Selara bounded down the hill, steps of flame scorching the grass and blackening the dirt where she passed. Her Herun and Egan were off to fight the source of the onslaught that battered the village. She could only put her faith in them to reach whatever magi the United Empire conscripted for this task. It should have been her, but she needed to save him first. If only she could clone herself and be everywhere at once, but that was why time was so precious. Two days wasted. Why had she listened to her old teacher again when she knew his judgment was impaired? It was beyond reckless. The Outlander wasn’t capable of defending himself, he was just a boy. The fires had begun to spread into the woods, Goldskins rushing towards her less to fight and more to flee.

She propelled herself aloft on a spout of flame over them, maintaining the flow of magic so that the spiral of living flame rolled forward. The screams of the Empire’s soldiers faded quickly as she soared into town, staggering small jets of flame to slow her landing. An eerie silence had gripped Riverton as she neared, the fires and cracking of wood and stone the only sound she could hear. It reminded her of her own past, the reason she had joined the Final Breath, among other things. Smoke filled her nostrils as it always did when she saw bodies broken and charred like now, the pools of blood steaming or already entirely evaporated. She grimaced and whispered a prayer in elven for them, then in common. Maybe some had escaped. There was nothing she could do for them now. Lucinder had taken no chances here. From the state of Riverton, he had been eager to deliver the Outlander to the Emperor, dead or alive.

She felt the pulse of new magic, and she raised her head to the sky to face it. A Cinderstorm sparkled and hovered in the air, taut like a hunter’s bowstring, then she felt the strands of magic release. Her Herun and Egan hadn’t managed to stop the magi in time. She closed her eyes, reaching into the arcane element she knew so well and preparing a barrier, but it shattered in its womb as her concentration broke, a new source of magic exploding to life behind her. She could only whirl, her hair flying into her face as a tempest of energy rocketed past. She gasped as recognition flared in her mind, eyes wide as they tracked the being supercharged with arcane power. She had been right. Her heart pounded in awe, terror, or hope, she didn’t know which.

All she knew was that he was the man who would save them all.

He reached for the star of flame, crushing it in his hands like he might an egg. Was this what it was like? He had basically popped all his CDs and was full sending his damage right now. Optimize—min-max—that's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. There was no telling when the flow of power would end. It wasn’t his, he could tell that much. It felt foreign, writhing around in his body as if it were alive, bounding against his insides as it waited for him to direct it. He landed along the north hill that oversaw Riverton, a small ridge cresting towards the lakes in the distance. The energy lurched within him, pulling him towards something. He let it lead, keeping his grip tight so that it couldn’t escape, but pursuing its quarry. Grass and wind rushed by as he bounded across the ground in massive leaps, adroitly twisting and bouncing off of trees as he gathered momentum. Within seconds he had covered ground he would have taken minutes to walk, bursting into a small military camp.

The Goldskins stepped back hesitantly as he slowly walked forward, feeling for where the power searched. There. He gathered the magic, cocking his right hand back behind his shoulder and letting the flow travel through his arm, a tether of the entity’s energy surging towards the sky, but he strangled it until it rested resentfully in his grip. He could almost see it, two magi with their eyes closed and their hands to the sky somewhere on the other side of the camp, chanting some sort of incantation, though they were nowhere in sight. He threw the tether forward and it ripped through reality, pulling the two mages through and he forced the magic back within him. He caught both of them, one neck in each hand, All he had to do was close his fists and they would die. Easily. He looked into their eyes.

They were terrified. Of him.

The power quivered in his grasp and wriggled free, and he screamed in agony as it released, springing forth from him into the bodies of the two mages in his grasp. It consumed them in an instant, reducing them to little more than ashes, giving them not even a chance to whisper the horror that filled their visage.

And just like that, it was over.

He was himself again. His clothes were still in perfect condition, just a little charred, warmth radiating from his chest. He looked around him, the Goldskins torn between wanting to flee and their duty to attack him. He was out of juice—if they decided to strike now, he was going back to wherever white void the entity had pulled him from.

ONLY ONCE MAY FATE’S HAND BE STAYED.

He assumed that meant he was given a freebie. A way to cheat death. Apt, for he mained a shaman in WoW, his main game. They had the ability to reincarnate once for free. After that, well, you needed a battle rez. He felt at his chest, the warmth becoming somewhat uncomfortable. It was muggy out, and considering everything else, he supposed feeling a little feverish wasn’t that big of a concern, but a sudden stabbing pain seared his upper body, and he scrambled to remove his shirt, his soda belly flopping out as he did so. A large, stylized R was carved onto his front, and he stared at it, mind working to figure out its meaning. It was undoubtedly the entity’s name or a symbol of its power.

His hackles raised as he felt dozens of eyes on him, and he looked up from his chest. Pevarin and Egan were there now, standing between him and the small mass of soldiers. Egan was grinning widely at him, eyes screaming his excitement, but Pevarin’s face was not excited at all. He seemed like a man staring into an abyss, an abyss that he had plunged into before only to barely escape. He turned from Zach, facing the Goldskins, the fearsome, disciplined army of the United Empire cowering like children.

“Lower your weapons! You stand before the Chosen of the gods. The Champion that can twist time. He who was foretold and who will end the Great Night. He who unites the divided. Kneel before your savior. Kneel before the Hero of Peratha!” boomed Pevarin, his voice carrying out into the warm night air.

One by one the Goldskins looked at each other and dropped their weapons, kneeling before him. Egan did so as well, Pevarin following shortly after, though he did not look up from the ground.

He definitely wasn’t going home anytime soon.