The Gateborn Hunters lay scattered across the fractured courtyard, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground. Smoke curled from the gouges in the stone where Aaren's blade had struck only moments ago. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, eyes glowing with the molten, unnatural light of Levitine's wrath and Withered Flame's black fire.
But he wasn't moving like himself anymore.
It was jerky—wrong. His feet scraped the ground in sharp, unnatural arcs, each step cracking stone. Energy hissed from his hands and blade in wild pulses, arcs of red and silver slicing the air like it was nothing. His breathing was uneven, but there was no hesitation in his strikes.
"Aaren," Lenara called, a shaky grin plastered on her face, "you're… uh… looking really metal right now. Literally." She tried to keep the tone light, but her eyes were darting to the others. "But maybe tone it down before you slice the planet in half?"
He didn't answer. His head twitched to the side like a predator catching a new scent, and then his blade lifted, point lowering toward her.
"Ah. Okay. That's bad."
Koro moved first. One moment he was standing in his usual loose-shouldered slouch, the next his entire posture snapped taut like a bowstring. His voice cut through the rising hum of energy.
"Stay back, Lenara. He's not home right now."
Levitine's voice rumbled faintly from the blade in Aaren's grip, but it was twisted, layered with Withered Flame's darker growl.
Unshackle. Unleash. Break them all.
Koro's pupils narrowed. "Tch. I knew letting him mix both powers was gonna bite us in the—" He broke off, rolling his shoulders, and a stream of sand began pouring from his sleeves and fingertips, coiling around him like a living serpent.
Aaren blurred forward. The ground between them cracked as he accelerated, blade raised high.
The first swing came faster than Lenara's eyes could track. Koro's sand surged up in a wall, the blade cutting halfway through before grinding to a halt, molten sparks spitting where magic met magic.
"Y'know," Koro said, even now sounding maddeningly casual, "this is not how I pictured today going. I was thinking maybe a nap. Or pie."
Aaren's free hand shot out, black fire spiraling from his palm. Koro twisted, sand forming a dome that absorbed the heat, though the outer layers fused into brittle glass.
"This isn't working," Lenara hissed, hands curling into fists. "He's not slowing down!"
Koro didn't look at her. "That's because he's not fighting. The powers are. And if I push too hard, the backlash might rip him apart."
Aaren's next attack was brutal—a downward slash that cleaved through Koro's sand armor and scored a deep line into his shoulder. Koro flinched but didn't cry out; his eyes were locked on Aaren's.
"You in there, kid?" he muttered under his breath. "'Cause if you are, now'd be a good time to wake up."
Levitine's glow flared brighter, Withered Flame's fire curling in jagged patterns up Aaren's arm. His body was trembling now, not with weakness, but with the strain of holding so much unbound force.
Koro clenched his teeth, raised both hands, and the sand around him surged. It wasn't just a wall this time—it was a tide. A tidal wave of grit and stone that wrapped around Aaren's legs, arms, even his neck, forcing his movements into tighter, smaller arcs.
Aaren roared—a raw, animal sound—and the bindings shuddered as flames and lightning tore against them. The smell of scorched minerals filled the air.
"Koro, you're gonna—" Lenara started.
"—burn? Probably." His grin flickered for a second, then hardened. "But if I let go, he'll level the whole chamber."
The sand thickened, grain by grain, until Aaren's motions slowed. Koro forced more of his own magic into it, weaving not just binding but draining threads, sapping the wild flow of power leaking from Aaren's core.
"You're not my enemy, Aaren Raithe," Koro said quietly, voice dropping to a rare, deadly serious tone. "You're my teammate. So I'm not letting you kill yourself over a power trip."
With one final pull, the sand constricted like a vice. The silver and black light dimmed, the roars faded into ragged gasps, and at last—Aaren's body sagged. The blade clattered from his hands, both Levitine's and Withered Flame's energies slipping back into uneasy slumber.
Koro exhaled slowly, sweat streaming down his face. "There. Piece of cake." He promptly stumbled forward and sat down hard on the ground. "Okay, maybe more like a cake with spikes in it."
Lenara jogged over, checking Aaren's pulse, then glancing up at Koro. "You alright?"
He waved her off with a tired smirk. "Just used up half my magic and turned my favorite shirt into a burn victim. I'll live."
But when his eyes flicked to Aaren's unconscious form, the smirk faded. Quietly, so only she could hear, he said, "That… wasn't normal. His power's changing. And not in a way I like."
Lenara's smile faltered. "…Meaning?"
Koro didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked toward the far edge of the courtyard where the shadows seemed deeper than they should have been.
"It means," he said slowly, "that if we don't figure out how to keep him stable… the Gateborn Hunters won't be our biggest problem."
Somewhere in that darkness, something shifted. Watching. Waiting.
And though Aaren slept, his fingers twitched—like the powers inside him were still dreaming of war.