Lung had always known fire.

  It had lived in him since the moment his power had first ignited, searing his veins and branding his soul. It was rage, it was hunger, it was strength. Fire was survival, the only truth that had mattered to him.

  But fire could not burn beneath the waves.

  Kyushu had sunk. His home, his past, his empire of blood and steel—gone. Not lost to battle, not to conquest, but to an enemy so vast, so overwhelming, that all his fury had meant nothing. The water had swallowed it all, swallowing him along with it, and in that crushing darkness, Lung had felt something he had never allowed himself to feel.

  Helplessness.

  The ocean had no regard for his strength. No fear of his claws. He had fought against it, of course—kicked, clawed, burned with every last ember of his power—but it hadn’t been enough. Not when his arms were too heavy, his body broken, his lungs screaming for air. The sea was vast, endless, consuming, and it did not care.

  As his vision darkened, as his mind began to unravel at the edges, the rage inside him twisted into something else. Something more raw, more primal.

  I cannot die. I am not finished.

  But no matter how much willpower he had, his body had reached its limit. His claws slowed. His thoughts frayed.

  And then—light.

  A golden radiance, too bright for mortal eyes, pierced the abyss.

  Lung felt himself pulled. Not by the ocean’s current, not by his own failing limbs, but by something far greater. His vision blurred, twisting between the void of the deep and the impossible presence now standing before him.

  A figure of pure light.

  A being that was not human.

  Zion did not speak in words. Not in the way mortals did.

  Lung had always relied on instinct, on the deep, animal certainty that guided his every movement. And now, standing before this thing, his instincts screamed. Not in fear, no—Lung did not fear. But in recognition.

  Power. Absolute. Unstoppable. Unquestionable.

  And then, a vision.

  It struck him like a hammer to the skull, searing through his thoughts and branding itself into his mind. He saw her.

  A woman—no, a girl, barely more than that. An elf, pale and trembling, her wrists raw from chains. Dark magic bound her, shackling her to a fate worse than death.

  Her tormentor, a thing of shadows and cruelty, stood over her with a twisted smile. A Shade, reveling in its work. The stench of old blood filled the air.

  Lung’s claws twitched. His body burned.

  Zion’s intent poured into him, simple and absolute. Save her. Kill her tormentors. And in return, Kyushu will rise from the depths, restored.

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  Lung did not hesitate. He accepted.

  And as Zion’s power wrapped around him, pulling him away from the abyss, the fire inside him burned hotter than ever.

  Arya had long since lost track of time.

  Pain blurred the days together, endless and inescapable. Durza knew precisely how much agony to inflict to keep her alive without letting her break completely. His magic seeped into her mind, slithering through the cracks like a parasite, trying to unmake her.

  And yet, something within her refused.

  Some part of her, buried deep within the shattered remains of her will, still fought. Still reached outward, desperately clawing through the void for something—anything—that could answer.

  Her mind fled, recoiling from her broken body, searching, screaming into the nothingness.

  And then, suddenly, she found something.

  It was not like anything she had ever touched before. Not another mind. Not a comforting presence. It was a star. A burning, raging inferno, a storm of fury so intense it threatened to consume her.

  But at its core, beneath the blinding heat, was something else.

  Something strong.

  Not kindness. Not mercy. But something unyielding. A will that had never broken, that had never allowed itself to break. A force that had survived, that had fought, that had burned through everything in its way.

  Her presence barely brushed against it before the wards around her prison dragged her back, slamming her into the agony of her own body once more.

  But as Durza’s laughter filled the chamber, Arya held onto one thought.

  Something is coming.

  And it would burn everything in its path.

  Lung did not question his mission.

  That was not his way. There was no need for hesitation, for deliberation. He had seen the girl’s suffering. He had seen her captor’s cruelty. And Zion had promised him something in return.

  That was enough.

  But his Shard—**the Escalation Shard—**watched and learned.

  For years, it had whispered to him. Guided his instincts, honed his rage, pushed him ever toward the next battle. It had never needed to speak in words. Lung was its perfect host—his will aligned with its own.

  But this… this was new.

  The Shard did not understand honor. It did not understand the concepts of promises, of justice, of morality.

  But it understood efficiency. It understood function. And it was beginning to understand something else.

  Lung hated the weak. He had always despised those who whined, who begged, who accepted their fate. But the elf girl… she had not accepted. She had fought, even when she had no strength left to fight.

  And that, more than anything, was what made the Shard take interest.

  Lung was not merely escalating for the sake of battle. He was escalating for a purpose.

  And in this moment, the Shard adapted.

  Escalation was no longer merely about power. It was about breaking the strong who preyed on the weak. It was about destroying those who thought themselves unchallenged.

  Lung had always been a beast of fire and fury.

  But now, for the first time, he was something more.

  Lung arrived in fire.

  The Governor’s palace in Gil’ead erupted into flames as he descended upon it, his roar splitting the night air. The city’s guards scrambled in terror as the beast tore through them, his claws ripping through armor, his fire reducing their spells to cinders.

  The magicians were the greatest threat, and his Shard knew it.

  It adapted.

  A new weapon unveiled itself—a poison coating his claws, a venom that devoured raw magic upon contact. He cut through their wards, their defenses, tearing apart their illusions and enchantments like paper.

  And still, he grew.

  By the time he reached the palace’s heart, he was eleven feet tall. His tail lashed through stone. His scales had interlocked into a bio-metallic armor, rippling with lethal potential.

  Durza stood waiting.

  For the first time in his miserable existence, the Shade felt something new.

  Fear.

  And that fear was well deserved.

  Because Lung was here.

  And he was going to burn it all.