It felt like an eternity compressed into a single second. When I moved my arm, the force behind it was too much—my joint protested with a sharp twist and a sound I'd never heard my body make before. I knew it should have hurt, but pain felt like something I couldn't process. I was too overwhelmed.
What I felt instead was something deeper—an overwhelming connection not just to fire, but to the essence beneath it. It wasn't the flame itself I was bound to, but the truth it symbolized. Rebirth demands something to be purified, and fire is its instrument. That's what I was connected to.
I sat there, trying to process the flood of new information surging through my mind. Blood dripped from my nose as the pressure threatened to crush me, but slowly—bit by bit—I began to adapt. The weight didn't lessen, but I was learning how to bear it.
In hindsight, this probably wasn't the best time to unravel a seal—not with the championship fight so close. But after seeing First… I knew I wasn't enough. I hadn't even been able to slow it down.
And when I thought back—back to the flames… no, the souls—those waiting for me to cleanse them, to help them move on… I felt a rage I couldn't contain. That thing had disrupted the natural order of rebirth by consuming one. It had desecrated something sacred.
As the anger bubbled in me, the fire around the room stirred in response. The brazier flames rose higher, their colors deepening into molten hues. The metal torch stands began to glow, pulsing with an angry red light—as if echoing the fury I didn't yet know how to control.
"Edric, please—you have to rein it in! If anyone sees this, they'll investigate."
Heather's voice cut through the haze in my mind like a clean blade. It grounded me. I turned my head and looked at her over my shoulder.
Blinking a few times, I slowly nodded.
"Yeah… my bad." I still felt distant, but with the storm in my head beginning to settle, I was finally able to focus on my surroundings.
Having the seal removed was the right choice. The more I found clarity, the more a slow-burning frustration took shape in my chest. Heather had essentially crippled me, burdened me with a restriction I hadn't even known was there. Every fight I'd lost… every close call… had she dulled my edge on purpose? Made me into something safer—like a dog that wouldn't bite or bark, just there to be ignored?
I looked at her. It wasn't fury—not exactly. It was betrayal I could understand. That was what hurt.
"Heather, I need time. To get ready for the fight. To think." I let out a slow breath.
"Oh, well, I mean—I can help you get your armor on, and—"
"Heather," I interrupted gently. "It's okay. Kushim will help me. I'm not mad… I just need time."
I didn't want our last conversation before the fight to become an argument. If something happened to me in that arena, I wanted her to remember I'd still loved her.
"But just know that I do still love you." I turned toward her and held her hand. Tears had already begun to roll down her face.
"Please… let me stay here with you," she whispered. Her voice cracked under the weight of it.
"No… I really need you to leave. But we'll see each other again after the fight. Our conversation isn't over."
I hoped those words gave her something to hold onto. Maybe they did—but her tears didn't stop. She rose to her feet, silent, and walked out of the room without looking back.
Watching her leave carved a hollowness in me.
But I needed silence. I needed space. And maybe, if I was lucky, I could find a little strength in the stillness she left behind.
I sat on my cot, staring at the ground. For a long while, I said nothing. Just let the quiet settle over me like ash.
Then something tugged at me—small, but relentless.
Mark was quiet.
Too quiet.
Normally, even when he didn't speak, there was some sound: the creak of him shifting on his mat, a cough, the slow rhythm of his breathing. But now? Nothing.
It shouldn't have bothered me. But I couldn't shake it. It festered, gnawed at me until I finally stood up.
I moved to the door of my cell. The guard had left it unlocked—part of the trust they gave me now, as one of their prized fighters.
I stepped into the hallway and crossed to Mark's cell. The moment I looked in, my breath caught in my throat.
Empty.
Not just of him—but of everything. His mat, his books, the worn blanket he never let go of. Gone. Not just absent—erased. Like he'd never existed at all.
I just stood there, staring.
He was gone. But I knew—deep in my chest, I knew—he wasn't dead.
I couldn't explain it. I didn't feel the weight of another lost soul nearby. There was no sense of release. He wasn't free… but he wasn't gone, either.
So where had they taken him?
And more importantly—why now?
Why during the night?