That night was a very restless one for Talia. She had anticipated as much, with what happened in the alley. But that wasn't where her mind took her. It kept mulling over the desert and the Diviner. She had been drilled in both armed and unarmed combat, over and over again by her instructors. But nothing had prepared her for the situation where she would need to use her skills against commoners. Her hand found her bruised shoulder, touching it ever so slightly. A loud sigh escaped her lips as she stared at the ceiling.
"How did she do it? Fight so effortlessly without even seeing?".
Talia wanted to scream in frustration, but at night she would wake the entire mansion. And attract Eldarion, which was the last thing she wanted.
She went for the next best thing and screamed into her pillow, muffling it considerably. That didn't do it. Instead she decided to get dressed and go outside for some fresh air, now that Tan'thalon's ingenious rain system had stopped bombarding all the windows in the city.
She quietly made her way to the garden. Here it became clear that it was a noble estate. No commoner could put this much work into landscaping their property. Most of them didn't even have gardens.
Talia's gaze turned towards the stars. Something about the little lights in the sky always soothed her mind.
Below her, the great arc wall shimmered against the night sky, the Lazulli inlays almost creating a starry sky of their own. The guards on top endlessly patrolling. To a newcomer like Talia it seemed like something had Tan'thalon on edge.
This short thought immediately threw her back to the alley and the ember seeker. A follower of Ba'ham. Everyone knew of the dispute between May'jahan, the goddess of life, and Ba'ham, the god of magic and knowledge. The heretic god. He was the reason people like the ember seeker existed. Talia had thought the capital city would have been spared from Ba'ham's whispers, but tonight had made her painfully aware that he was everywhere. A sharp jolt in her bruised shoulder served as a physical reminder of that.
But how was the Diviner tied in all of this? An arena champion in the lower rings. A crime fighting heroine. A disciple of May'Jahan.
All of the sudden the image of the Diviner's blind gaze looking directly at her mid combat popped in her mind.
Finally outside with no risk of waking anyone up, she let her frustrations vent in a loud scream. Her chest heaved with pent up anger and frustration, keeping her eyes closed. When she opened them again, they locked on a nearby tree. A quick punch. It didn't do much to the tree, but it sent a small shock up her arm to her bruised shoulder. Now more than a jolt, the pain was sharp enough to force her knees, followed by another shout.
She was too pent up in her own turmoil that she failed to notice him approaching her.
"My, my… what a curious sight. The lady of the house Suri-Farah, screaming at trees in the dead of night. Should I be worried for the poor oaks and elms, or for your sanity?"
Eldarion's voice carried that smug lilt. As if the whole situation hadn't annoyed her enough, he was the last thing Talia needed right now. All she wanted was to be alone. She gritted her teeth, not meeting his eyes.
"What are you doing out here, Eldarion? Shouldn't you be polishing your armor or… basking in your own reflection somewhere?"
He ignored the barb, or simply failed to register it, instead strolling closer to Talia with his hands folded behind his back. His posture was as self-centered as he was.
"I sensed unrest in you. A knight's instinct, you might say. And here you are, wounded, thrashing about at bark and branches. You should have called for me. My strength would have spared you the pain."
Talia slowly got up, a hand on her aching shoulder. Her voice was as cold as the ice she needed to put on that shoulder.
"I don't need your strength. I can manage on my own."
Again, Eldarion's posture mimicked his character as he tilted his chin with a smug smirk.
"Manage? I saw you stumble just now. You may know the forms, Talia, but against real foes, raw power and divine blessing prevail. That is what I offer you. What I am."
She snapped back, faster and harder than she wanted to.
"And yet it wasn't you who was there in that alley. Was it? You weren't the one who stood against them."
Eldarion scoffed, taken aback by Talia's bluntness. In part that was also what attracted him to her.
"Street rabble. Hardly worth unsheathing my blade for. Let the guard swat flies—I reserve my strength for true battles."
Talia narrowed her eyes. Somehow it kept astounding her how posh Eldarion was. Her voice was quiet, but cutting.
"A convenient excuse."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice an octave because he thought it was alluring. Once again he completely misread Talia's signs.
"You are spirited, I'll give you that. Fire and steel. It's why I find you… irresistible. In time, you'll see that my devotion is not something to spurn so easily."
She took a deliberate step back, creating distance between them.
"Devotion? You don't even see me, Eldarion. You only see yourself reflected in whoever stands near you."
This made his smile falter, causing him to cover it up with arrogance.
"You wound me, Talia. But wounds heal. And when your parents' wisdom finally dawns on you, you'll realize that I'm the only man worthy of you."
Talia quickly turned on her heels she faced away from him. A very clear gesture with a sharp voice.
"Or maybe I'll realize worth isn't measured in arrogance and titles. Leave me, Eldarion. I came here for air, not your suffocating company."
Eldarion paused, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he withdrew.
"As you wish, my fiery dove. But remember—no matter how far you stray into shadows and stars, you'll always circle back to the sun. And I… am that sun."
He made his exit with a self-satisfied flourish. One day he would have Talia by his side. He was sure of that.
Talia exhaled slowly, her fists clenched tighter than before. She swore then and there that she would surpass Eldarion. She would prove that she didn't need him.
She waited until his footsteps faded beyond the hedges before letting out the breath she'd been holding.
The sun, he calls himself. More like a fire that scorches everything it touches. He doesn't love me—he loves the way I make him look. A prize, a possession, a name to attach to his own. My parents see alliances, titles, heirs. They don't see me either.
Her shoulder throbbed again, but this pain was different—it reminded her she was still her own person, still capable of fighting back, even if no one believed it.
If Eldarion is the path they've chosen for me, then I'll carve another. I'd rather bleed in the dirt than rot in silk at his side.
Talia looked back at the stars. For a brief moment, she could almost imagine they were whispering, promising something more than gilded cages and arrogant paladins.
The night sky offered no answers, only silence. She let her eyes fall shut, forcing the anger to settle, if only for a few hours of rest. Until a crack of thunder in the distance caught her attention. She wanted to hurry back inside to avoid getting drenched again, but then remembered she had been looking at the stars without so much as a cloud in sight. That was the reason why Tan'thalon had its infamous weather system. It was dry for too long periods in a row. It could only mean one thing. Even in a city as big as Tan'thalon, it would be incredible if there were two elementalists at once. That was how rare the class was. The Diviner was still patrolling out there.
By dawn, Tan'thalon's fragile silence abruptly disappeared. Horns sounded from the arc wall, their echoes rattling every noble estate. Talia, who had never been to Tan'thalon before, jolted awake. She didn't know what the horns meant. It wasn't the alarm for impending danger nor a call to arms.
Word spread quickly: the desert had advanced again, swallowing another village whole.
Before long, Talia found herself standing in the vaulted council chamber, the scent of incense masking the stink of fear. Eldarion, polished to a blinding sheen, strode at her side as though he had already won the day.
The council chamber of Tan'thalon was vast, carved into the mountain's face and lit by Lazulli veins that shimmered like trapped lightning. The city was using the magic gem for a plethora of purposes. It hadn't earned its status as magitech capital for nothing.
Nobles, officers, and magitech scholars filled the seats in a layered crescent, their voices rising and falling in sharp debates about the desert's advance.
Talia sat among them, posture stiff, jaw tight. Eldarion lingered nearby, his presence heavy, reminding her of both duty and scrutiny. She kept her focus on the debates, trying to drown out the restless energy still simmering inside her since the alleyways. When the Diviner popped into her mind, she tried to force it away by turning her attention to the debates.
When the High councilor spoke, silence came as if someone had casted a mute spell on the hall. His voice carried the weight of a leader, stern and rigid. With a tap on the desk he demanded focus.
"The reports are confirmed. The desert swallows another village at dawn. That is the third in as many weeks. If this tide continues unchecked, the outlying provinces will be lost before the next season."
Eldarion rose from his seat, armor shining in the light. He really loved attention and stood there wanting it, like a peacock boasting its feathers.
"Then it is providence you have summoned me. The divine light of May'jahan flows through my blade, and with it, I will drive back the sands themselves. Grant me command of the expedition, and you may rest easy."
A female councilor rose to her feet rather skeptical.
"Spoken like a man who has never set foot in the lower rings, let alone the dunes. Tell me, Paladin, will your polished armor shield the villages when the desert rises to swallow them whole?"
Eldarion, posh as always retaliated with a smirk, puffing his chest to be seen.
"My armor has turned the blades of demons and the fangs of beasts. Sand will fare no better."
Half of the hall murmured approval while the other half, including Talia, rolled their eyes.
The high councilor cut across the murmur and turned his attention directly towards Talia.
"And what of you, Lady Talia of house Suri-Farah? You were a witness to last night's attack. Speak plainly—what did you see?"
She hesitated at first, then steadied her voice.
"It wasn't just desperation or banditry. The ember seeker carried Ba'ham's mark. His whispers are stronger than we thought. Even inside the city. If the desert advances in step with his cult, this is no natural tide—it's a siege."
A male councilor rose, his face grim as he planted his palms on the desk before him.
"Then we face not merely shifting sands, but heresy given form. We must decide quickly whether to fortify the wall… or march to meet it."
Eldarion seized the opportunity to cut in, his tone dripping with certainty.
"March, of course. To cower behind stone is to invite ruin. Give me a hundred riders, and I will carve a path through the dunes to the very heart of this corruption."
Talia at this point was unable to keep her calm. Her voice was as sharp as the sword she wields.
"You speak as though arrogance is a strategy. The desert isn't a battlefield you can charge across—it consumes without mercy. It never relents. We need scouts, alliances, preparation—not reckless shows of faith."
Eldarion turned to with a smug half smile.
"Ah, my spirited lady, ever cautious. But courage, not hesitation, is what wins wars."
The high councilor raised, immediately silencing everyone. Even Eldarion knew better than to challenge him.
"Enough. Both voices will be weighed. A decision will be made at dawn tomorrow. Until then, prepare yourselves. Whether by courage or caution, Tan'thalon cannot afford to falter."
The council rose, voices buzzing everywhere. Eldarion strode off with a wave of his mantle, as though victory was already his. Talia lingered behind, her fists clenched at her waist. This was so infuriating. Almost more so than needing to be rescued in an alley. Though the weight of the desert pressed on her thoughts more heavily than even that or Eldarion's words.
As the council hall emptied, Eldarion left with a flourish of some younger nobles trailing his tail, like eager squires. They all wanted to bask in his spotlight. Talia rolled her eyes at the sight. She chose to linger, absently tracing the Lazulli veins on the chamber's floor. It looked like glowing cracks in the marble. Her thoughts were heavier on her than her bruised shoulder and bandaged arm.
With Eldarion out of earshot, the female councilor, a woman in her late fifties in robes of deep green silk, approached her softly.
"You spoke well, child. Bravery tempered with wisdom is rare in these halls. Do not let Eldarion's bluster drown out your clarity."
Talia sighed, lowering her gaze.
"My parents would disagree. They only see his name, his holy vows, his shine. Not the shadow that follows him."
The councilor studied her closely, looking for cracks in her appearance.
"Your parents see politics. I see a soldier wrestling with a truth others are too afraid to name. The desert does not march like an army—it grows. One does not defeat growth with steel alone."
Talia hesitated. Then her voice almost whispered.
"Then what does defeat it?"
The councilor glanced at the nearly empty chamber, only a few nobles and generals remained. Her voice hushed.
"Perhaps not defeat… but balance. And for that, we may need someone who knows the desert better than any of us. Someone the common folk already whisper about."
A faint sound echoed, like a distant whistle accompanied by footsteps at the far end of the hall. Eldarion's posse stirred uneasily as they lingered near the door. He himself stood proud and unafraid as the braziers near them flickered as if a wind just passed through.
Talia felt it.
A shift. A silence.
At the chamber's entrance, robed in deep blues and silvers that shimmered faintly with elemental threads, the Diviner stepped inside. Barefoot, staff in hand, her hood drawn low over sightless eyes, she moved with the poise and confidence of one who needed no guide. The guards bowed her through as though she were royalty. She had an unseen status here.
Murmurs rippled through the room. Some spoke her title with reverence, others with suspicion.
The councilor responded in a low murmur to Talia.
"Ask, and the gods provide… or perhaps they test us."
But Talia's heartbeat had already quickened—not from the whispers, but from the way the Diviner's head tilted ever so slightly… directly toward her. Just like she had done in the alley.
There was no hesitation. No wandering glance. Out of the dozens of nobles, generals, and scholars still present in the chamber, the Diviner's veiled gaze settled squarely on Talia. There was something about her that unsettled Talia.
"You again," the woman said softly, though her voice carried through the chamber as if the air itself chose to deliver it.
A few heads turned in surprise at the familiarity of the remark, including the Councilor.
Talia straightened, heat rising in her cheeks.
"We've met," she managed, tone clipped, trying to smother the flicker of… something.
Trying to fight the blush on her face.
The Diviner only smiled faintly, unhurried, as though amused by her restraint.
"Yes. And still you carry yourself like a storm, tightly leashed. I can feel the tension in the air around you."
Talia bristled, fists clenching at her sides. "I'm a paladin. I was trained for discipline."
"Were you now?" The Diviner's smile sharpened, almost teasing. "I hear your heart faster than any soldier's discipline. It beats like wildfire."
Talia froze. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Eldarion stepped forward from his fixed position near the gates then, ready to defend his interest. His voice cutting through the tension.
"Diviner. With respect, the council is gathered for matters of state, not… personal observations."
The Diviner did not even turn to acknowledge him. Her blind gaze remained fixed on Talia, the faint smile never wavering. Even while trying to avoid her, Talia noticed her smile went lopsided to the left. Perhaps a remainder of a fight.
For a fleeting moment, the whole chamber felt smaller, the whispers of nobles fading to nothing. It was just the two of them, bound in a silent defiance neither quite named.
Talia tore her eyes away first, though the echo of the Diviner's words burned in her chest.
Wildfire.
The Diviner in turn turned her attention to the gathered council. The tone in her voice remained as calm as her composure, never once wavering.
"The lady paladin speaks the truth, Council. While the desert is advancing, it seems so is Ba'ham's cult. More and more whisper on the streets. Whispers of promise of power and forbidden knowledge. There is unrest." she paused, taking a slow breath "If I may make a suggestion?".
The gathered council quickly turned towards their high councilor. With a light nod he gave permission, unaware that the Diviner couldn't see the gesture.
It was Talia who took the chance to make a sharp remark.
"He nodded, in case you missed it" Her words carried a bit of venom in them.
The Diviner merely tilted her head back towards Talia, turning her unsettling unseeing gaze on her.
"I know. I heard him." she exclaimed before directing the Council again "Address both issues. Send a party to the desert and another to investigate the cult".
She titled her head back to Talia with a message meant solely for her.
"Train. Learn to temper your fire."
As the council hall emptied out, only the councilors remained. After assuring herself that they were alone, the female councilor was the first to speak up.
"High Councilor Maranth. She is right. We do need to address several issues at hand".
Maranth took a deep breath, then exhaled through his nose. His way of relieving some tension.
"You are quite right, Councilor Veyra. I think it is time we spoke with that data analyst up in her tower. Shyra Volthen. What are your thoughts, Councilor Jareth?"
"We should speak with the shield architect, Drenn Veylak, as well. The arc wall might need to be fortified."
The training courtyard of Tan'thalon rang with the sound of steel on steel. Paladins drilled in formation, their voices rising in sharp cadence, the gleam of Lazulli-tipped banners catching the artificial sunstones above. The stone paved yard, flanked by pillars depicting images of May'jahan, revealed that it was used primarily by Paladins.
Talia had chosen this place to regain some control, to ground herself after the Diviner's unnerving words in council. Sweat already slicked her brow as she drove her practice blade against a dummy, each strike faster, harder. But no matter how disciplined her rhythm, she felt… restless. Ever since that diviner had called her out she felt… sloppy. Like she needed to whip herself back into shape.
Her focus was disrupted when a ripple of whispers stirred among the paladins.
Talia stilled. She didn't need to turn to know who had arrived.
The Diviner's staff tapped gently against the stone floor as she crossed the courtyard, swaying it in front of her to detect obstacles. Blind, but unerring, her steps carried her toward the sparring ring without hesitation. Her hood was pushed back now, sightless eyes pale as glass with a milky green hue, her expression unreadable. Talia had seen her in acting in the alley. She knew her staff more of an act than anything else.
"Still trying to tame the storm?" the Diviner asked softly, stopping just outside the ring.
Talia's jaw clenched. "I'm training. Something you wouldn't understand."
The faintest smile touched the Diviner's lips, curling towards the left.
"Wouldn't I?" She tilted her head. "Test me, then."
Before Talia could reply, the Diviner stepped into the circle. The paladins around them hushed, curiosity bright in their eyes. A duel between a paladin and the famed elementalist was not something to miss. Elementalists were rare to begin with. To see one duel a paladin was something they couldn't resist.
"You're blind," Talia said, narrowing her eyes to a squint. "This isn't fair."
"Then you should win easily," the Diviner replied, lifting her staff in a fluid motion.
A shimmer of light coursed along its polished length, alive and watchful. Heat prickled at Talia's neck. Her pride refused to back down. She had always been a little hot tempered and that wasn't going to change any time soon.
"Fine." she said as she raised her blade.
The first exchange was sharp and fast. Talia lunged forward, exactly like she was taught to, but the Diviner turned just so, staff intercepting with effortless precision. No glance, no flinch. It was as if she already knew the strike's path before it happened.
Again and again, Talia pressed, her strikes fueled by increasing frustration. Each time, the Diviner blocked or stepped aside at the last possible moment, her movements a breath too close, the brush of her sleeve against Talia's arm, the whisper of her breath when she leaned near. To the spectators it almost looked like the Diviner was dancing.
"Your anger speaks louder than your sword," she murmured after catching a thrust and sliding it harmlessly aside. Her lips almost brushed Talia's ear.
"It's why I can read you so easily."
Talia flushed, biting back a retort as she spun away, blade sweeping. Their weapons clashed, sparks leaping. She hated being toyed with, feeling embarrassed in public.
"Don't—" she growled, striking again, "—think you're—" another strike, blocked effortlessly, "—better than me!"
The Diviner's smile widened as she let the staff glide along Talia's blade, twisting their weapons until the two of them were locked close, face to face. Despite being a bit smaller than Talia, the Diviner seemed to know exactly how to move against taller and stronger opponents.
"I don't think," she whispered, her voice low, intimate. "I know."
Talia's breath caught. Heat pooled in her chest, a confusing, maddening mix of fury and something else entirely. With a sharp cry, she shoved the Diviner back and lowered her blade, panting. The courtyard rang with silence, the watching paladins holding their breath. Her face and chest were red with fury and frustration.
The Diviner only dipped her head slightly, serene as ever.
"You'll fight better when you learn which fire drives you… and which one consumes you."
She turned, walking away without another word, staff tapping softly against the stone. Talia stood frozen, blade trembling in her grip. Her heart hammered—not from exhaustion, but from the infuriating truth of it.
At dusk, the sparring courtyard had long emptied. The clatter of blades, the chatter of soldiers—all of it faded until only the echo of Talia's own breathing remained.
She sat on a stone bench in the corner, her practice blade resting limply across her knees. Finally alone with her thoughts. Her hands were still trembling, though not from the exertion of practice. She stared down at her palms, raw from gripping the hilt too tightly, but all she could see was the memory of that staff sliding against her sword, the way the Diviner's face had been so close, unflinching, unreadable. And that voice.
I don't think. I know.
The words replayed again and again, threading under her skin. She clenched her fists. "Arrogant," she muttered, though the word felt hollow. Her chest tightened with something hotter than anger, more dangerous. Every time she replayed the fight in her head, she didn't just recall the humiliation—she remembered the subtle brush of the Diviner's sleeve, the warmth of her presence, the faint curve of her smile. Talia pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, groaning. "What is wrong with me?"
She was a paladin. Disciplined. Noble-born. Trained to uphold order, duty, the will of her House. And yet—one duel with a blind elementalist had left her shaken, restless, wanting… something she couldn't even name. All her life she had been raised in noble circles. Everyone she interacted with was of noble blood. Though she never had a true friend. Could this be what was blooming here? Or was it more. She was supposed to continue her bloodline. She couldn't be attracted to women, could she?
The courtyard stones were cool beneath her boots, grounding her. She tried to breathe, to call on her training. But every breath drew back the memory of how effortlessly the Diviner had moved, as though she had seen more in her blindness than Talia could in all her sight.
"Wildfire," she whispered bitterly, remembering the first time the Diviner had named her so.
But sitting there in silence, the word didn't sound like an insult anymore. It sounded like a truth she wasn't ready to face.
The courtyard was still. Only the faint hum of the Lazulli lanterns above broke the silence. Having spent the day basking in sunlight, they slowly released their gathered charge, illuminating the city at night.
Talia leaned forward on the bench, elbows braced on her knees, practice blade balanced loosely in her hands. Her pulse was finally slowing, but her mind refused to still. She had always been a thinker. Every detail replayed itself in ruthless clarity: the Diviner's staff catching her strikes, the impossible precision of her movements, the brush of her breath at Talia's ear, the way her smile lingered in the spaces between words. She exhaled sharply, squeezing her eyes shut.
"It was just a spar. Nothing more."
But the memory wouldn't stay quiet. The closeness, the heat of the clash, the way the Diviner's sightless gaze seemed to see her more deeply than anyone ever had. Talia's stomach tightened at the thought and she tried to block it out.
"She's infuriating," Talia hissed under her breath.
Her hands curled into fists over the blade.
"Arrogant. Smug. She thinks she knows everything."
The words came easily, but conviction didn't. Even if it was somewhat true.
Her lips parted as another thought rose—unbidden, unwanted. Maybe it wasn't only fury that had her shaking. That maybe what had burned in her chest when the Diviner locked her weapon against hers hadn't been anger at all. That maybe—
"No," she cut herself off, slamming the blade flat against the stone bench. The sharp crack echoed through the courtyard.
She stood abruptly, pacing in the dim glow of the lanterns. Her boots scraped against the stone, restless, unsteady.
"I won't give her that. Not her. Not after—" She bit down on the words, unable to finish.
She stopped, staring up at the night sky beyond the courtyard walls, where the faint shimmer of the Arc Wall caught the stars. Her breath came slow, heavy.
"She's just a blind elementalist," Talia whispered, almost pleading with herself. "That's all she is."
But the echo of the Diviner's voice returned, soft and unshakable.
I don't think. I know.
Talia shivered, and hated how much she wanted to hear it again.
What some people - especially nobles - didn't know was that humans were only one of the sentient races on Helios. They never ventured very far beyond the high spire, at the center of Tan'thalon. Shyra Vollten's tower was located at the far eastern side, standing defiantly in the city's skyline like a great beacon. Inside, the data analyst was ever busy. Even when a Lazulli node in the center of the thrumming, technology filled room she occupied activated, she continued her fervent manipulation of her machines, moving holographic display after holograph display.
The node glowed softly, threads of light expanding like woven strands of crystal lattice. Within the glow, holographic forms took shape—Maranth's stern figure, Veyra's measured poise—each projected with sharp clarity in the chamber.
High Councilor Maranth did not speak immediately. He first observed the Haitreh. She moved fast on four digitigrade legs, light and agile. Above the frame rose a human-like torso, feverishly busy as she ordained her displays. The delicate interface on her fingers and the tendrils extending from her skull glowing faintly as she did. Her elongated neck turned, her inquisitive eyes now locking on the councilors. She stepped closer into the light, revealing a blueish skin, and soft luminescent patterns under the skin of her face and skull.When she spoke, her tone had harmonious undertone, natural to her species.
"Counselors. I have been expecting you".
"Then you already know what we want to ask" Maranth spoke with authority, but his tone was softer. He for one appreciated the alien data analyst.
"Indeed. As of last night, the desert has consumed the village of Kareth. That is the third settlement lost in twenty-two days. The rate of encroachment is accelerating—what once advanced a mile a season now advances nearly half a mile each week." Shyra was never known to dwindle, instead focussing on efficiency and numbers.
"Impossible. The desert shifts with storms, not with purpose." Maranth's expression turned to a frown, accentuated by his age.
"Not impossible. Measured. Haitreh observers have maintained climate records for three centuries. The variance here is far beyond natural cycles." Shyra didn't even look up from her displays, though her usual harmonious voice had a hint of sharpness to it.
"Then what drives it, Analyst? Mere chance—or the will of something greater?" Veyra leaned in closer, calm but pointed.
"Our data shows correlation between the desert's movements and reports of Ba'ham's cult activity. Where they gather, the sands quicken. Where they are rooted out, the advance stalls—if only briefly." As she spoke, Shyra showed a display of glowing points representing villages going out one by one.
"So it is war after all. Not of steel, but of whispers." Maranth stroked his beard grimly.
"And if the desert itself is their weapon, then this is not merely heresy—it is strategy. One we have yet to counter." Veyra weighed every single word.
"You cannot counter what you do not understand. And right now, you understand little. You speak of armies and courage. The desert will bury both. What you require is knowledge. Precision. Patterns. If the council continues to chase glory instead of data, Tan'thalon will fall with its banners still raised." Shyra finally met their eyes, her voice flat but heavy.
Silence fell for a moment. The only thing to break it being the drumming of Maranth's fingers, even through the holograph it was noticeable. Veyra studied Shyra with a calculating gaze, clearly weighing whether her colleagues would listen to reason—or cling to pride. Silence stretched the chamber, save for the faint buzzing of the glowing map, marking the creeping line of sand. Maranth's low voice broke it.
"You ask us to trust in numbers while villages are buried. Our people cry for action, not patience. They will not understand delays wrapped in calculations."
"Then perhaps it is time the council learns to teach rather than to appease. Numbers are not delays, High Councilor—they are warnings. Ignore them, and the cries you hear now will be nothing compared to the silence when there is no one left to cry." Shyra folded her hands behind her back, measured but edged in her response.
"You speak as though the desert is predictable—as though Ba'ham's cult follows rules we can chart. Can you truly forecast where it will strike next?" Veyra leaned closer on the table projected in her holograph, her eyes narrowing as she studied the map.
"Not with certainty. But probability, yes. Based on movement, terrain, and reported cult sightings, the next vulnerable settlements are here… and here." Shyra turned something on the map, a ripple of light spreading across it. In her explanation she gestured, two faintly glowing dots reacting by pulsing, far closer to Tan'thalon than the others.
Maranth grimaced.
"Too close. Within weeks of the outlying farms."
Veyra glanced at him, then back to Shyra.
"And your conclusion?"
"You cannot hold the line with swords alone. For every rider Eldarion demands, you will buy only sand and graves. If you wish to resist this, you must sever the cult's influence. Find the source. Break it. The desert's pace will falter once its hand is cut." Shyra gave her conclusion without hesitation. She wasn't known to sugarcoat things.
"You propose rooting out shadows while the sun burns down the fields. That is no strategy—it is gamble." Maranth responded gruffly.
"And yet gambles are all that remain when certainty slips away." Veyra's response was calm, aimed more at herself than anything.
Shyra regarded them both with an unreadable expression, though her fingers tapped on one of the panels in front of her in restrained frustration.
"I do not gamble. I calculate. And my calculations tell me this: if you keep choosing spectacle over sense, Tan'thalon will not last the year." Shyra responded flatly, after a tense pause.
Talia's breath was still uneven, the sting of her own thoughts sharper than her blade. She stood alone in the courtyard now, staring up at the Arc Wall's faint shimmer against the night sky.
"You breathe like a cornered animal."
The voice came soft and steady—close enough to make Talia whip around, hand instinctively going to her sword. The Diviner stood only a few paces away, staff balanced lightly against one shoulder, her head tilted as if listening to the rhythm of Talia's heartbeat. Her blind eyes did not search, but somehow they found.
"You—" Talia bristled, heat rising in her face. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."
"I didn't sneak," the Diviner replied calmly. "You were simply too lost in your storm to notice me." She tapped her staff once against the stone. "It rattles the air, your unrest. Hard not to hear it."
Talia clenched her jaw, looking away. "I don't need your pity."
"Good," the Diviner said, the faintest curve of a lopsided smile touching her lips. "I wasn't offering any."
That stung more than pity might have. Talia straightened her shoulders, trying to summon her usual defiance.
"If you're here to gloat, don't bother. I've already had enough of your smugness for one day."
But the Diviner didn't gloat. Instead, she stepped closer, slow and measured. When she stopped, she was close enough that Talia could see the faint shimmer of Lazulli dust caught in her braids, could feel the calm radiating off her in stark contrast to her own turmoil.
"You fight like wildfire," the Diviner said softly. "Bright, furious, consuming. But even wildfire can burn itself out if it doesn't learn when to breathe."
Talia's throat tightened, words catching. She wanted to snap back, to throw the insult back at her. But the tone wasn't mocking—it was gentle, almost protective. That rattled her more than anything.
"Why do you care?" Talia managed, though her voice was rougher than she intended.
For a long moment, the Diviner was silent, tilting her head as if weighing the truth of the question.
"Because you carry a weight heavier than you admit. And because…" she paused, lips curving just slightly, "you're louder than anyone else in the room. Impossible to ignore, even when I try."
Talia's breath caught. Her heart hammered loud enough that she was certain the Diviner could hear it. Before she could muster a reply, the Diviner turned, already stepping away into the shadows.
"Rest, wildfire. Tomorrow will demand more of you than today."
And then she was gone, leaving Talia alone again—though now her unrest burned brighter, sharper, tangled with something she didn't dare name.
The next day the training yard of Tan'thalon's keep was alive with the clang of steel and the barked calls of instructors. Sunlight streamed down in golden shafts, glinting off polished armor and gleaming blades.
Talia had been here since dawn, hammering away at the practice dummies with a ferocity that left even the veteran trainers wary of approaching. Her strikes were too sharp, her movements too quick, as though she could carve away the storm in her head if only she swung hard enough.
"Someone's angry at the world again."
Eldarion's voice carried across the yard before his shadow did. He sauntered closer in gleaming half-plate, every buckle polished, every motion rehearsed for effect. A pair of junior paladins trailed behind him, eager to bask in his shine.
Talia drove her practice blade through the dummy's chest with a sharp crack before answering.
"Not the world. Just people who don't know when to keep quiet."
Eldarion laughed, mistaking the barb for banter.
"Ah, so you mean me." He tapped his chest with mock gravity. "Admit it—you'd be lost without my voice to scold you."
Talia rolled her eyes, yanking her blade free.
"I'd be at peace, actually."
But Eldarion wasn't deterred. He leaned on the rail of the sparring ring, tilting his head in that way he thought was charming.
"So, what's got you brooding like a crow at sunrise? Don't tell me it's about that fight last night."
Talia froze, grip tightening on the hilt. "How do you—"
"Word travels fast." He smirked. "Half the guard is talking about how some mysterious mage swept in to save our 'fiery little Suri-Farah.'" His smirk widened. "You should thank me, by the way. If I hadn't shown up when I did—"
"You didn't save me." The words came sharp, too sharp, before she could soften them.
Eldarion blinked, confused. "I didn't say—"
"I said she saved me." Talia's tone cracked, sharper still.
The air between them bristled. Tension rising so high Talia could cut it with her sword. The junior paladins exchanged awkward glances before making excuses to drift away. Eldarion, however, squared his shoulders, pride wounded.
"She," he echoed, bitterness creeping in. "You mean that elementalist. The one who thinks a few sparks make her untouchable."
Talia's mouth opened, ready to retort, but the words died on her tongue. Sparks. Untouchable. She had been untouchable—the way she moved, the way her blind eyes found every strike before it came. The way she had found Talia without looking.
The memory burned hot under Talia's skin, and she hated that Eldarion's dismissiveness only made her want to defend the Diviner. She turned back to the dummy, lifting her blade again if only to have something to strike.
"Forget it, Eldarion."
He frowned, unused to being dismissed.
"I'm just saying, Talia—you'd do well not to get caught up with people like her. You're a paladin of Surifarah blood. She's just a—"
The next strike split the dummy's wooden neck clean through, cutting his words short.
Talia didn't look at him as she said, low and steady, "I'll decide who she is."
Eldarion opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He left with a shake of his head, muttering something about stubbornness.
When he was gone, Talia let the blade rest against the ruined dummy. Her breath came slow, ragged. The Diviner's words whispered back to her, calm and relentless:
Wildfire.
Talia closed her eyes, fighting the heat in her chest. She hated how much she wanted to burn.
The yard had emptied by dusk, training blades stacked, armor stored, sweat still clinging to the air. Talia stayed behind, perched on the edge of the sparring ring, shoulders hunched, her practice blade lying abandoned beside her.
She told herself she was cooling down. That she just needed a moment before heading back inside. But in truth, she was hiding—from Eldarion's smugness, from her own restless thoughts, from the memory of a blind woman who saw too much.
"You strike harder when you're angry," a voice said.
Talia jolted, hand snapping to her sword before she realized who it was. The Diviner stood in the half-light of the courtyard, staff in hand, her expression unreadable.
"You—" Talia's voice caught. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you," the Diviner said easily, stepping closer. Her blind gaze tilted upward, unerring, settling directly on Talia. "Yet here we are."
Talia shifted on the bench, crossing her arms as though she could shield herself.
"If you've come to lecture me again—"
"I don't lecture," the Diviner interrupted. "I listen. And you… make a lot of noise."
Talia scowled. "Noise?"
"Every strike, every word, every breath. You flare, like a beacon. I don't even need eyes to see it."
The words dug deep, sharper than Talia wanted to admit. Her chest tightened, both defensive and drawn in all at once.
"So what? You think you've got me figured out just because you're… special?"
"Not special," the Diviner said softly. "Attuned. There's a difference."
She leaned lightly on her staff, her voice calm as flowing water.
"But you—" she tilted her head, studying Talia as if hearing her pulse, "you're louder than you know. Too loud to ignore."
Talia's breath caught. The words were neither accusation nor compliment—they simply were. And somehow, that disarmed her more than any blade.
She turned away, staring at the cracked training dummy.
"You're infuriating."
The Diviner's lips curved faintly, almost a smile.
"So they tell me."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with everything Talia wanted to demand, deny, or defend. But she couldn't summon words, not with the Diviner standing so close, steady and unreadable.
Finally, Talia muttered, "Why keep following me?"
The Diviner stepped closer, until the faint scent of ozone and desert rain seemed to linger around her.
"Because wildfire," she said, her voice low, steady, intimate, "left untended… always consumes itself."
Her staff clicked once against the stones as she turned, stepping back into shadow.
Talia sat frozen, staring after her, heart pounding hard enough to shake her chest. She hated the way her cheeks flushed, hated the heat that wasn't anger this time.
She also hated how much she wanted to follow.