The woods grew strange as they moved east.

  The trees stood farther apart, their trunks white like bone and their leaves colored in shades of red and violet. The wind hissed through the branches, not quite natural. Brannor noticed it first.

  “Too quiet,” he muttered.

  Saezu nodded. “Even the birds are gone.”

  They were walking a narrow slope above a deep valley. Mist clung to the roots. The air smelled faintly of sulfur and ash. As they passed a stone outcrop, the temperature shifted—first warm, then hot. Sweat broke across Saezu’s brow.

  Then the fire came.

  A line of flame erupted across the path ahead—thin but tall, cutting them off. Brannor reacted instantly, pulling Saezu back. The flames didn’t spread. They just… stood there, swaying like dancers in the wind.

  And then she appeared.

  A figure stepped from behind the fire, bare feet brushing the scorched earth. She wore a cloak made of stitched leaves and smoke-colored silk. Her hair fell in wild red tangles, and her eyes—green with flecks of gold—were wide and unblinking. She didn’t walk so much as drift.

  “Two men where none should be,” she said, voice sharp and sing-song. “One built of stone… one still soft.”

  Brannor tensed, hand on his axe.

  “I don’t like games,” he growled.

  Yvanna tilted her head. “Then leave.”

  Saezu stepped forward.

  “We don’t want trouble,” he said. “We’re passing through.”

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  “Everything here is trouble,” she whispered. “Even me.”

  She raised her hand—and the flames parted.

  But as they did, a gust of wind struck from behind. Saezu stumbled forward, barely catching himself. Brannor took a step to shield him, but Yvanna snapped her fingers—and the wind vanished.

  “You smell like fate,” she said, eyes locked on Saezu. “Or maybe blood. Hard to tell.”

  Saezu straightened. “Who are you?”

  She smiled. “Yvanna of the Vale. Witch. Wanderer. Liar. Depends on the day.”

  “What’s today?”

  She shrugged. “Testing day.”

  With a flick of her hand, the wind roared again—this time in a spiral, forming a ring around them. Leaves spun. Dust rose. Fire danced along the outside rim.

  “This is not a fight,” she said. “It’s a question.”

  Saezu narrowed his eyes. “What question?”

  “Can you stand?”

  Then the wind surged inward.

  Saezu braced, crouching low. The wind pushed hard, tearing at his cloak, throwing grit into his eyes. He drew his sword and planted it in the earth to stay upright. Brannor anchored himself behind a large stone, arms crossed, watching.

  “This is your test,” he called. “I passed mine already.”

  The fire licked closer.

  Saezu gritted his teeth. He moved forward, step by step, into the wall of wind and heat. Each step felt like lifting iron. The ground slipped. His sword burned hot in his hand. His arms shook. His breath came hard.

  Then—stillness.

  He stepped through.

  The wind died. The fire vanished.

  Yvanna stood there, smiling, head tilted.

  “Well,” she said, “you didn’t fall. That’s something.”

  Saezu dropped to one knee, gasping.

  “You nearly burned me alive,” he snapped.

  She crouched in front of him, still smiling. “But I didn’t. That’s something, too.”

  Brannor stepped through next, completely unfazed.

  “You do this to everyone?” he asked.

  “Only the interesting ones,” she said. Then, to Saezu, “Why are you here?”

  He looked up. “To build something from the ashes.”

  Her smile faded.

  “Then we’re alike,” she said softly.

  Later, they sat by a small fire—one she lit with a word.

  Yvanna handed them a cooked root and a flask that tasted of herbs and heat. She talked in circles—about forgotten kings, birds that steal teeth, and magic that whispers. But underneath the madness was clarity. Power. Pain.

  Saezu watched her closely.

  “I need allies,” he said finally. “Not games.”

  She looked at him long. “You need people who aren’t afraid to burn the world down.”

  He didn’t flinch. “I already started.”

  She smiled again, smaller this time.

  “Then I’ll walk a while with you,” she said. “Until I get bored. Or you die.”

  Brannor grunted. “Fair terms.”

  Saezu looked into the fire. A rogue mage, unstable and powerful.

  But maybe—just maybe—exactly what he needed.