The island was maybe three miles across at its widest point, and most of it was covered by endless, deep forest. Sunlight cast through the leaves in spears that flickered and danced as the wind blew. Creatures moved in the deep dark between.

At the center was a small lake, and a cluster of little circular houses along the shore. The other Selected had come from wealthy families, and their residences were full of protective wards, deep beds, and crystals that radiated cold mist against the heat of day. Pyrrhus simply slept by the fireplace in Egran’s shack, and cooked to make himself useful.

His knife slashed across the board. Wild grains, diced venison, and bits of pork fat rendered down to oil went into the pot. Leaves of thick, chewy greenery with a pungent bitter flavor lined the bowl as he dished it out, with an egg cracked on top, the runny whites and yellows of the yolk slowly cooking atop the molten porridge.

Pyrrhus rarely waited for his meal to cool before digging in, but today- today it didn’t seem very appetizing.

The ceiling of Egran’s little hut was low, and Pyrrhus had to bend his back to fit inside. The world was a weight on his shoulders.

“Mm, you’re thinking. Dangerous. Men who think too much go around in circles.” The old man was blowing on a spoonful of porridge, his eyes catching bits of firelight and gleaming in the moment before the flames shifted, the light passed on.

“I’m the only one who was chosen by Wisdom. And yet, I’m the only one who can’t figure out how to beat you.” He’d never managed to see a single one of the fights where his brothers had finally triumphed. He’d simply woken up to another empty hut, another name on the tree.

“It’s a matter of strength. You’re the runt of the litter.” Egran was infuriatingly casual about it all.

“No, there’s a trick. Some method I’m not seeing. They were strong, but not that stronger. They didn’t suddenly gain power just before leaving. Not all of them.” If anything gave him hope, it was how the old man kept trying to brush him off this path of inquiry. Egran was good with the sword but his lies were see-through.

In the distance, a sound like thunder expanded on the horizon. The wind rose sharply until he could hear the forest outside bending under the storm, leaves rattling as they were ripped from the branches. By the time he reached the door to look out, a light was glowing across the edge of the island.

In the lands below something terrible had happened. The light on the horizon was a pale, malicious orange that flickered and ate at the bottoms of the clouds. “I could have been there…”

Egran was unphased. He didn’t look up as he picked at his food. “And you would have died. You want to stop the War in Heaven? Want to be a hero? Beat me. Do one impossible thing before setting your eyes on the next. There will be worse things than old swordsman down that road, and its better you realize now. You’re not made to walk it.”

Pyrrhus stared.

There was a piece of ash falling from the sky, lit up on its edges with fire. A blazing teardrop plummeting towards them.

It had wings - broken wings.

“What are you-”

The broken bird struck the dome, and tore through. That pale dull gold that covered the island was shredded, the hole flickering with sparks and twisting tendrils of lightning, the damage spreading outwards, new holes eating their way into the fabric.

The broken thing continued through, crashing into the forest below. Flames billowed, and bits of broken material rained down, a patter of flaming metal striking the treetops. The orange glow - that fire that ate up the horizon - had broken through and taken root.

Pyrrhus had barely started to move as Egran rushed past him. The man’s clothes billowed as he cut forward through the wind, wild-eyed, his grey hair fluttering. Pyrrhus could only snarl and rush to follow, pausing to kick a practice staff off the ground and up into his hand.

The creatures of the forest were screaming. They fled, ignoring his footsteps, weaving around his legs if they had to. Tongues of fire spread through the interlocking branches and made a maze overhead, cutting the sky into segments of smoke-tinged blue between veins of flame; ash dripped, cinders fall, the earth was being eaten up as the inferno spread.

At the center was a place where the trees were torn down to splinters. A wake of upturned earth ended in the ruins of a blackened metal bird, twisted and deformed.

Something was coming up out of the wreck. Pouring up from the broken hull, half-liquid and half-solid. Its whole body was made of spiraling energy, like clouds of blue light built around an inner frame, a skeleton, of electric bolts. A hand emerged from its shapeless body, and Egran cut it away with a single flick of his sword. The creature’s eyes flared and the stump erupted into dozens of tendrils that lashed out.

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Egran, for the first time in Pyrrhus’ life, retreated. He flung himself back with a kick, his sword slicing away the first tendril to come near. Blades of light formed around the edges and sharpened the dull wood.

Slave Conduit | Primordial

Enslaved by cruel magic, this ancient creatures served as a beast of burden, its lifeforce spent by uncaring engines. Powerful and agile, but limited in endurance.

One who knows the whip does not fear the sword.

Pyrrhus raised his hand, and conjured a Flame Blast. The most basic runes burned on his fingertips, and drew ribbons of flame into a compressed sphere that blazed blue in his grasp. It was his first spell. One he’d cast so many times the arcane symbols had burned themselves into his flesh.

The beast turned, head rotating neatly so those furious eyes could stare him down. The sense of pressure that washed over him nearly made Pyrrhus stumble. “Get back-”

He’d already flung the spell forward. Pure reflex moved his arm, and the fire leapt forward, extending into a blazing spear. It smashed into the swirling energy of the elemental-

Pyrrhus saw the arm blur towards him. He moved, years of training telling him to bring his hands up, arms crossed to take the impact. He never saw the blow hit. He just felt the impact push the wind from his lungs, felt his feet leave the ground, felt the electricity bite down through his skin and boil the blood in his veins.

He crashed back to earth, his body twisting as the electricity seized control of his muscles, making him shake violently. Still blind under the white wall of pain that clouded his eyes. Unable to lift his arms. But his legs still worked, more or less, so he kicked against the dirt to throw himself into a roll. It didn’t matter that he was blind. He had to stay moving.

A split second later and something smashed into the space where he was, throwing burning leaves and dirt across his body. Egran’s training kept him alive.

The white heat of pain covering his vision slowly receded, and Pyrrhus fought his way back onto his feet. His right arm was broken. He could only just lift the limb, and violent shakes spread through the fingers when he tried to clench them. He could smell his own burnt skin.

Between him and the monster, Egran was fighting. The glowing edges of his swords extended out, flashing through the air. The beast was on the retreat, guarding itself, losing limb after limb as Egran filled the air with cutting lights.

Pyrrhus took in the scene, breathing heavily. Fire was all around him and the shifting flames made the shadows shift and grow.

He paused. Something else was moving. Within the wreck, behind a glass dome, someone was struggling to get out. Their hand clawed against the glass.

With a groan, Pyrrhus stumbled forward.

Around him, the Slave Conduit's tendrils thrashed through the air. Its body was a pale blue light stretched across a frame of lightning in the shape of a demihuman skeleton, and it let out long, grinding screeches as Egran cut it to shreds. As the two of them fought, Pyrrhus reached the wreck, the fires lapping up around his waist. One-handed he reached out and punched through the glass dome, splintering the metal frame.

A man with short blonde hair, in a form-fitting red and black jumpsuit, looked up from within. Pure terror in his eyes. A long cut across his cheek.

By the time Pyrrhus pulled him up from the wreckage, the man was unconscious. A limp weight that Pyrrhus could barely hold with his one arm, fighting to carry them free of the blaze as Egran advanced on the elemental.

The old man’s posture shifted, a single blade taking the lead as a simple, solid stance exploded into a forward step, sword driving into a jab. The wind was cut, creating a long whistling sound. The light flared, and became a searing lance that struck out.

For a moment the flickering, angry red of the forest fire was blotted out. The world became black and white; the angry brilliance of Egran’s strike and the shadow of the beast caught within.

The elemental was pierced through its center. The rest unraveled, lightning breaking away in all directions as its core shattered and its body of mist dissolved into swirling scraps of stormcloud. Silence broke. The strike hadn’t made a single sound, and the beast had died before it could cry out.

What remained was the dull crackle of the fires, the sudden sharp sounds as branches broke and fell to the ground, the steady hiss as the sap in the veins of ancient oaks was turned to steam. The calm felt eerie. Pyrrhus heart was thudding hard, his body ached, but there was nothing left to fight.

Egran turned towards him, and grimaced at the unconscious man over his shoulder. “Are you really going to drag that in like a child with a stray cat?”

“What else? Leave him here to die?”

Flicking his blades and returning them to their place stuck through his belt, the swordsman didn’t bother to look up when he answered. “No. Too much risk he’ll survive. We should kill him.”

Something in the way it was phrased- Pyrrhus smiled. “You say that, but you won’t do it yourself, will you? Won’t or can’t.”

Egran still didn’t look at him. “No. I have my duties here, and they never accounted for unwanted guests.”

Above, the wards had repaired themselves. The golden dome was whole, and a rain began to fall, amber-colored, building in seconds from a little patter to a furious downpour that washed over the flames. Pyrrhus smiled, his white hair clinging to his shoulders as the rain soaked through and stung over his burned, battered body.

“Then I get the last word on this. He lives. C’mon, let’s go eat.” Flashing a shit-eating grin at his mentor as the old man finally looked up, Pyrrhus walked past him, through the scorched forest and towards home.