The fire bloomed like golden poetry across the fungal landscape, transforming Thorin's desperate gambit into something almost beautiful. Brilliant arcs of flame raced through the spore-laden air, igniting in precise chains that spread outward in a controlled wave.
The dwarf's understanding of fire dynamics proved uncannily accurate, the controlled burn created a barrier between the companions and the raging inferno that pursued them.
Apollo watched, transfixed, as the two fires met in a violent dance. The larger blaze seemed to recoil from Thorin's creation, the flames bending away as if repelled by some invisible force.
"It's working," he croaked, his voice barely audible over the crackling roar. "Your fire is consuming the spores the main blaze needs to advance."
Thorin nodded grimly, his face illuminated in harsh orange light. "Won't hold for long. Move!"
