(Flamescion)

Heat was never a problem for Flamescion. But the thick, black smoke filling her lungs was another story.

She opened her eyes with a groan, her throat dry as sand and her head throbbing with the fury of a hundred war drums. Mortal booze was pure poison. She tried to sit up in bed, but the world spun violently. When her vision finally focused, panic cut through the haze of her hangover.

The inn room was on fire.

Flames licked the wooden walls, devouring the curtains and spreading across the ceiling. The crackling of the fire mingled with a muffled noise coming from outside... screaming.

"Gigroth!" Flamescion yelled, her voice coming out harsh and raspy.

She jumped out of bed, ignoring the sharp pain in her temples, and threw herself at the door. The hallway was already consumed by a toxic cloud of smoke. She ran to the door of the next room, where Gigroth was staying, and grabbed the red-hot metal latch. It was locked or jammed by debris.

She pounded on the hard wood with closed fists. One, two, three times. Her knuckles bled, but the door didn't budge. The smoke was starting to blind her.

She took two steps back, breathed in as little air as possible, lowered her shoulder, and threw her entire body weight against the door in a desperate shove. The wood gave way with a deafening crack, the hinges ripping from the frame.

The inside of the room was an oven. And in the middle of that hell, lying face down on the burning floorboards, was Gigroth. The imposing woman, who had promised to be the shield for these people the night before, had tried to crawl to the exit, but her lungs had surrendered to Primitia's thick smoke.

"No, no, no! Get up, you idiot!" Flamescion grunted, grabbing her by the arms.

Gigroth was stupidly heavy, even more so without her own strength to help. Flamescion pulled her with every ounce of strength she had left, her muscles protesting due to the cursed world's lack of Essence. She dragged her companion's body to the bedroom window. Without a second thought, she wrapped her arms around her and threw herself out the shattered window, diving into the cold morning.

They hit the dirt outside with a violent thud, rolling through the mud and debris.

The freezing air smacked against Flamescion's sweaty face. Coughing furiously, she lifted her head and looked around.

"Flamescion! Over here!" a trembling voice called out.

A few yards away, leaning against the wall of a barn, were the twins, Flora and Fauna, clinging to each other and shaking with terror. In front of them, wearing an expression of shock and exhaustion, was Ahria, trying to summon protective spells that stubbornly kept failing.

But what froze Flamescion's blood wasn't the state of the other Primordials. It was the village.

The small settlement that had welcomed them with music, ale, and smiles the night before was being obliterated. Not by dragons. By humans. Guards dressed in metal armor and chainmail moved methodically between the burning houses, attacking unarmed civilians. The sound of steel cutting flesh, the crying of children, and the screams for help echoed through the valley.

The villagers tried to defend themselves with pitchforks, torches, and bread knives, but they were being butchered. The dirt ground, where they had danced hours before, was now covered in corpses, fresh blood melting the little frost that remained.

"Where... where are Neiva? And Yae? And Stella?!" Flamescion panted, shaking Gigroth to try and wake her.

Ahria looked at her, pale eyes wide with horror. "I don't know... they didn't come out with us."

Flamescion looked at Gigroth, inert in the mud, and then at the massacre unfolding in the village. Fury began to override her hangover and confusion. She wasn't a goddess of palaces and intrigue like Stella; she was blood and fire.

"I'm going to keep the promise this idiot made," she declared, her voice coming out as a deep growl. She stood up and wiped the mud from her face with the back of her leather glove. "Flora, Fauna! You're with me. Let's protect what's left of these people."

She turned to Ahria, who was looking at her in terror. "Ahria, you stay with Gigroth. Use your powers to clear the smoke from her lungs. We need her on her feet, fast."

Ahria took a step back, her trembling hand instinctively rising to her throat, pale eyes wide with fear. "I... I can't, Flamescion! If I use Essence now, without feeding, I'll be... I'll be like before. Vulnerable. Almost dead. I'm scared!"

"Then swallow your fear!" Flamescion yelled, having no time for pleasantries as another scream of pain echoed down the main street. "If she dies, we all die. Do your job, Creator!"

She didn't wait for an answer. She started sprinting toward the frontline, where crimson-armored soldiers were cornering a group of women and children. Her eyes swept the surroundings for something, anything, she could use as a weapon.

There. Leaning against the trunk of a centuries-old pine tree were two woodcutter's axes, forgotten in the rush to flee.

Flamescion grabbed them mid-sprint. They were heavy, clunky, and made of rustic iron, nothing like the perfectly balanced blades of Hyperion, but they would do just fine for breaking bones and tearing flesh.

Behind her, she heard the sound of splitting footsteps. Fauna, with silent determination, veered off the main path and ran toward the village weapon shop, which was already catching fire.

But Flora... Flora stopped.

Flamescion looked back for a fraction of a second and saw the goddess of botany standing in the middle of the street, hands covering her ears, paralyzed by horror, her eyes locked on the corpse of a child a few feet away. She had broken.

"Shit, Flora!" Flamescion cursed, but she couldn't stop.

She entered the fray with a war cry that silenced the villagers' wails for an instant. The first soldier didn't even see her coming. She delivered a horizontal swing with the axe in her right hand, striking him in the side of the neck where the armor was thinnest. The rustic iron didn't cut clean; it crushed and mangled flesh and bone with a satisfying, wet crunch. The man dropped instantly, spewing blood onto the dirty snow.

His comrade turned around, raising a short sword, but Flamescion had already spun, using the momentum from her first strike. The left-hand axe came down in a vertical arc, crashing into his metal helmet with a deafening crack. The helmet caved in, and the soldier collapsed with a fractured skull.

The scarcity of Essence in Primitia limited her fire powers, but adrenaline throbbed in her veins, fueling her raw strength. She was a torrent of redheaded fury and iron, tearing through the soldiers with clumsy but devastating blows.

A third guard approached from behind, spear at the ready, aiming to run her through while she dealt with an officer.

Thwip!

An arrow whistled through the cold air, passing inches from Flamescion's ear, and buried itself with deadly precision into the eye socket of the soldier trying to backstab her. He dropped his spear and fell backward, howling in agony.

Flamescion glanced quickly toward the shot. Fauna was on the roof of the weapon shop, wielding a long yew bow and a quiver full of arrows she had snatched from the flames. She winked at her, already nocking another arrow to the string.

Flamescion smiled, feeling warm blood trickle down her cheek, not knowing if it was hers or the enemy's. "That's it, little hunter! Cover me!"

Adrenaline pounded, drowning out the sound of her own heartbeat. Each axe swing felt heavier than the last. Without the comfort of Hyperion's abundant Essence, her arms ached and her lungs burned from the smoke-infested air, but she refused to stop. She couldn't let them die.

She hacked, smashed, and pushed forward, slaughtering the crimson soldiers trying to close the circle. On the roof behind her, Fauna's bowstring snapped in a relentless rhythm. Arrow after arrow found the throats or chests of the enemy archers trying to target Flamescion. It was just the two of them halting the march of dozens.

But endurance in a mortal world has a limit.

The metallic sound of arrows hitting stone stopped abruptly. Flamescion instinctively looked up: Fauna's quiver was empty. The distraction cost her dearly. One of the soldiers seized the opening and delivered a low thrust. The cold tip of the spear tore through the leather on the goddess's leg, ripping muscle and flesh.

She let out a muffled cry, her knee buckling from the pain. She crashed down into the dirt and mud, leaning painfully on the handle of her right axe.

The soldier smiled beneath his helm, raising his spear for the final strike to her chest. Flamescion gritted her teeth, bracing for the impact that would run her through.

BAM!

A massive, calloused hand came out of nowhere, wrapping around the wooden shaft of the spear with monstrous strength. The soldier tried to push, but the weapon didn't budge an inch. Kneeling and panting, Flamescion looked up.

The dust settled, revealing Gigroth's massive silhouette. The goddess of stone's breathing still sounded raspy from the smoke, but her unshakable aura as a protector remained fully intact. Without even blinking, Gigroth yanked the spear forward and delivered a thunderous elbow strike to the guard's chest, sending him flying through the air.

Flamescion looked down the street, and what she saw made her heart race again. Flora was no longer paralyzed. Still in shock, tears streaming down her soot-stained face, the botanical goddess had grabbed a bloody spear from the ground, tied a sturdy rope to its base, and was throwing it at enemies at medium range, yanking the rope violently to rip away their shields and clear a path.

The jolt of adrenaline recharged her. Flamescion hauled herself to her feet, gritting her teeth and ignoring her wounded leg.

The shadows of the roof eaves began to writhe. Far away, hidden from the firelight, Tenebris was moving. She appeared and disappeared with the fluidity of a nocturnal serpent. The shadows she commanded opened like black maws, silently swallowing the opposing commanders and archers in the rear, eliminating the threats.

With their formation broken and panic spreading through the enemy lines, they attacked together. The false goddesses butchered the remaining crimson guards until the last dented helm hit the dirt.

They had won. The air smelled of blood, sweat, and ash.