That night, Aric slipped away, drawn by whispers.
He followed them through dark alleys until he reached a plaza lit by pale moonlight. There, the hooded man waited, alone.
"You feel it, don't you?" the man said softly. "This city is yours. The fire is yours. Stop fighting and claim it."
Aric's fists clenched. "You want me to be your weapon."
The man's smile was cold. "Not mine. The Crown's. It doesn't matter which side holds it—the Serpent, the council, or you. The fire will burn everything. The only choice is whether you burn with it… or rule through it."
Aric's fire flared, answering the man's words with hunger. For a terrifying moment, he wanted it—wanted the crown, the throne, the power.
Then Mira's voice called distantly through the ruins. "Aric!"
The spell broke. The hooded man hissed, retreating into shadow once more. "Soon," he whispered. "Very soon."