"Hey kid, can you make me a body?" Xentar asked, materializing from thin air in a flicker of green light.

  Cale looked up from the metal fox skittering playfully around him, to the floating spirit.

  "I could," he replied thoughtfully, "but I don’t think I have enough metal lying around to do it properly." He turned toward Tiana, seated serenely on the wooden bench with a weathered book in hand. "Does the construct need to be as big as the original?"

  Tiana didn’t glance up. Her voice was quiet, but steady. "It might be uncomfortable, but it should work."

  The book in her hands looked ancient—its cover dark and worn like cured leather, the pages curled and yellowed with age. There was no title, no name.

  Cale looked down at the metal fox. It paused, tilting its head.

  "Sorry," he murmured. "I promise we’ll play more next time."

  A red wisp lifted from the construct, and the metal body went still.

  With care, Cale reshaped it—metal folding and reforming until a miniature horse stood in its place. Strong. Compact. A perfect vessel.

  Xentar’s wisp drifted into the body.

  The construct stirred, twitching its head, adjusting to movement.

  "Kid, I think you forgot something," Xentar grumbled.

  "Right. Sorry."

  With a subtle motion, a metallic horn rose from the center of the unicorn’s forehead.

  The unicorn huffed indignantly.

  "Tiana’s right. It feels like my whole body’s been squished."

  He reared up with a whinny of defiance and galloped across the yard, hooves clinking against stone and soil.

  Cale smiled, watching the shimmering figure dance across the grass.

  Maybe I could do the same for Tristan... Give him a body. If that’s what he wants.

  He turned to ask Tiana how difficult it would be to bind a human soul, but the words caught in his throat.

  Archimedes soared over the high bramble wall, wings wide and white against the blue sky. The owl landed beside Tiana, fixing her with his deep blue eyes.

  Tiana sighed and closed her book with a soft thud. She stood slowly, her eyes drifting toward the shack.

  Then a voice broke the quiet.

  "Witch of the forest! We need your help!"

  The cry was raw—urgent.

  Tiana didn’t hesitate. "Come with me," she said, already moving.

  "I’m coming too," Xentar added.

  The unicorn construct froze. His wisp slipped out and hovered beside Cale.

  Together, they made their way to the front of the shack.

  The door creaked open.

  Lui stood in the doorway, his jaw clenched. He tried to look calm, but the soot streaked across his face and the trembling of his fists betrayed the truth.

  Bor stood behind him, his face just as blackened by smoke, his expression grim.

  Lui bowed low before Tiana.

  "Please," he said, voice shaking. "A fire has broken out in the northern forest. We didn’t want to bother you... but we’ve run out of options."

  Tiana didn’t respond. She swept past him, footsteps quick and precise.

  Cale rushed to her side, heart pounding.

  He could feel it—the air thick with urgency, with something more than just the threat of flame.

  Whatever awaited them in the north, it was more than fire.

  Cale followed closely behind Tiana, his heart pounding harder with every step.

  "Tiana, what is happening?" he asked, voice taut with unease.

  "You’ll see soon," she replied without turning.

  As they emerged from the dense undergrowth, Cale's gaze lifted instinctively. A massive column of black smoke coiled into the sky like a serpent, blotting out the blue and casting an ominous pall over the forest canopy.

  And then he saw it.

  Rising above the trees loomed a creature of cataclysmic presence. Towering, broad-shouldered, and terrifyingly majestic, its body looked forged in the heart of a volcano. Molten veins glowed beneath a hide of cracked obsidian, pulsing with volcanic life. Its legs were armored in jagged plates of black lava rock, each step sending ripples through the earth, the hiss of heat and pressure echoing like a forge bellow.

  Its arms ended in massive claws, sharp and black as night, glinting with the threat of violence. A wild mane of flame licked up from its back and shoulders, ever-shifting, ever-burning. Where eyes should have been, twin infernos stared with scorching judgment.

  Across its chest, ember-like sigils burned in rhythmic pulses, glowing with unfathomable power. The very air around it shimmered and distorted, waves of blistering heat bending the world into a nightmare of flame and fury.

  It was fire incarnate—destruction given form.

  Cale staggered back a step, breath caught in his throat.

  "What is that?" he whispered.

  "An elemental spirit," Tiana answered, her gaze sharp and calculating. "Its essence is bound to fire."

  Her expression darkened slightly, a frown etching across her face.

  "It shouldn’t be here. Spirits of this magnitude only appear in places of immense elemental energy. And this forest... it should be dormant."

  She turned her eyes to Cale, the corner of her lips curling into a smirk.

  "Consider this a test."

  Cale blinked at her, incredulous. "A test?! How am I supposed to deal with that?"

  She tilted her head thoughtfully. "You're a metal mage—and more than that, you’re connected to the spirits. Maybe you're the one meant to face it."

  Before he could respond, the ground trembled beneath them. The spirit turned its blazing gaze toward them.

  It had seen them.

  Tiana stepped aside, her voice calm and resolute. "You won’t learn anything by hiding. Go. Discover what you’re truly capable of."

  Cale stared up at the colossal inferno, his instincts screaming to flee. His body trembled, not from fear alone, but from something else—something awakening.

  A pulse of warmth stirred in his chest.

  A resonance.

  And then, without a word, his feet began to move forward.

  His skin shifted as armor—a dark, glistening metal—crawled across his flesh, encasing him from head to toe. A fusion of organic flow and biomechanical terror, the armor looked both sinister and regal. Jagged yet sleek, it shimmered with deadly purpose, its interlocking plates flexing like the hide of a living predator.

  His right arm morphed into a wicked, gleaming blade. His left solidified into a curved shield, dense and unyielding.

  The spirit let out a guttural roar. Its lower jaw cracked open, revealing a blinding white furnace within. Then—

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  A beam of concentrated flame surged forth.

  Cale lunged sideways just in time, the fire-ray incinerating trees, stone, and earth in a line of absolute destruction. He felt the blistering heat graze past, too close. But he kept moving.

  The elemental spirit was massive—too tall to strike the head without taking to the air. So Cale aimed low.

  Its legs.

  He spun beneath a molten swipe and drove his blade arm into its left leg. The strike hit true. Molten fire erupted from the wound like blood.

  But then—

  Agony.

  Cale screamed, stumbling back. Half of his blade arm had melted away, the exposed metal glowing red-hot, veins of heat crawling up his forearm. The pain roared through him.

  He hadn't expected to be that hot.

  Slash attacks worked—but the backlash was brutal.

  "There has to be another way," he hissed.

  His eyes swept the battlefield. Flames raged, trees collapsed. He couldn't rely on just melee—not against something that burned with every breath.

  Then he felt it.

  Deep beneath the burning forest.

  Metal.

  Slumbering veins of ore, ancient and pure.

  He ran—dodging firestorms, weaving under swipes of obsidian claws that carved through the forest like butter. The spirit, now dragging its wounded leg, moved slower. Its strikes grew sloppier.

  But the leg—it was already healing.

  Cale gritted his teeth. Time’s running out.

  And then he struck.

  With a roar, he slammed both fists into the ground.

  The earth trembled.

  Then erupted.

  Massive metal spikes burst from the ground, skewering the spirit from every angle. Dozens pierced its limbs, torso, back—crimson light spilling from every new wound.

  The spirit screamed—a sound that split the sky.

  Cale didn’t stop.

  His arms shifted again. They bulked up grotesquely, fists expanding into massive hammer-like gauntlets, knuckles tipped with jagged spikes.

  He launched himself.

  A blur of momentum. A comet of vengeance.

  He crashed into the spirit's chest—right into the pulsing ember-sigils.

  The sigils dimmed.

  The spirit staggered. And then—it fell, shaking the forest with its collapse.

  Cale rolled away and raised his hand to the sky.

  All around, the buried metal answered his call.

  It rose—twisting, spiraling, compressing into a massive, molten spear hovering above him like the sword of a god.

  He brought his arm down.

  The spear fell.

  It drove deep into the Spirit’s chest, nailing it to the earth. The creature shrieked, one flaming hand clawing up toward the weapon—fingers trembling.

  Then—

  a detonation.

  The spirit exploded.

  A shockwave ripped through the forest. Fire, ash, and molten shrapnel surged outward in an inferno of rage.

  Cale threw up his arms and summoned a wall of metal.

  It formed instantly—a thick, gleaming barrier glowing red from the sheer heat.

  The blast struck.

  The barrier groaned, fissures webbing across its surface. Cale gritted his teeth and held it firm.

  Then—

  Silence.

  Steam rose from the glowing edges. The wall hissed as it cooled.

  Cale lowered the barrier, chest heaving.

  And then he saw it.

  Rising from the scorched crater, born of fire and fury, floated a new form.

  It resembled a man—but only just.

  Charred black and skeletal, its flesh was cracked and broken, glowing with inner embers. Its face was a frozen mask of torment, mouth locked in a scream that never ended. Fire danced around its form like a lover, coiling through its hollow chest, flickering through empty eyes.

  It drifted—weightless, incorporeal, untethered.

  Cale raised his hand, and the metal surrounding him stirred. It twisted, shimmered, and reformed into a dozen jagged daggers. With a flick of his fingers, he sent them flying—silent, deadly streaks of silver cutting through the air.

  They passed straight through the spirit.

  No resistance.

  No effect.

  The charred spirit drifted forward, untouched.

  Cale’s heart pounded. His breathing quickened. Then—

  A tremor.

  Not in the earth.

  In him.

  A pulse of resonance.

  He remembered Tiana’s words—sharp and clear in the stillness of his mind:

  You don’t control spirits. You align with them. Like tuning an instrument—you match your soul’s frequency to theirs. Their grief, their purpose, their pain. You feel them, and in turn, they feel you. That’s when they begin to trust. That’s when you become their anchor.

  Cale closed his eyes.

  He forced his pulse to slow.

  He breathed.

  Not to prepare for battle—

  but to listen.

  The air around him burned. But beneath the heat... he felt something else.

  Agony.

  The spirit didn’t lash out. It didn’t scream.

  It wept.

  Low and guttural, the sound was a raw cry—full of sorrow and rage. It drifted closer, trailing fire like a bleeding wound. Its hollow eyes locked with his.

  And then—

  It reached out.

  Its charred hand extended, trembling with hesitation, like a creature unsure if it dared hope for connection.

  Cale raised his own hand.

  The heat intensified.

  His fingers hovered just beneath the spirit’s, the space between them a furnace of memory and flame. His arm—still encased in metal—began to glow. Veins of red crawled along the gauntlet. Pain bloomed instantly, sharp and searing, but he held steady.

  And then they touched.

  He saw flashes—not of fire or battle, but of what came before.

  He was an old shoemaker in a nameless town. Quiet, kind, with tired hands and a gentle heart. He lived in the rhythm of cobbled soles and leather threads, surrounded by warmth, family, and the comforting scent of worn leather.

  Then, one night, he was taken.

  Dragged from his home. Shackled. Stripped of everything.

  He awoke in a dungeon.

  What followed were weeks—maybe months—of unspeakable agony.

  They burned runes into his skin with iron rods, branding symbols of power into flesh not meant to bear them. Every stroke drove deeper—not just into his body, but into his soul.

  His memories were pried from him. His joy, carved away.

  His love turned to ash.

  All that remained was fire. And the need to burn. The compulsion to destroy.

  He was turned into a weapon.

  And then, finally—

  The sacrifice.

  His body had been shattered, fed to flame and spell. His spirit ripped free and bound to the form Cale had faced. His name was gone. His family forgotten. His last breath had been a scream.

  Cale’s breath hitched.

  He could feel it. The helplessness. The hollow echo of a soul used and discarded.

  And in that instant, he no longer feared the spirit.

  He mourned him.

  "I see you," he whispered. "You're not a monster."

  The spirit let out one final cry, like the last breath of a dying world—and leaned forward.

  Cale didn’t pull away.

  He embraced it.

  The fire didn’t consume him.

  It entered him.

  Not to destroy—but to be remembered.

  To be anchored.

  Cale stood frozen as the last embers of the spirit faded into his chest like a dying star. For a moment, he felt hollow. Then—a flicker.

  Something had changed.

  He looked around. The infernal heat that once threatened to melt his very bones was now dulled, distant. The air was still hot, the flames still danced, but their bite no longer reached him as before.

  He frowned.

  Tiana had said something about gaining traits of the spirits you anchor. But he hadn’t truly bound the spirit—had he?

  And yet... he had.

  He now carried a fragment of it inside him. Not its rage, but its resilience.

  Fire no longer terrified him. Not in the same way.

  He turned from the scorched battleground and walked through a charred corridor of blackened trees. Ash rained around him like snow. Eventually, the green returned—the untouched forest, still breathing.

  And then he saw her.

  Tiana stood balanced on a fallen tree, her silhouette framed by sunlight cutting through the branches. Archimedes perched beside her like a silent sentinel.

  She stepped down and approached, her eyes scanning him top to bottom.

  "You did well," she said, voice cool but tinged with honest praise. "A bit too brutish for my tastes, but effective nonetheless."

  Her gaze narrowed. "And you weren’t exaggerating about your metal magic. That much shaping in such heat... impressive."

  She turned. "Come. Let's go home."

  Cale nodded. "Thank you."

  She glanced back with a smirk.

  He followed.

  Xentar drifted beside him, luminous and smug.

  "Good job, kid," the spirit said.

  "It wasn't as hard as I feared," Cale admitted. "But I’m not used to fighting monsters. Only earth and metal mages. Today... I learned something. Next time, I’ll be ready."

  "Spoken like a warrior," Xentar chuckled.

  Back at the shack, Tiana walked toward the bathroom, then turned, locking eyes with him.

  "Do you know how to use a bath?" she asked dryly.

  Cale blinked. "Y-Yeah."

  "Good. I’ll get you something clean to wear. I can’t have my apprentice looking like a stray dog."

  He filled the wooden tub and slipped into the warm water. Muscles relaxed. The weight of flame, battle, and spirit bled away into the steam.

  Then—

  the door creaked open.

  Tiana stepped in, holding folded clothes.

  Cale panicked, his knees drawing up to his chest. His face burned hotter than the fires he'd just walked through.

  She gave him a sly smile and placed the clothes on a nearby stool.

  "Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything worth commenting on," she teased as she sauntered out.

  "That witch knows how to play her hand," Xentar muttered from above.

  Cale glared. "What do you mean by that?"

  But Xentar had already vanished through the wall.

  Cale exhaled and sank deeper into the tub.

  After bathing, he dressed in the fresh clothes—simple gray pants, shirt, and undergarments. They fit well. Clean. Comfortable.

  He stepped outside toward the backyard, drawn by laughter.

  It wasn’t Tiana’s.

  He opened the door.

  Two women stood in conversation. Tiana, calm and graceful. The other, striking.

  She wore black clothing that hugged her form like a second skin. Her figure was perfect, almost otherworldly. Her skin was pale as fresh snow, her short bob of white hair catching the light with an icy sheen. Her eyes—

  They glowed.

  Faintly.

  Blue like frozen lightning.

  When she looked at him, her smile curled into something sharp.

  "So," she said, voice velvet and steel, "this is the new stray Tiana dragged in?"

  Cale tensed.

  Before Cale could respond, Tiana’s voice sliced through the thick tension—calm, but honed with the edge of warning.

  "Careful, Selene. He’s my apprentice. Not a pet."

  Selene raised a sculpted brow, the smirk never quite leaving her lips. "Apprentice, hm? I didn’t think you kept them around long enough to train."

  Cale’s jaw clenched.

  The insult was casual, but it struck deeper than she knew. It echoed too much of what he'd lived through—the manipulation, the empty praise that turned to obedience, the way he was shaped, used, and eventually discarded. The memories of the castle, of Alden's betrayal, flared up like old wounds being torn open.

  Used.

  Shaped.

  Discarded.

  A flicker of heat sparked in his chest. A quiet flame.

  "I’m no one’s pet," Cale said.

  His voice was even, but it carried weight. Something firm. Something that made Selene's smirk pause, ever so slightly.

  She turned to Tiana, still smiling, though now there was curiosity in her expression. "Can I spar with him?"

  Tiana took a slow breath, weighing the moment. "If you must. But not here—not anywhere near my home."

  Selene nodded, clearly pleased.

  She stood and reached behind her, retrieving the greatsword leaning against the bench. It was long and pale, forged of something not metal—Cale could feel it, unnatural to his elemental senses. With a single hand, she lifted it effortlessly and slung it over her back. The sheath clicked into place with a sound like a lock being sealed.

  As she walked past Cale, she brushed close—far too close. Her shoulder nearly touched his, the gesture deliberate, dismissive.

  She didn’t spare him a glance.

  But her presence was thunder without sound.

  She opened the door to the clearing beyond, her silhouette framed by fading sunlight and dark trees.

  Then she turned slightly, her glowing eyes catching his.

  "Come on, little cub. Let’s see if you’ve got claws."

  Cale’s fists clenched.

  He said nothing.

  But he followed.

  The air between them shimmered.

  Tension. Pride. And the quiet gravity of a challenge accepted.