We fanned out instinctively. Training kicked in. Even Felix didn't trip over himself—yet.
The thing in the center watched us without moving. Its skin shimmered like it was forged from lava, its limbs long and jointed wrong, fingers dragging ash trails in the air. But it wasn't just fire. No sprite ever gave off intent.
This thing had it. Malice thick enough to taste.
"Identify it," I ordered, sword ready.
Wallace scanned with a shaky lens stone. "It's… not in the database. Closest match is a flamebound wraith—but those don't move. They're bound to altars."
"This one looks ready to waltz," Julien muttered, already circling it with practiced footwork.
"Hold," I said. "We test first."
I picked up a broken pickaxe and chucked it at the creature. It exploded mid-air—liquified by a heat surge.
So, that's how it plays.
"Alright," I muttered. "Mira. Curses. Now."
She was already chanting.
