Something lit up the behind Ebskil’s closed eyes. He heard a great whoosh and when he dared to look, he saw a brilliant aqua phlame wash above him. The beauty stole his breath; different hues danced above him like performing in a grand ritual. More incredible, he spotted speckles of dirt inside the stunning flickers. The grains, moved by the phlame, targeted the gunder’s eyes and nostrils, causing it to lean back on its hind legs with a cold screech.

“Get out of the way, squid-breath!” Reefer shouted and ran closer. The short distance seemed to strengthen the phire twirling from her fingertips.

Any exclamations of relief or surprise got lodged in Ebskil’s throat. He fell backwards but didn’t register the pain from his tailbone on impact. Instead, his focus remained on the battle in front of him. Reefer kept her phlame ongoing and temporarily blinded the creature. Its eyes rimmed red and it swung around to stop the attacker. Just as its paw breezed passed the girl, Wildem joined her, closely followed by Pend.

“Pend, check the area for oncoming beasts! Reefer, keep blinding him from different angles! I’ll take him down!” Wildem ordered and as he leapt in the air, Ebskil swore he saw beams of light radiate around him like a god; this was a true hero.

He ignited his blue phlame and it rippled down his arms onto the strange axes in his hands. Unlike the clan’s weapons, these were crafted using a shiny material, not rocks and somehow, without vines, held onto the thick, stick handles. Where did he hide these? Ebskil wondered and no sooner did he think of this, he noticed the incredible phlame of the mountain tribe. The blue phire pulsated around the blades and caused them to grow longer and thicker. Originally, they must’ve been the size of a man’s forearm but now, they were as long as a child’s height.

The axes sliced at the blinded gunder. Blood spurted everywhere. The beast howled in pain. Yet, Wildem never paused. He continuously stabbed at fur and flesh until the gunder collapsed.

“Another coming from the left trees!” Pend shouted as he remained rooted to his spot. A yellow phlame left his squatting feet and clawing hands to furrow into the ground.

“Reefer!” Wildem called.

The girl grinned and with a sweep across the ground, shot her phlame — with more particles than earlier — at the oncoming gunder. “On it!”

The trio worked together perfectly, using each ability to their best advantage; Pend relayed movements around them, Reefer stole senses of the beasts and Wildem took them down. This continued without fault as creature after creature attacked. It rained blood. The night became filled with agonising cries of gunders. Through this, Ebskil slowly returned to reality. When the third gunder struggled against Wildem’s precise combinations, his mind rebooted. Momil, he realised. Did he get hurt? Where is he?

Through the darkness and failing torch-light, Ebskil scanned the ground. Ripped up soil and scattered branches created a challenging walk, causing everything to turn unfamiliar. He continuously gagged when the tribe’s warriors used their green phlames, as they lit up lifeless bodies on his path. He tried to forget they were people he grew up with but failed to trick his mind. Find Momil, he instructed himself, fearing to be lost in sorrow and give up. Find Momil. Find Momil. Then, he saw something small move behind a tree. Without a second thought, he raced towards it.

“Momil?” His voice cracked and as his eyes adjusted, he nearly cried; Momil curled up beside a boy. “Thank the gods. Are you hurt?”

His brother glared up with tears streaking his cheeks. “Why didn’t ya use ya phlame?! Why! Why! Why! Why didn’t ya save us?!”

The words felt sharper than any blade. They stabbed true and deep into Ebksil’s chest. A lump formed in his throat. What was he supposed to say? He, the villager’s ray of false hope, could save no one in this time of need. He had no phlame to protect them as the future chief. No. The truth was far worse than a simple lie; his parents understood that, hence fooled everyone during his upbringing and manhood initiation.

Just ignore it. Deal with it later. “Ya must get to safety. Is this the broken boy? I’ll take ya both to the caves.”

“Will ya use ya phlame ta protect us then?!”

The comment stung and Ebskil wanted to scream out his failure as a person. He wanted to profusely apologise to Momil. However, the image of his panicked father and the angry tribe stopped him. They couldn’t handle a phlame-less tribesman right now.

“Boy, me name is Ebskil. I know ya hurt ya leg so I’ll carry ya to the caves. Ya will be with the men tonight. Doesn’t that sound cool?”

“Mama!” The boy sobbed.

“Where is she?”

“She went ta search for the last basket. I think she may ‘ave gotten up,” Momil muttered, unwilling to make eye contact with his brother. Strange. Ebskil recalled no baskets left for use but then again, he was too preoccupied with gunders to notice much else.

“Hear that? She went searching for a basket. I am sure she will be so proud of ya for making it to the cave. But to do that, I am gonna lift ya up. It’ll hurt for a little bit, okay?”

The boy nodded. Trying to be gentle, Ebskil grazed his forearms on twigs under the boy, and lifted him up. Turned out the small size hid his true weight and Ebskil struggled to stand with him.

He turned to Momil. “Ya ready?”

“Yeah, nah. No one can be ready ta die.”

Ebskil took a deep breath and surveyed a safe path to the caves. They needed to sneak behind the tree line of the clearing. He prayed to avoid any rocks and logs for the sake of the injured boy in his arms. Worried to wait a second longer, he took the first step towards safety.