beneath Genevo's touch—ancient sigils that spiraled across Lyle's skin, the aura pulsing like a predator ready to pounce.
Then everything snapped.
The curse erupted in a violent wave.
Aria reacted first—no hesitation. Her scalpel flashed as she lunged, aiming to carve through the fire-bindings wrapping around her brother.
From somewhere in the crowd: "Ohhh—he's cursed."
Genevo chuckled dryly. There goes my excuse to kill him and bounce…
Still, his gaze lingered. No way this one's over level 25, he thought. No bloodline. No threat.
Then he noticed Aria. Same eyes. Same last name on the tag.
Siblings, he realized with a sigh.
He glanced toward Geneva and Varzan—and for the first time, he believed they might actually make it out alive.
The hardest choices, he thought, require the strongest wills.
Suddenly, Lyle broke free. The bindings shattered like glass under pressure, fire bursting into smoke as if he'd slipped out of a nightmare.
Markus, Finn, and Ramsey were still trapped. Aria kept slicing, but the cursed flame clung stubbornly—resistant as molten steel.
She looked back.
Lyle was shaking, eyes distant and clouded. The curse hadn't faded—it was gathering again.
Around them, tension spiked. Adventurers shifted. Some raised weapons. Others lit their hands with magic.
Genevo summoned his flamebow and drew a burning arrow to his cheek.
He aimed at Lyle.
And fired.
Markus lunged.
His shoulder slammed into Genevo just before the shot landed, sending the flaming arrow wide. It hissed past Lyle, igniting the air behind him.
Then Lyle let out a savage, feral growl. His burned clothes clung to his frame as he bolted—uncontrolled, unthinking, tearing through the underbrush as though trying to outrun the thing growing inside him.
Shouts erupted. Arrows followed. Powers flared. They gave chase.
Genevo gave Aria one last look—something unreadable flickering in his eyes—then turned sharply, following the grower, one of the best trackers in the group, already racing after Lyle.
Geneva paused, casting a final glance back at the others, her expression unreadable.
Then silence swallowed the clearing, broken only by the soft chime of a mechanical voice:
"Fire Keeper bloodline—deactivated."
Geneva turned and followed the others, heading in the direction they had gone—chasing after Lyle to do what needed to be done, for her and her brothers.
Seconds later, the fire bindings crumbled into ash. Aria, Markus, Ramsey, and Finn dropped to the ground, gasping—finally free.
But Lyle was already gone. They had changed him—whatever they did, she wasn't sure he'd ever be the same again. That thought gripped Aria's chest as she fought to hold back her tears, doing her best to stay strong.
⸻
Present – The Clearing (continued)
Rowan stayed low, axe at the ready. Across from him, Lyle twitched beneath the static screaming through his nerves. Ash coated his arms. His breath came in short, panicked bursts—torn between resistance and surrender.
Then his head snapped up.
His eyes glowed—not with flame, but with something older. Wilder. The light of something that had no business wearing a human face.
"Lyle," Rowan said again, firmer now. "I know you're still in there."
A stir rippled at the edge of the clearing.
Behind Rowan, a wave of adventurers—easily a hundred strong—emerged from the treeline. Blades gleamed in the sun. Runes pulsed along armor. Fingers tensed on triggers and hilts.
They weren't here to watch.
They were here to end this.
What was once the majestic Azure Strifelion had now become something else entirely—a soul doll, bound and reshaped. Yet its piercing gaze still held a flicker of its former pride as it finally arrived at the scene.
Jacob watched through the beast's eyes, his own glowing faintly with the shared vision. He was in full control, guiding the creature with unshakable focus through their soul link—mind and instinct moving as one.
When Jacob laid eyes on Lyle, a chilling sense of déjà vu gripped him—Lyle moved just like the revenant beast had before its death and strange resurrection, when it returned shrouded in an aura and bearing that eerie, otherworldly quest. The signs were all there. Whoever had twisted the beast had likely done the same to Lyle.
Maybe… just maybe, Jacob thought, if I could pull the beast back from that brink, I can pull Lyle back too.
His grip on the soul-link tightened.
If linking with the beast broke their hold once… it can break it again.
Jacob gave the soul doll a silent command.
The Azure Strifelion moved—slow, deliberate—each glassy paw stirring dust and leaves in a rhythm that felt almost ceremonial. Light refracted off its translucent form, casting shards of color across the clearing as it circled Lyle with quiet intent.
Its presence didn't just part the crowd—it silenced them. Some adventurers lowered their weapons, not out of mercy, but uncertainty. Maybe the beast would do the job for them. Maybe they wouldn't have to.
Still, no one spoke.
The pressure in the air shifted—subtle, yet undeniable. It wasn't just power they felt.
It was something ancient… remembering itself.
Lyle's head twitched toward the movement. His lips curled back in a snarl, but it faltered. That glow in his eyes flickered, warping for a moment—as though something inside him stuttered.