Kael stood now at Blaze – 6th Flame, his Essence circulation relentless, every technique refined by endless repetition. Leiya had trained alongside him in bursts—missions, patrols, and recovery stints—but even she admitted he was moving at a different pace. Not just physically, but with terrifying synchronization between Storm, Flame, and Lightning.
⸻
When they returned to Elandor, the city was tense.
Guild scouts had vanished near the Myrrhfen Wastes. Whispers followed: a Humanoid Varnok had been spotted—Pyre-level, maybe higher—coordinating lower beasts, something unheard of. Missions were postponed. Some guilds pulled back completely.
The Dominion Guild didn't.
A handpicked squad was formed.
Kael and Leiya were chosen immediately.
Alongside them were two others:
⸻
Riven
• Guild Rank: Iron
• Essence Rank: Pyre – 3rd Flame
• Affinity: Lightning
• Style: Brawler. Gauntlet-based melee. Explosive punches that shatter armor and knock aside Varnok twice his size. Loud. Hot-headed. All heart, no brakes.
Silen
• Guild Rank: Silver
• Essence Rank: Blaze – 7th Flame
• Affinity: Shadow and Wind
• Style: Tactical control and spatial manipulation. Sets up rune traps, sigil flashes, and silent zones to disorient enemies. Cold, calculating. Observes more than he speaks.
⸻
Their journey to the Wastes was swift. Tension ran through the squad, but Kael said little. He was already visualizing the fight. Already cycling his inner storm, letting wisps of lightning flicker under his skin, sparks dancing around clenched fists.
They reached the edge of the Wastes by dusk. Ruins loomed ahead, jagged and broken, remnants of a battle long forgotten.
Silen crouched. "Something's off."
Riven cracked his knuckles. "Let 'em come. Been itching for a proper swing."
They came.
Not just beasts. Not just Varnok.
They moved in coordination.
From the left, a flanking wedge. From above, swooping fliers. From below, tunnelers erupting in sync with aerial divebombs.
Kael and Leiya moved first—fluid, precise.
Stormfire Whip Barrage carved arcs through the first wave, each whip a torrent of scorching, crackling chaos. Kael spun, planting one foot as multiple lashes snapped out in a spiraling pattern. Enemies burst into flames, cleaved mid-charge. The ground lit with electric fire.
Leiya danced beside him, spheres of refracted light shielding their flank, beams of ice-laced brilliance firing in perfect rhythm.
Behind them, Riven roared, throwing a thunder-charged uppercut that sent a Varnok flying over the ruin wall. Silen's runes detonated mid-air, catching another in a silent vacuum of darkness that collapsed its wings before it even hit the ground.
Then came the second wave.
Kael toggled Maelstorm Overburn mid-movement. No hesitation. His limbs surged with raw energy, Storm around his arms, Lightning beneath his skin, Flame pulsing from his spine. He blurred through three Varnok, each punch bursting with impact, launching bolts of chained Essence between enemies.
They weren't fighting as four individuals anymore. They were a unit. Tight. Dangerous.
"Right side—diver incoming!" Leiya called.
Kael didn't look. He spun, thrust his palms forward—
Thunderflare Cataclysm exploded.
The diver never touched the ground.
⸻
As the dust settled, Silen wiped blood from a thin cut along his jaw. "Those formations… weren't instinct. That was strategy."
Riven growled, eyes scanning the shadows. "Someone was guiding them."
Kael didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the far ruin ridge.
A figure stood—tall, humanoid, horned. Watching. Not attacking.
Just… waiting.