The road into Varkon wound through black hills and rivers of glowing rock. The air shimmered with heat, the scent of smoke sharp in every breath. Even the horses grew restless.
Jack loosened his collar. "Is it just me, or is the ground actually smoking?"
Kael, ever serious, replied, "That means we're getting close to civilization."
Lyra glanced at the horizon. "Varkon's capital, Emberhold, lies beyond those peaks. We'll reach it by nightfall—if we survive the heat."
They entered the outer city before sunset. Compared to Schiera's serene light, Varkon felt alive and wild. Sparks from forges danced in the air. Traders shouted, molten glass dripped in sheets from open workshops, and smiths swung hammers glowing red from flame.
Jack's eyes widened. "This place is… beautiful, in a terrifying way."
The trio stopped at a crowded bazaar, its stone paths lined with lava channels that illuminated the streets like veins of fire. Kael found a vendor selling dried meat and water stones.
"We'll rest here," Lyra said quietly. "We need food and a place to stay before we draw more attention."
But attention had already found them. Their cloaks were too fine, their silver coin stamped with Schiera's lily. It didn't take long for whispers to spread.
"Foreigners.""Light Kingdom coin.""Easy prey."
Lyra felt the tension and whispered, "Kael, I think we should—"
"Too late," Jack muttered.
A shadow moved behind them.
It happened fast. A group of six men slipped from the alleys—scarred, thin, and armed with short blades glowing faintly red.
"Nice clothes," one sneered. "And that symbol—Light Kingdom, isn't it? Hand over your coins."
Kael stepped forward, sword drawn. "We don't seek trouble."
The man laughed. "You found it anyway."
They lunged. Kael parried two blades at once, sparks flying. Jack ducked as another swung at him, but the attacker's boot caught him square in the ribs—sending him crashing into a crate.
"Jack!" Lyra cried. She reached for her magic, but one of the thieves grabbed her arm and slammed her against the wall.
"Pretty thing," the thief sneered. "You'll fetch good money—"
A burst of light erupted from her palm, throwing him back. But the strain hit her instantly; she gasped, the glow flickering weakly.
"Lyra!" Jack pushed himself up, his breath ragged. One thief slashed his shoulder—pain searing like fire.
Blood dripped onto the hot stones, sizzling faintly.
Kael fought fiercely but was outnumbered. His armor cracked under a hammer strike, sending him sprawling.
The leader raised his dagger toward Lyra. "Should've stayed in your shining city, princess."
Jack's vision blurred—heat, pain, desperation. Something inside him snapped.
The air trembled.
A wave of heat exploded outward.
Flame burst from the ground beneath Jack, swirling around his arms like living serpents. His eyes flared crimson-gold.
The thieves froze.
The nearest one shouted, "What—what is he!?"
Jack didn't hear them. Instinct took over. The fire didn't burn him—it moved with him. He swung his arm, and a curved arc of flame roared across the street, striking the thieves' weapons and melting the blades in their hands.
They screamed, stumbling back. The leader tried to run—but the ground under him cracked, molten light bursting upward in a flash that sent him sprawling.
The flames around Jack pulsed once, then vanished, leaving smoke and silence.
He collapsed to his knees, panting. "What… what did I just do?"
Lyra crawled to him, wincing. "Your mark—it's red."
He looked down. The golden crest on his hand now glowed faintly crimson at the edges. The Vein of Fire had answered him.
"Stay down," a voice said.
They turned to see a man approaching—young, broad-shouldered, his clothes soot-stained from the forges. He carried a bucket of water, which he poured over the smoldering stones.
"You'll draw the guards if you keep lighting up the street," he muttered. "Come on, before someone accuses you of sorcery."
Kael tensed. "Who are you?"
"Just a local," the man said simply. "Name's Talon. I worked in the lower smith district. You're lucky I was fetching water when that started."
He helped Lyra to her feet, then glanced at Jack's hand. "Never seen fire behave like that. You didn't use a rune, did you?"
Jack shook his head weakly. "It… just happened."
Talon frowned, impressed despite himself. "Fire doesn't just happen. Not here."
He motioned for them to follow. "Come on. There's an inn by the ridge where no one asks questions."
The inn was small and carved directly into the mountainside. Its walls pulsed faintly with residual heat from the earth. Talon spoke quietly to the innkeeper, who nodded and led them to a private room in the back.
Kael began tending to Jack's wound, muttering under his breath. "You nearly set the district on fire."
Jack winced as the bandage tightened. "I didn't even know I could do that."
Lyra sat beside him, pale but calm. "It was the Fire Vein. It reacted to your need. You didn't summon it—it answered you."
Talon crossed his arms. "Then that makes you either blessed or cursed. Depends who you ask."
Jack looked up. "Which do you think?"
Talon gave a small grin. "You saved your friends. Around here, that counts as blessed."
When night fell, the heat of Varkon softened. From their window, the city glowed like a field of embers, thousands of forge fires flickering in the dark.
Lyra rested with her head against the wall, her breathing shallow. "That power of yours… it's dangerous, Jack."
"I know." He looked at his glowing hand. "But if it can protect us, maybe it's worth the risk."
Kael gave a low grunt. "Just make sure it doesn't consume you before it helps anyone."
Talon leaned against the doorway. "You'll need to stay low until the chaos dies down. Tomorrow, I'll show you where to find supplies—and maybe someone who can tell you what that power really is."
Jack nodded. "Thanks. For saving us."
Talon shrugged. "In Varkon, surviving a fight makes you neighbors."
He left, the door creaking shut behind him.
Jack glanced at Lyra, asleep now under the flickering lamplight. His shoulder throbbed, but his heart pounded louder—with awe, fear, and something else.
The flames had not burned him. They had recognized him.
And for the first time, Jack felt Fonterra itself watching.