---
The crystal door swung wide, spilling waves of heat so intense that Oliver shielded his face. Even with his Vita barrier active, the air felt like it was burning his lungs. Beyond the threshold lay a chamber of molten stone—lava rivers crisscrossing through jagged rock, glowing veins pulsing beneath every step.
And at the center, perched on a stone altar, was a small creature of fire.
The Salamander elemental.
Its body was sleek and amphibian-like, crimson and orange flames licking along its back like scales. Spirals of spiritual energy coiled around it, shaping its small form into something both fragile and untouchable. It blinked two molten-gold eyes at Oliver and Sorrel, as though measuring their worth before a word was even spoken.
The temperature surged. Beads of sweat rolled down Oliver's neck, his hoodie sticking to his skin. He gripped his iron sword instinctively, though he knew a weapon wouldn't help here.
The Salamander's voice wasn't spoken aloud, but carried into their minds—resonant, old, and burning.
"You seek the flame?"
Oliver hesitated. His throat was dry, but he forced the words out. "Yes… we do."
The Salamander tilted its head, sparks drifting from its body. "Flame is not given. Flame is survived. Can you carry me without being consumed?"
Suddenly the chamber roared to life—the lava rivers surged, pillars of fire erupted, and the heat doubled. Oliver staggered back, shielding his face, but forced himself forward.
His thoughts slipped, memories unbidden clawing their way back from Earth.
28 years old. Unemployed. A nobody. Picking up boxes in a warehouse, sweating for nothing. No future. No respect. Forgotten.
He looked at the Salamander, its burning body like a heart forged from the planet itself.
And now—ten years in this world. Fighting monsters. Talking to spirits. Cooking for a slime queen. Meeting people who call him comrade. He wasn't a nobody anymore.
The flames lashed at him. His Vita barrier cracked, searing his arms. Oliver gritted his teeth, his vision blurring.
"I won't run!" he shouted. His blue Vita flared, struggling to shield him. "I'll carry you—because this world is mine now! Earth… Earth was nothing compared to this!"
The Salamander blinked once, then leapt from its altar—straight at Oliver. For a heartbeat, Oliver thought he was going to be incinerated. But instead of burning him alive, the Salamander coiled around his arm like living fire, sinking into his Vita.
The searing pain subsided into a warm pulse. The Salamander's energy flowed into him, fusing with his life force.
"Then burn," the elemental whispered in his mind. "Burn, and live."
Oliver collapsed to one knee, panting, his veins glowing faint orange before fading back. When he looked at his palm, a faint flame danced there, not consuming, but waiting for his call.
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Ten years… and I finally feel alive."
Behind him, Sorrel smirked knowingly, glasses catching the firelight. Rosemary, watching from the threshold, bowed her head slightly.
Oliver had gained the Salamander elemental.
---
Riven sat beneath the half-built pavilion, elbows on his knees, quill scratching across parchment as Goldie curled by his feet. The camp buzzed with activity—new Travelers hauling wood, others tending to the elemental animals Aurelia had organized, and some already trying to barter Mysticoins like it was second nature.
Then a faint shimmer in the air, a message thread, and Rosemary's voice reached him. Calm, refined, with a smile hidden under every word.
"Oliver succeeded. He carries the Salamander now. You should be proud of him, Riven."
Riven's quill froze mid-stroke. A faint exhale left him, though he kept his composure. "…So he really did it. Hah. Trust Oliver to get involved with you of all people, Rosemary."
At that exact moment Garrick barged in, arms full of iron scraps and his usual crooked grin—until he heard the name.
"W-Wait… did you just say Rosemary? As in—like—a princess Rosemary?"
Riven leaned back, brushing his black hair from his face, utterly unfazed. "Yes. We've known each other a while."
Garrick nearly dropped the scraps. "You're telling me—you're pen pals with actual royalty?! Like—you just casually take calls from noble houses while I'm stuck cleaning moss pots?!"
Riven gave a half-smirk. "It's not uncommon. I've spoken to plenty of princesses in my time. Even Marigold."
That name made Garrick blink, then slowly turn his head toward Aurelia, who was intimidating a group of Travelers into planting straighter rows of trees.
"…Wait. Aurelia… you're related to Princess Marigold?"
Aurelia snapped her gaze, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Don't bring that up again, dwarf. Or you'll be planting moss with your teeth."
Garrick froze, then threw his hands up defensively. "Okay, okay! Just asking!"
Goldie lifted her head and meowed softly, as if amused by Garrick's shock.
Meanwhile, at the training field, Nico conjured a sharp wave of flame from his palms. The fire struck a moss-covered target and burned it clean off the wooden frame. The system's voice echoed—
+5 Mysticoins.
Nico smirked, brushing soot from his hands. "Hah. Easy."
But then, across the camp, Milo drew his blade in a single, confident sweep. His party cheered him on as he released a burst of light-infused energy that lit up the entire training field. His target exploded into cinders before anyone even blinked.
+10 Mysticoins.
The Travelers erupted in cheers for Milo, chanting his name. Nico's smirk faltered. His flames dimmed at his fingertips, his jaw tightening as he glared.
"…Show-off." Nico muttered under his breath.
Up at the pavilion, Riven watched both young men quietly. His hand tapped the parchment, his mind already calculating.
"Salamanders… royalty… rival heroes…" He muttered to himself. "This camp is becoming heavier with names. We're painting a target on ourselves faster than I planned."
Goldie's tail swayed slowly. "And yet, Riven… isn't that exactly what you wanted?"
Riven didn't answer—only stood, surveying the camp, his gaze sharp and calculating as if the weight of August already pressed against him.
---