Chapter 3: Walking Through Fire

The blistering heat clawed at Arthur's skin, but this time—he did not retreat.

The beasts of flame circled him, their molten bodies pulsing like embers, waiting for him to lose himself again. Waiting for the rage to return, so they could feast on his soul.

But Arthur's breath came steady now.

His heartbeat slowed.

The flickering blade of fire in his hand remained sharp—no longer a wild storm, but a weapon forged by his will.

Control it. Don't let it consume me.

The beasts struck first.

A hound lunged, its fangs dripping with liquid flame.

Arthur sidestepped, the fire-blade gliding in a perfect arc across the beast's throat. Its body collapsed into ash before it hit the ground.

Another beast snarled—a larger one, its back crackling with jagged, rock-like scales glowing red beneath their surface.

Arthur's instincts urged him to lash out, to give in to the roaring fire surging within his veins.

But he pushed the fury down—forcing discipline over instinct.

The blade of fire trembled, threatening to spiral out of his control.

"Stay sharp," he whispered to himself.

The beast lunged.

Arthur pivoted, sliding beneath its snapping jaws, slashing upward in a clean, practiced motion. The fire sang in his hand, obeying his focus.

The beast exploded into ash.

---

The Evolution of the Trial

The ground rumbled as the next wave approached.

But these were not hounds.

Obsidian Serpents slithered toward him now—beasts with molten veins running beneath their stone armor. Their movements were swift and unpredictable, their tails lashing out with the weight of iron.

Arthur tightened his grip on his blade.

The serpents struck in coordinated patterns—one lashing high, another low.

Arthur weaved through them, his fire adapting.

He compressed the flames into fine, searing daggers to pierce through the cracks in their armor.

Each battle honed him.

Each strike carved discipline into his bones.

The more he suppressed his rage, the more the flames sharpened.

The more the flames sharpened, the more they became an extension of himself.

But the trial was far from over.

---

The Heat Intensifies

The ground split open, revealing The Flame Stalkers.

Beasts standing upright like twisted wolves, their claws burning white-hot, their hollow mouths dripping embers that hissed against the scorched ground.

They were faster.

Smarter.

One darted toward him, vanishing into a burst of flame mid-charge and reappearing behind him.

Arthur spun just in time to block the attack, but the force sent him sliding back, his boots grinding against the cracked earth.

The fire inside him roared, begging to be unleashed—to explode, to burn everything around him to dust.

But he knew what would happen if he surrendered to it again.

His hand trembled as the fire fought for control.

"I won't lose myself."

"Not again."

"I won't burn like my village did."

Arthur forced the flames into precision. He visualized the fire as a spear, a fine point, a weapon of purpose—not destruction.

The Flame Stalkers circled, vanishing and reappearing like flickering shadows.

Arthur adjusted his stance—calm, breathing evenly.

The first Stalker appeared.

Arthur's spear shot forward, piercing its skull.

Another appeared behind him.

Arthur sidestepped, pivoting smoothly, his fire cutting through its chest.

They came faster—two, three, four at once.

Arthur's footwork grew sharper, his movements fluid, almost instinctual. His fire danced with him, no longer wild, no longer lashing out.

The last Flame Stalker lunged, its claws glowing white.

Arthur exhaled softly and hurled his spear—driving it through the beast's heart.

The creature collapsed into embers.

---

Silence.

Arthur stood in the stillness of the molten field, his chest rising and falling slowly.

The flames had not consumed him.

He had led them.

He had carved his will into them.

"Power obeys those who can carry it without being swallowed."

The voice echoed once more in his mind.

The ground beneath him shimmered, the molten rivers parting to reveal a glowing path to the next trial.

But Arthur did not move yet.

His gaze drifted to his trembling hand—scarred and burned, but steady.

Lina…

I'll find you. No matter what I have to burn through, I'll bring you back.

He tightened his fist, the fire compressing into his palm, shrinking into a faint, steady ember.

For the first time since the village burned—Arthur felt a spark of purpose.

He stepped forward, toward the next island.