Tragedy of The Fire Tamers

The young florist began, his voice soft but laced with an intensity that demanded attention. 

"I was going to the woods when it all happened," he said, eyes flickering nervously to the others.

"As you know, last night was Purnima—the one night in a month when nymphs trade their elixirs and treasures."

Oman, his posture still and eyes sharp, studied Rufaro, the veteran spiritualist who seemed to listen with the gravity of someone who had seen much. The two men exchanged a silent understanding before turning back to Phule, the florist.

"I didn't expect King Aslan to send the old Vellorian to Minaak," Oman said after a long pause, his voice thoughtful. "But it was good news. We fought side by side in the Battle of Plassey. Rufaro, more than just a comrade—he's a brother."

Phule's round face grew more serious. "It was already midnight when I left my home, carrying the moon-fairy's nectar. My friends had already gone ahead. I was late, obviously."

The Okalian youth, whose pale skin and red hair made him impossible to ignore, interjected with a haughty smirk. "Why were you late? As far as I know, sprites don't trade under the aged moon."

Rufaro shot the young man, Cole, a quick glance before gesturing for Phule to continue. Oman barely noticed the flicker of irritation in his friend's eyes as Phule's face flushed a deeper shade of red.

"You see," Phule stammered, "I got married last week. I—"

The young man cut in with cold precision, "I don't see how that explains your tardiness. You run a shop, don't you? Shouldn't that be your priority?"

Phule flushed deeper, looking like he might combust on the spot. But before he could stutter an apology, Rufaro stepped in.

"No need to elaborate, young friend," the old Vellorian said, cutting through the tension like a sharp blade. "You can tell us about what you saw at the fire-tamers' camp."

Taking a steadying breath, Phule's demeanor shifted, his face growing somber as he recounted what had happened in the woods.

"I didn't sense anything unusual until I was just a few feet away from the fire-dancers' camp," he began, voice heavy with the memory. "You know their fires—Ahura's blue flames—always guarding their camp, their eyes glowing, watching everything. It was then I heard voices... Lustro, the chief of the fire-tamers, arguing with someone."

Phule paused, eyes distant, before continuing. "It was nothing to do with me, and I was already late. So, I didn't linger. But barely a hundred steps into the woods, I heard the screams."

The young florist's breath quickened as his hands trembled. Oman watched as the memories took hold of him.

"The whole camp was engulfed in fire—the blood-red fire of Ashrar. Lustro, wearing his fiery armor, was fighting with a fire giant. Its heart… glowing like a dragon's pearl. It was magnificent, but terrifying. Lustro was skilled, but the beast was too much. It devoured the sacred blue flame guarding the children. I... I had to hide behind a tree." Phule's voice faltered, and his eyes grew distant again.

He swallowed before continuing, his voice breaking as he recalled the chaos. "Lustro flew toward the heart of the fire giant, his flaming blade outstretched, but... But the heart exploded. Lava, like molten death, swallowed the tamers whole. They howled, and the fire tore through them like they were nothing."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Rufaro's face had gone grim. The old Vellorian knew the cost of such an encounter far too well. The fire giant—the inferno of Ashrar—was a rare and deadly foe. To fight one meant almost certain death.

Cole, his expression skeptical, broke the silence. "Are you certain it was Lustro and his crew, and not some behrupiya? I mean, it's hard to believe that a veteran fire-tamer would fail to control his summoned fire giant."

Rufaro's sharp gaze fixed on the young man. "Enough, Cole. I've heard your doubts. But let me remind you: we are here by His Majesty's orders. We are not leaving until we understand what happened."

Cole fell silent, but the defiance in his sapphire eyes remained. Oman, however, wasn't focused on the young man. His mind was elsewhere, following the thread of realization that was slowly unspooling in his mind. The young man's words echoed in his thoughts—"behrupiya," a shape-shifter. A false fire-tamer.

"And you," Oman said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "are you the one to mock Lustro? A man who saved Amarto's life at Plassey? A fire-tamer like him doesn't deserve your disrespect."

Cole's face went cold. "I apologize for my ignorance, Lord," he said, but his voice was far from sincere. "I had no knowledge of this incident. My father never mentioned it."

Rufaro waved his hand dismissively. "Enough. I don't care for your apologies, young man. Just focus on the task at hand."

Phule, now pale as a ghost, hurriedly accepted the ducats Rufaro offered and left, his steps hurried as if the very memory of the fire giant were chasing him.

"I want to see the site for myself," Rufaro said, turning to Oman. "Can you guide us there?"

Oman nodded, though his heart was heavy with doubt. He was more concerned about the mysterious fire and what had truly happened to Lustro and his tamers.

As the carriage rolled through the crowded streets, Rufaro leaned closer to Oman. "What do you make of the florist's tale?" he asked, his voice measured.

Oman hesitated. "The young man spoke the truth. We found him fainted, tangled in devil creepers near the site. I have no doubt what he saw was real."

Cole scoffed. "So, you believe there was an actual fire giant roaming these woods, attacking fire-tamers?" His voice dripped with mockery.

"We can't be sure," Rufaro answered, his voice serious. "But if it's true, then we are in grave danger."

"If it wasn't a disguised magus, then I'm certain the fire-beast was summoned by Lustro himself," Cole said, eyes narrowing as he looked at Oman. "It also explains why they were consumed so quickly."

Oman stiffened. The name "Ashrar" echoed in his thoughts, and the peculiar phrasing made him pause. Cole wasn't wrong, but something about his words felt… wrong. Ashrar's inferno knew only two masters: the sons of Udor and the three-headed hound of Pindar. But what were they doing here, in Minaak, far from their legendary lands?

The carriage jolted suddenly, breaking Oman's train of thought. He opened the window to see the city in chaos. A swarm of birds—thousands, it seemed—darkened the sky above, fluttering in erratic, frenzied motions. They were not flying, but crashing into buildings, into people, anything in their path. The air was thick with the cacophony of shrieks, their bodies colliding violently with the city's walls.

"What is happening?" Oman muttered under his breath, his thoughts racing.

Griva, the chief of the city guards, appeared, panic written across his face. "Lord! You need to activate the defense shield—my men cannot stop these birds!"

Oman glanced up, his heart sinking. The birds were going mad. The city's defenses were scrambling, but it was clear they were outmatched. The birds, wild-eyed and vicious, continued to crash into everything, leaving destruction in their wake.

Griva's voice broke through Oman's reverie. "We contacted the falconers, but they're as clueless as we are. The spirit birds of the aviary tower are behaving strangely too. Something's causing this madness."

As Oman reached for his medallion, a fierce-looking face engraved upon it, he knew that this was no random madness. There was something deeper at play, something darker, and it was coming for them all.

With a single, sharp motion, he drew his dagger, made a light cut on his thumb, and dropped three drops of blood onto the medallion. The shield surged into life—an ethereal blue force that enveloped the city, pushing the maddened birds away. Silence fell over the square.

Rufaro, eyes wide with disbelief, turned to Oman. "What do you think is causing this? I've never seen mortal birds act like this before."

Oman shook his head, his face grim. "I don't know. The falconers have no answers, and I suspect we are dealing with something far worse than we realize."

As the echoes of the birds' madness died down, Oman couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Something much more sinister was unfolding in Minaak.