“Have you only the capacity to destroy?!” She shouts through the smoke, voice piercing above the falling and creaking walls. It was my mistake, my powers went beyond what I thought they could manage - far beyond. But as far as I’ve been able to make out, not even servants remain here, the nobles she’d prioritize. This building’s burning will endanger nobody except us. And what a sad pair we make…

  Mana seeps from my flesh, treating it as no more of an obstacle than the smoke all around me. Then my palm commands the air that my soul envelops, pushing it forward - toward Josephine.

  The smoke is carried away with the air, pushed and pulled by a gust that causes some of the unsupported walls to rattle from the force. Above me and past me, greedy flames suck in every bit of the air afforded to them. But I only have eyes for her, flaming sword in hand, a hate in her eyes that extends beyond me. Beyond my time as an active awakened.

  Without another word to me, the woman grabs at the sleeve of her sword-hand, ripping it off from the rest of her shirt in a single deft pull. That same hand drags along the edge of her sword, cutting open her palm, unaffected by the fire of her spirit. Blood drips freely, coursing down her wrist and splattering onto the wood below. She seems to admire it for a moment, the barest of moments, and then drags that bloody palm along her now-exposed arm. Her worn and sunkissed skin is painted crimson for her troubles.

  Stella hisses,

  “This ends now.” She says, “Morgan’s rotten legacy, Morgan’s ” Josephine doesn’t wince even a little while wrapping her hand in what remains of her shirt sleeve. And I, for my part, haven’t moved from my spot. Not out of any desire for fairness in our fight - I know what this is. It’d be in my best interest to cheat and lie in order to come out on top - to come out on top. No, her performance simply captivates me - and whatever emotion seems to linger underneath her open, burning hatred… I want to find out what it is. What she’s feeling.

  Josephine exchanges the sword to her free hand, finally wincing from the hilt digging into her wound. She moves it over, tapping the flames against the blood on her arm. To my surprise, it catches, fire spreading all along her arm as if her blood were flammable. Then she reclaims her sword in its proper hand and says “I won’t let you come back from the dead this time.”

  I take a deep breath, and readjust my hat on my head. “What ideals?” I ask.

  The woman swings through the air, a burst of fire trailing behind it. Another crash of wood confirms that it was enough to do more damage to the building. “Don’t play the fool, girl. This is a battlefield, not a debate hall.”

  “Please.” I ask again, “What ideals?”

  At my insistence, she finally relents, though at great reluctance. “Your wanted to rule over all of the awakened, like some sort of twisted god.” She spits, “To accomplish that goal, she butchered Pioneers, deceived her allies - exploited Lady…” She stops near the end, shaking her head and continuing, “There was no darkened path the Witch wasn’t willing to venture if it meant the success of her plan, even slaughtering all of the noble families.”

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  She says, “If she had it her way, Sparks would’ve…” only to stop herself once more.

  “She will now, though.” I say, “And you put her there, not Morgan.”

  Josephine stops, angrily driving her sword into the wall before falling victim to another coughing fit. The hole in her lung could kill her if she waited long enough - or is she unable to die even from that?

  Stella says,

  She draws that sword from the wall as if it were a sheath and then asks weakly, a realization dawning on her, “You’re a Pioneer now, aren’t you?”

  I nod, and a scoff is given in return. Her face doesn’t match that laugh, though - her eyes especially. There’s something about her. Something that, in spite of her experience, in spite of the life she’s lived, seems to be A core that’s been exposed through the wearing down of her spirit, through my return. It doesn’t make her any less frightening, though.

  “It’s the way of things.” She says, though I’m not the one she’s attempting to convince. “The Houses would’ve gone to war, and Hyperion would be exposed to the blades of our neighbors. The only way to sate those was to hand her over.” She grits her teeth, saying again, “It was the only way.”

  “Who told you that?” I ask.

  “Enough of this…” Josephine mutters, whipping her sword through the air again. She doesn’t hesitate to remind me of why I be afraid of her- no, not for a second. Her feet carry her forward, sprinting toward me with a renewed vigor, fire trailing behind her arm as she moves.

  The space is confined, and she’s charging directly at me. I don’t think she’s immune to flames, just her own - the way forward for me is in fire.

  Another sea of flame pours out from my spirit, washing over the hall. Its light is enough to paint every part of the room orange and white. Its roar is enough to mask every other sound - even the destruction it brings to the walls of the palace - save for one: a voice - Josephine’s - that seems to carry in spite of its quiet. “I knew you would.” She says, and then I hear the sound of the fire’s roar invert.

  The light it once cast seems to collapse in on itself, gathering into a single point and coming together with enough force to send a gale of wind raging through the halls. So bright is that point that the rest of the space seems to be enveloped in complete darkness. A ringing fills the air, accompanying the sight - like the sound of blood in your ears, like metal striking metal. My senses are at me, disturbed by the way my refined mana was coalesced by another - the way that it now seems to be shifting outside of my control.

  It makes me feel sick to my stomach, as if a piece of myself has been commandeered. I can as the burnt and damaged walls are ripped away by some monumental winds, strong enough to nearly send me toppling backward. Smoke and fire are consumed in equal measure, as with the light.

  A flash of white fills my vision, leaving me with stars in my eyes as soon as it begins to fade. Where once stood Josephine Cirix stands another - no… The same, but different.

  “Strike me down here if you have the strength, if you have the - Pioneer!” She roars.

  Her hair is no different from the golden glow of dawn, a half-broken crown made of light sits atop her head - sharp and ornate. Across her shoulders rests a cape made of flame, and embers roll off of it to float through the air around her. In either hand, there is a sword, their fire condensed into solid blades. Every piece that adorns her, even the glittering plate armor underneath, is composed of aura, bright and gleaming through my other senses.

  “Josephine Cirix is my name, I say again!” She says, then proclaiming, “ And you, Sybil Sagecrest, will go