004 - Fractures Converge

They reached the stairs, stone and slippery with age.

Alexia gave one last warning. “Don’t assume anything, Lysandros. We don’t want to get in trouble with a noble.”

“Assume with assumed evidence,” he replied, grinning. “Got it!”

And then—he sprinted past her again.

“Wait—”

Too late.

He snatched the sword from her side, again.

“HEY!” she yelled.

“I’ll bring it back, promise!” he shouted, already halfway down the stairs.

Shovel in one hand. Sword in the other. A blur of white tunic and laughter.

She stared after him, stunned.

“How the hell is he that fast?”

She narrowed her eyes, realization dawning.

“No way. That’s his Fracture?!”

She cursed under her breath and took off after him, boots clanging on ancient stone.

But before she could even catch up, Lysandros had already vanished from her sight and something pulled her attention.

A presence.

A second cloaked figure.

Standing motionless in the dark corridor. Torch in hand. Watching her.

Her steps slowed. Instinct screamed at her.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Her voice was steady, but her mind buzzed.

This is not the perfect time to be weaponless… not when my gut’s telling me this is no ordinary encounter.

The figure took a step forward. The fire from the torch flickered, casting orange shadows beneath the cloak’s hood.

“You’re a Fractureborn, aren’t you?” the figure said.

A man’s voice.

Alexia narrowed her eyes. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“I know you are,” he said again.

She raised her brow. “Congratulations. You should open up a booth at my kingdom's market. People love fortune-tellers.”

He didn’t answer.

She continued, slowly, cautiously, “Who are you? And what are you doing here? This is an abandoned castle. Everyone that lived here either died, left, or burned it behind them.”

Still, silence.

“No talking then?” she said. “Alright. You’re acting suspicious. I’ll just beat the truth out of you then.”

The figure tilted his head slightly.

“Hmph,” he said softly.

“Don’t ‘hmph’ me!” she snapped, already stepping forward.

But just as she moved—he threw the torch.

It spun through the air.

Then struck a moss-covered stone—and the fire spread fast.

Orange light filled the corridor, licking up the walls like a beast coming alive.

Alexia froze, eyes darting to the flames.

Then back to him.

“What is this man even doing?” she muttered.

A sound. Footsteps. But they weren’t normal.

They were heavier. Hotter. Crackling.

A humanoid shape made entirely of fire stepped through the smoke.

Running toward her.

Alexia immediately dropped into a stance. No sword. Just her fists.

“A person?” she murmured. “No… that’s a Fracture. A Fractureborn, alright. Two of them. Him—and this fire one.”

She took a breath.

“Hey—hey—hey! As far as I know, two against one isn’t fair!”

But the fire creature didn’t care.

It charged.

She sidestepped, fast, ducked, and threw a sharp right punch into the flames.

Her fist passed right through.

The heat scorched her armor. Her skin.

Flames caught on the cloth beneath her shoulderplate.

“Damn it—” She slapped it out before it could spread.

“It just goes right through,” she muttered. “What a Fracture…”

The creature came at her again—swinging arms like clubs of molten light.

She dodged.

Again.

And again.

Her body moved on instinct. But her mind stayed focused—not on the fire, but on the man still standing at the edge of the torchlight.

Watching.

Always watching.

And something told her—

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This fight had just begun.

Alexia kept moving, sidestepping left, then pivoting right as the fire-bodied figure lunged again. Sweat slid down the side of her temple, and not all of it was from the heat.

She muttered while slipping narrowly past a flaming grasp, “I have to get off this fire person’s range and sight…”

Another lunge, another dodge.

“But first—” she said aloud, “I gotta deal with you, you annoying walking fire hazard!”

Her boots scraped against stone as she dashed backwards, narrowly missing another burning swipe.

Think. Think. Fracture or not, everything has a weakness.

She muttered to herself, eyes analyzing the figure’s flaming limbs and barely visible human form beneath the inferno, “A fire fracture. One that morphs the body into literal fire while keeping some human shape… but is the user even breathing in there? Or just completely possessed by the flame?”

Then—

Without warning—

The fire-being balled up a fist and punched.

No grabbing this time. A clean, deliberate punch. Fast and heavy.

Alexia’s eyes widened. “Shit,” she breathed.

The fist came flying toward her cheek, heat trailing like a comet.

“Shit, that leaves me no choice—!”

But just when the flaming fist seemed impossible to avoid, its momentum… slowed. Subtly. Imperceptibly to most, but just enough.

Something interfered. And Alexia took the opportunity.

She twisted her body—narrowly slipping the blow—and used the momentum to sprint past the fire figure.

Straight toward the cloak-covered figure.

“Unfortunately, your pal won’t get a beating—” she shouted, “but you will!”

The mysterious person barely reacted. Just a subtle lean of the head.

“Not bad,” he said.

Then—FWOOM.

Two more fire-formed figures emerged, coming from the upper stairs. They stood tall, just like the first, but each had flickering differences—one had longer arms, another had brighter flames. The torch fire had spread, igniting the surrounding moss and dust, creating a hazy hellscape.

Now, three fiery humanoids surrounded Alexia in a slow circle. Behind them stood the cloak-covered figure, unmoving.

Alexia froze, calculating fast. Her mouth twisted in frustration.

“Two-on-one wasn’t enough? Now four-on-one? What, did your parents not teach you manners?”

She was sweating—soaked, in fact. The intense heat pulsed from the fireborn trio, each footstep burning the stone below. But the real fire was in her chest. Not from fear. From pressure. From adrenaline.

“Three with the same Fracture… and one of you hasn’t even shown his yet,” she muttered, eyes on the cloaked man.

Then—

CRASH!

A door to the Red Keep burst open with a thunderous bang.

Lysandros exploded out of it, arms flailing, tunic ablaze at the bottom.

“AAAHHHH! FIRE! FIRE! HELP! HOT! HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT!” he screamed, running in panicked circles like a man being attacked by invisible bees.

Alexia blinked, the absurdity breaking through her focus.

“…What is he even doing,” she muttered in utter disappointment.

The fireborns turned to look.

Even the cloaked figure hesitated, head cocked slightly.

Lysandros didn’t stop. “SOMEONE THROW DIRT ON ME! I HAVE A SHOVEL—WHY IS NO ONE THROWING DIRT!?”

Then—mid-spin—he ran directly into the cloaked man.

WHUMP!

Both fell to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs, fire, and cloth.

Lysandros immediately rolled, smacking at his tunic.

“BLOW BLOW BLOW—WHY DOESN’T THIS WORK, I SAW THIS IN A STORY ONCE!”

Alexia’s eyes lit up.

Opportunity.

“Good job! Your plan worked!” she shouted as she dashed forward, charging straight for the now-prone cloaked figure.

But just as she reached him—

The man, still on the ground, lifted his arm.

And suddenly—WHHHRMMM—

From beneath his sleeve, hundreds of glowing embers burst into the air.

Like sparks from a forge. Like fireflies possessed by malice.

They danced upward, fast and sharp, circling the entire ruined hall like a blazing cyclone, separating Alexia from her path, surrounding Lysandros in a ring of light, even forcing the three fire humanoids to momentarily pull back.

Each ember shimmered like it had a will of its own.

The cloaked man’s voice echoed from the ground, unnervingly calm:

“You’re strong, warrior. I respect that.”

He stood slowly, the embers shifting in the air like a shield.

“But strength alone doesn’t save you. It just delays the inevitable.”

Alexia skidded to a stop, eyes darting from ember to ember, her breath quickening.

This isn’t just fire. This is control. Calculation.

And then the embers began to move again—faster. Sharper.

All at once, like a swarm descending.

Toward her.

She braced, eyes narrowing, every muscle coiled.

And Lysandros, still patting out his burning sleeve.

“WHAT DID I EVEN DO TO DESERVE THIS?!”

A single raindrop fell.

Then another.

The mysterious person, still sprawled on the wet ground, pushed himself up with one arm, muttering under his breath, “I have to get out of here…”

Neither Alexia nor Lysandros noticed what was happening behind them—until it was almost too late.

The three fire humanoid-shaped figures, flickering and swaying in the rain, suddenly turned to each other. Without warning, they moved as one. Their flaming arms reached out and embraced each other tightly. The heat in the air spiked again. Their bodies began to melt and merge—limbs fusing, torsos combining, heads dissolving into one another—until they formed something much, much larger.

A monstrous fire-born creature, at least three times the height of a man. Its body was thick and muscular, made entirely of flames, with sparks sputtering off its shoulders like embers from a forge. It had no face, but two glowing voids burned where eyes should be. And on its shoulder, the cloaked man now stood—his figure tiny in comparison to the living inferno he rode.

Alexia’s eyes widened. “He’s getting away!”

Lysandros, now free of flames thanks to the light rain, was already up again. His tunic was blackened, steam rising from his sleeves, but he was moving. He reached down, grabbing both the scorched shovel and Alexia’s sword from the ground.

That’s when the swarm returned.

Hundreds—maybe thousands—of glowing fireflies swirled around him, buzzing and crackling with ember-like light. They weren’t just flying—they were attacking.

Lysandros narrowed his eyes. “Give me thy strength… War Chief.”

His grip tightened. And then, he moved.

With both hands full—shovel in one, sword in the other—he began slicing. Not wildly. Not blindly. Each movement was sharp, precise, deliberate. His arms cut through the swarming fireflies like wind through wheat. His body turned and pivoted with perfect timing, his feet finding balance on the slick stone. Even Alexia, hardened warrior that she was, found herself frozen for a second just watching him.

“…Woah,” she muttered.

But then, the fireflies swarmed her too.

She ducked low, shielding her face, but kept her eyes on the priority. “Lysandros! The man—he’s getting away!”

Lysandros didn’t hesitate. As soon as he cut the last firefly from his side, he snapped his head toward the cloaked rider.

The man was already rising, lifted higher and higher atop the towering flame-creature, now towering like a burning tree against the dark, wet sky.

“You’re not getting away,” Lysandros growled.

He closed his eyes again, breathing deep.

“Oh, Brother Nakham,” he muttered, “lend me your archery skills!”

When he opened them, they were sharper. Focused. The chaotic fire and rain around him seemed to blur away.

He reached behind him—but there was no bow.

So instead, he pulled back his arm… and hurled the shovel with impossible precision.

The spinning shovel cut through the air like a spear. It was fast. And accurate.

But just as it was about to reach the cloaked man—WHAM!

The massive fire-creature lifted a flaming arm and caught the shovel mid-air. The metal hissed, twisted, and instantly blackened before crumbling into ash.

Lysandros dropped to his knees, devastated. “...My shovel,” he whispered. “She was a good one…”

And then—BOOM.

The fire giant leapt.

It launched itself into the sky, jumping higher than any creature had a right to. The cloaked man stood firmly on its shoulder, vanishing slowly into the storm above. Rain hissed as it struck the giant’s body mid-air, trailing sparks behind them like a comet vanishing into cloud.

Back on the ground, the fireflies around Alexia suddenly stopped. All at once, they dropped—falling like glowing petals before turning to ash, and then dissolving into nothing.

Alexia, panting, held her knees. Her armor was hot to the touch. Her breath fogged in the cooling air.

Then—

“Agh…”

She winced, grabbing the side of her head. A sharp pain jabbed through her skull.

Still recovering from the strain, she turned to check on Lysandros. “Hey—Lysandros! Are you okay?”

No response.

She looked again.

He was flat on his back, arms sprawled wide across the ground, face half-buried in a muddy puddle.

She blinked. “Are you dead?!”

He groaned, weakly raised one arm—and gave a very wobbly thumbs up.

“Don’t worry… I’m okay,” he muttered, voice strained. “Just... re-evaluating all my life decisions.”

Alexia half-chuckled, half-sighed in relief. She made her way over, water splashing under her boots.

“Need a hand?”

Lysandros groaned. “No. I need my shovel. And… a new tunic.” He glanced down at the remains of his burnt shirt, which now looked more like a scarf with sleeves. “Maybe pants too.”

Alexia crossed her arms. “Maybe a brain while you're at it.”

He smiled faintly from the ground. “Nah. No space left in here,” he said, tapping his head, “I filled it all with charm.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched.

Then her gaze shifted—past the smoke, past the falling rain—toward the place where the fire creature had jumped and disappeared into the storm.

She stood up slowly, her expression hardening.

"...What kind of fracture was that?"

And in her mind, a question repeated itself.

How many more are out there like him?