Jian slammed a fist of liquid fire into the bedrock for the thousandth time that morning. The earth didn't just crack; it buckled.
Three days into the march toward the Capital, the trail behind the rebel convoy looked like a string of impact sites. Every mile or so, there was a new blackened crater where the stone had been melted into jagged, black glass. Jian wasn't training; he was trying to survive. The dragon core in his chest was a trapped sun, and if he didn't dump the excess heat into the ground, he was going to turn into a pillar of ash.
By the third night, the flares were getting worse. The rebels had learned to keep their distance, staying fifty paces back just to keep the wood of their carts from catching fire.
When the moon finally rose, the fire died down. Jian collapsed in a patch of scorched grass, his chest heaving. His hair was matted with soot and sweat, sticking to a face that looked more like a skull every day. He didn't lay down so much as he just stopped moving.
Kiri, the ninja goblin, drifted out of the shadows. She didn't say anything—she never did—but she started wiping the soot from his forehead with a damp piece of leather. She watched him with a kind of quiet, eerie devotion.
"Move, Kiri," Saphra said, her voice low.
The alchemist walked into the circle of burnt earth. She looked at Jian with a mix of professional interest and genuine dread. When she knelt next to him, she could feel the vibration coming off his chest. it was a deep, heavy thrum, like standing next to a massive engine.
Jian’s eyes snapped open. They were pitch black in the moonlight.
"Why do you do this?" Saphra asked. "You’ve already won. You killed a dragon and an army. You could lead these people, but you're treating your own body like a war zone."
Jian didn't look at her. He looked at the stars, but it felt like he was looking through them, trying to find whoever had put them there.
"Lead them where?" he rasped. "To the next scene? The next act?"
He reached up and touched Saphra’s cheek. His skin was boiling, like a stone pulled out of a campfire.
"Everything I ever knew," Jian whispered, his eyes wide and frantic. "My mother’s touch, my brothers, the women I thought I loved... all of it was a lie. Ten million years of this, Saphra. Ten million years of scripts. I’ve looked at people I loved and seen the Old Man’s eyes looking back. I’ve held my own kids and realized they were just puppets made of his spit."
He leaned closer. A dark, heavy pressure started to leak out of him—an aura so thick it felt like the air was turning to lead. Saphra felt her heart hammer against her ribs. He was looking at her like he was trying to find a seam in her skin, a glitch in the world that proved she wasn't real.
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"I don't know what’s real anymore," he hissed, his thumb pressing hard against her jaw. "Every time you speak, I’m just waiting for the mask to slip. I’m waiting for your voice to turn into his laugh. I’m waiting for the 'Great Alchemist' to turn into another joke in a story that never ends."
Saphra didn't pull away. She looked him right in the eye. "I’m not a script, Jian. I’m an alchemist who’s trying to keep a man from exploding. There’s no monster here. Just you."
Jian stared at her for a long minute. The dark pressure around them slowly pulled back into his skin. He let out a breath that sounded like a sob, though his face didn't change.
"You're you," he whispered, letting his hand fall. "For now."
He sat up, the vulnerability vanishing instantly. He was the lunatic again. "I need more," he said, focusing back on his internal energy. "The Water Roots are gone. If I don't get more, the fire is going to burn out my meridians."
Saphra wiped the sweat from her lip and tried to stop her hands from shaking. "I’m out, Jian. I used the last of the Northern ginger yesterday. You won't find it growing around here."
Jian’s eyes narrowed. "Where is it?"
"Six days east," Saphra said. "There’s a garrison called Black-Rock Reach. It’s where the Imperial Army keeps its medical supplies. They have underground vaults sealed with arrays and guarded by a battalion of Iron-Guard. It’s the only place with enough stock to help you."
Jian tilted his head. "Six days? Too slow."
"Jian, it’s a fortress. You can’t just—"
"Give me the scent," he ordered.
Saphra pulled a dried sliver of the root from her bag. Jian didn't just smell it; he tasted it, committing the energy of the plant to memory. He looked toward the east.
"Six days for a man," Jian said, and a small, terrifying smile touched his lips. "An hour for a flame."
He stood up, the ground beneath his boots turning orange. With a sound like a thunderclap, he was gone. He didn't run—he launched himself in a vertical burst of fire that scorched the sky and left a pillar of smoke hanging in the air.
Kiri gave Saphra a short nod, then dissolved into the shadows, trailing her master at a speed that didn't seem human.
Saphra stood alone in the burnt field, the heat from the jump still stinging her face. She stared at the empty sky. "He... he just jumped."
"He does that," a voice said behind her.
Zelari was standing there with a map and a compass, looking tired but not surprised.
"Zelari! He's going to attack an Imperial fort by himself! We have to do something!"
"We have to move the convoy," Zelari said flatly. "If we're going to hit the Capital before their reinforcements show up, we need to take the South-Pass. Help me with the plans."
"But Jian—"
"Jian does what he wants," Zelari interrupted. "No one stops him. Not the Empire, and definitely not us. He’ll be back when he’s hungry. Until then, he’s a force of nature. You don't argue with the wind."
Saphra looked at the horizon one last time and let out a dry laugh. "I’m an alchemist, Zelari. I’m supposed to understand nature. But that man? He’s the thing nature is afraid of."
"Then stop thinking about him," Zelari said, turning back toward the camp. "Think about the spices for the seafood. If we’re going to use him as a weapon, we’d better make sure we can pay the bill."