The heat. He felt it in his soul, a relentless inferno that seemed to consume not just his body but his very essence.

  The flames shifted hues, an eerie dance from yellow to green to white, and finally, an otherworldly blue. They made no smoke—for they had no fuel.

  His skin felt like it was on fire. When he looked down—

  Oh.

  Oh dear.

  It was.

  The fire clung to him like a living thing, a searing agony gnawing at his flesh. His skin felt as though it were crumbling, blistered and brittle, ready to fall away. The pain was sharper than any blade, deeper than any wound, and it took everything he had not to crumple beneath it.

  Instinct took over. He flung himself into the snow—or what remained of it. The fire might have raged with supernatural intensity, but the gods above had kept the mountain frigid. Steam hissed and rose in thick clouds as the icy ground fought back against the flames.

  The fire hissed in protest, and for one unbearable moment, it seemed as though the snow would fail. Then, at last, it died out, leaving only a patch of slush and Issac’s trembling, burned body behind.

  His arm screamed with pain, every movement sending shockwaves through his body. His breath came in shallow gasps as he cradled the injured limb, his mind racing. He had to act, to find something—anything—that could ease the agony before it crippled him. Without action, he would be doomed.

  But his death didn’t matter.

  Only the Messiah did.

  That thought cut through the haze of pain like a lightning strike, steadying his resolve. Issac clenched his jaw and pushed himself to his knees, the cold seeping into his bones as he rose unsteadily. He had to survive. Not for himself, but for the rebellion.

  Pain wasn’t going to kill him. It couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow it.

  The ring of fire had closed around him after he had plunged into the snow. Steam curled into the freezing air, masking the world beyond.

  Issac squinted, searching for movement, for any sign of life. The biting cold of the snow had momentarily soothed the searing pain in his arm, but now it was stiffening, the agony a dull roar that refused to fade.

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  Kael. Mara. Dain. They were right behind him before the ambush. Perhaps they had escaped, weaving through the chaos to safety. Perhaps they were still trapped in the blaze, fighting for their lives.

  Or perhaps they were—no. Issac cut that thought off, gritting his teeth. They weren’t dead. They couldn’t be. Not yet.

  But hope wouldn’t help him now. Neither would waiting. The flames roared closer, licking hungrily at the thinning snow beneath his feet.

  He raised his arms to the heavens and screamed.

  It wasn’t a scream of fear but of defiance, raw and primal, tearing its way out of his chest. The fire around him responded, rising higher and higher, swirling into a vortex of controlled chaos. The flames began to shift in color, cooling from their white-hot rage to a softer, more manageable orange. The ring tightened further, its intensity dampened by sheer force of will.

  But even with the fire under his control, Issac knew he couldn’t do this alone. Not against what prowled just beyond the curtain of flame.

  A low growl rumbled through the air, cutting through the crackling fire like a blade. The Wjwyrn stepped forward, its massive form taking shape in the haze. Its scales shimmered, reflecting the firelight in a thousand iridescent colors.

  Glowing eyes fixed on Issac, unblinking, predatory.

  It moved with a calculated grace, each step deliberate, the ground trembling beneath its weight. Snow melted in its wake, steam rising in curling tendrils around its claws. The beast’s wings unfurled slightly, not in preparation for flight, but as a subtle reminder of its power.

  Issac’s breath hitched as he locked eyes with the creature.

  This wasn’t the time for hesitation, yet fear clawed at his mind, primal and unrelenting. He forced it down, swallowing hard as he tightened his grip on the flames.

  The vortex around him swirled faster, an unstable wall of fire that he prayed would hold.

  The Wjwyrn snarled, its jaws parting to reveal rows of teeth that glinted like polished obsidian.

  A deep rumble built in its chest, and Issac knew what was coming. He had seen it before—watched comrades vanish in a burst of flame and ash, their screams swallowed by the beast’s fury.

  His pulse thundered in his ears as he spread his arms wide, drawing the fire into a tighter, brighter circle around him.

  He couldn’t overpower the Wjwyrn—not with his injuries, not like this—but he could buy time. For what, he didn’t know. Reinforcements? A miracle?

  Another growl, louder this time, reverberated through the air. The Wjwyrn tensed, muscles coiling beneath its shimmering scales. Issac steeled himself, his heart pounding.

  This was it.

  With a roar that echoed across the mountains, the Wjwyrn lunged.