After the long tense silence...
Sylvia's gaze drifted beyond the crowd to the fallen guardian wolf.
It lay motionless, its massive form slumped against a half-burned tree.
Blood matted its silver fur, and its breathing was faint.
The villagers noticed her staring.
"There's nothing we can do," a young girl whispered.
"It's dying," muttered an older man. "We've never seen it this hurt before."
Sylvia clenched her fists. "It's not dead yet," she said, voice steady. "I can heal it - but I need your help."
The villagers exchanged uncertain glances.
"I need herbs," Sylvia explained, her mind racing through her knowledge of plant life. "Thornroot for the blood loss, moonleaf to cool the burns, and heartbloom petals - they'll help restore its strength."
A few neutrals hesitated - but then a young boy stepped forward. "I know where to find thornroot," he said softly.
Another villager nodded. "There's moonleaf by the river."
"Heartbloom grows near the cliffs," added an older woman.
Within moments, the crowd scattered, hurrying to gather what Sylvia needed.
As they rushed off, Sylvia knelt beside the wolf, placing a gentle hand on its bloodied fur.
She felt its life - faint, but still there.
"Stay with me," she whispered, her voice soft but urgent.
Minutes later, the villagers returned, their hands full of herbs.
Sylvia crushed the thornroot into a paste and spread it over the wolf's wounds, the bleeding slowing almost instantly. She layered moonleaf over its burnt patches, cooling the scorched fur, and sprinkled the heartbloom petals along the wolf's chest, close to its heart.
Finally, she placed both hands over the wolf's injuries and closed her eyes.
"Grow."
Her green aura flared - gentle but steady - as the herbs' healing properties merged with her powers.
Small vines sprouted from the ground, curling softly around the wolf's body, channeling life back into the creature.
Minutes passed.
The wolf's breathing deepened.
And then -
Its eyes flickered open - glowing yellow once more.
Gasps echoed through the crowd.
The wolf rose slowly, still wounded but alive. It towered over the villagers, its silver fur gleaming faintly under the fading sunlight.
Sylvia let out a shaky breath of relief - but the moment the wolf noticed Arson lying nearby, its lips curled back into a silent snarl.
The hatred in its eyes was unmistakable.
It took a step forward, teeth bared, ready to finish what it started.
Sylvia instantly placed herself between the beast and the unconscious Arson, her arms outstretched.
"No."
The wolf's growl deepened.
"I know you want to kill him," Sylvia whispered. "But I won't let you."
The wolf's ears pinned back, its gaze flickering between Sylvia and Arson.
"He's still tied up," she reminded the beast softly. "If he tries to hurt anyone again, I'll stop him - I promise. With my life if I have to."
The wolf's gaze didn't soften - but it didn't move forward either.
Instead, it let out a low, throaty huff and took a slow step back.
A silent warning.
The crowd slowly began to relax - though the air still buzzed with tension.
Sylvia knelt beside Arson, reinforcing the vines constraining him. She glanced at the charred land around her and the injured guardian she had just healed.
She had saved what she could but the damage was still there.
_ _ _
Night slowly settled over the neutral village, a soft hush blanketing the land ravaged by Arson's flames.
The air was crisp, a cool breeze weaving through the modest huts and rustling the leaves of the few trees Sylvia had managed to revive.
Inside one of the small residences, Sylvia lay curled up beneath a thin blanket gifted by the grateful neutral people, her green skin faintly glowing in the dim moonlight.
Arson, still bound tightly by Sylvia's vines, was sprawled on the cold wooden floor, his red skin stark against the darkened room. His arms were pinned at his sides, his movements restricted - a precaution Sylvia had taken even as he lay unconscious.
As the night deepened, a faint groan escaped Arson's lips.
His eyelids fluttered open, the first thing catching his vision being the tangled mass of vines tethering him to Sylvia like an unbreakable chain.
His voice, rough but laced with pride, broke the silence. "I don't care what's going on, but I'm not lying on the floor like some defeated fool."
Sylvia, half-asleep, opened one eye and sighed. "You passed out after the battle. I'd say that makes you a defeated fool."
Arson's jaw tightened. "I didn't lose. I-" His voice cut off as a shiver ran through his body.
The night air bit at him, colder than he had expected. His flames, usually burning at the surface of his skin, flickered weakly, a result of his exhaustion.
Sylvia noticed the slight tremble. She didn't say anything at first, letting him stew in his own stubbornness. But as his shivering grew worse, she finally spoke. "Just go to sleep, Arson. Stop acting tough."
"I'm not acting," Arson shot back through clenched teeth. "I don't need your pity."
Sylvia rolled her eyes, sitting up slightly. "I'm not offering pity. I'm making sure you don't freeze to death, because the second you die, I'm stuck explaining why the great Prince Arson ended up as an icicle."
With a tired flick of her hand, more of her vines uncoiled from the floor and slowly wrapped around Arson's torso, forming a thick layer across his chest and arms. The vines pulsed faintly with life energy, insulating him with warmth.
"What are you doing?" Arson asked, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
"Making sure you don't freeze," Sylvia muttered. "It's a double win - you stay warm as well as tied up."
Arson huffed, but the warmth seeping into his skin from the vines was undeniable. His eyelids grew heavier, and his pride warred with the comfort. "Fine," he finally muttered. "But this doesn't mean anything."
Sylvia smirked slightly. "Of course not, Prince Arson."
Unbeknownst to the pair, a few neutral villagers peeked through the cracks of the wooden walls, whispering among themselves.
"They seem to... balance each other... one destroys, the other restores."
"Fire and nature... tied together. It's like... creation and destruction hand in hand."
Another villager nodded. "Maybe they're more alike than they realize."
As the whispers faded, Arson shifted slightly, his movements limited. "Tomorrow," he murmured, half-asleep, "I'll burn more land."
Sylvia, just as tired, closed her eyes again. "And I'll just grow it all back."
Their rivalry burned quietly into the night - a delicate balance of ruin and renewal.