CHAPTER 105: FINAL BATTLE

---

The rogue tamers froze, horror etched in molten silhouette.

Aurora whipped her wings. A tidal wave of searing air blasted outward, reducing rogue foot-soldiers to smoking silhouettes. The bone-armored woman screamed, armor glowing red, before collapsing in charred ruin.

The Molten Ursine turned to flee— its lava-soaked fur ignited in seconds. Chunks of fiery hide sloughed off its shoulders like burning tar, lighting brittle shrubs along the crater wall. The beast managed three lumbering strides before its hind-leg tendons cooked through, muscles locking in rigor. It toppled with a tremor, rolled once, twice, but the hellish phoenix blaze clung like alchemical glue, welding gravel to flesh until the creature lay still— a smoldering mass of slag and singed bone.

Just ten paces away, the Ember-Horn Minotaur dug cracked hooves into basalt, bracing behind its obsidian shield. Aurora’s furnace breath poured across the metal like liquid sunlight; outer edges grew red, then white, finally weeping molten beads. The Minotaur’s twin horns —normally charcoal gray— glowed incandescent, casting spirals of heat-rippled light over the ground. With a final wound below, it dropped to one knee, shield slumping in a puddle of half-melted iron that hissed where it touched the cooler rock.

Star, freed from the bear’s grapple and the bull’s ramming horns, pivoted on the wyvern still latched to his wing. The drake’s momentum carried smoke and sparks in a wide arc. He rammed one claw straight into the wyvern’s plated chest, talons crunching through keel bone. A guttural snap echoed, and the dragonling leveraged that grip, hurling the beast ground-ward like a hammer. Feathers, membrane, and droplets of lava-bright blood scattered in a grisly halo.

The drake landed atop the wyvern in a thunderous crouch— one foreclaw pinning the serpent bird’s neck, the other braced for balance on its ribs. Scales flared silver as he channeled rising core-heat. Then, with grim finality, Star unleashed a spinning disc of fire: Infernal Ring. The wheel of flame bisected air with a furnace howl, slicing through tattered wings and charred hide before dissipating in glittering sparks. The wyvern emitted one strangled screech— then silence, body collapsing beneath Star like a punctured wineskin.

He reared, silhouette framed in Aurora’s still-roiling inferno. Every plate and ridge of his black-gold armor gleamed as though fresh-forged. All around them, puddles of molten glass cooled to a smoky mirror, reflecting the chaos in warped reds and oranges.

Only one enemy pair remained: the bull-necked rogue leader and his Ember-Horn, half-alive behind that half-liquefied shield. The man’s eyes darted from Star to the phoenix, then to the carpet of fallen comrades. Terror replaced arrogance—he understood he was moments away from joining the slag.

He let his weapon clatter to the rocks, both palms rising. "Parley! Parley!"

The Minotaur, sides heaving, tried to muster bravado but horns audibly cracked as cooling air hit super-heated bone. It lowered its great head in grudging submission, limped a pace back.

Zephyr —chest heaving, one pant-leg drenched in sweat and ash— made his way to Fenna’s side. Her face was pallid beneath streaks of soot; she still clutched her thigh, crimson seeping through fingers. Aurora’s white-hot glare had dimmed to a brilliant orange, enough to see but not blind, the once-raging inferno now pulsing rhythmically like a forge at rest.

"Stand down. Protect Fenna," Zephyr yelled.

Star obeyed instantly, stepping between friends and enemies, wings arching into an impenetrable curtain. Aurora spiraled overhead, slower now, flames oscillating instead of bursting; every beat of her enlarged wings shed flakes of cooling glass.

The rogue leader swallowed, fear of sweat steaming off his scorched breastplate. Zephyr’s visor-like stare offered no mercy. "Strip your crest and beast brand. Leave them here."

Nostrils flaring, the man tore a cracked crest from his cuirass, hurled it to the ground. He yanked a flaming sigil-ring off the Minotaur’s right horn and pitched it onto the crest. The Minotaur dipped its head, surrendering horns glowing but no longer threatening.

"Go," Zephyr said—voice flat, final.

They turned, disappearing into ash-fog, shoes crunching glassy gravel, footfalls quick in rising panic. Aurora’s eyes followed until their silhouettes vanished beyond a sulfur plume. Her inner furnace cooled another notch; molten glow receded to the feather veins, then to the quills, leaving glassy specks that glittered but no longer scorched.

With enemies gone, adrenaline ebbed. Star lowered wings, curling them protectively. He nosed Aurora: a gentle puff of heat, steadier now. The phoenix answered with a chirp—small, exhausted, but alive.

Zephyr knelt. "Let me see," he murmured to Fenna. Blood seeped steadily at her thigh, arrow slices deeper than he’d guessed.

"Arrow tip grazed bone," she hissed.

He reached for medic herbs but saw the resolve in her eyes. Fenna’s palm flared with True Fire—gold at the edges, white at heart. She pressed it to her wound; flesh hissed, sealing with a faint, clean char-line. Pain forced a gasp, then a relieved sigh. "That bastard will pay double now."

Zephyr pressed his forehead to hers, sweat and soot mingling. "He will."

A shaky rustle behind them: Muse finally dared peek from behind her rocky cover. She lumbered forward, staring with wide eyes at melted racks and charred poles. With a displeased grunt she stomped toward the few unburned haunches, snout twitching in affront—so much for my perfectly cured food.

Zephyr said with a half hysterical laugh. "She’ll be impossible tonight."

Fenna managed a smile. She glanced at Aurora, now half her former size— mana vented, wings drooping like tired banners. "She needs rest," Fenna murmured, voice softening. "Risked burning out."

Zephyr lifted the glowing phoenix into his arms. Heat radiated, but now gentle: a hearthstone’s warmth. Aurora cooed, head tucking beneath a feather-flare. Star, settled beside them, tail encircling like a barricade of living bronze.

They worked through a blistering afternoon haze, salvaging meat racks that hadn’t slumped under Aurora’s explosion. Some Emberjack slabs bore blistered crusts —still edible after trimming— and Zephyr carved away blackened edges. Smoldering poles got replanted farther from scorched earth, a new lean-to pitched in a clearing left uncharred. Fenna’s limp slowed her but didn’t stop her; she insisted on tying half the ropes herself, muttering Ayan’s name under breath like a curse each time a knot cinched.

Star dragged the twin C-rank corpses, —Molten Ursine and Skyrend Wyvern— into a peripheral pit, where he breathed argent fire to reduce bones to clinker. The crater’s glassy floor reflected his shimmering scales, mirage images dancing around char pits. He buried the fused heaps with broad sweeps of his claws, sealing them forever.

Muse finally accepted two extra salt blocks —bribery for her trauma— and resumed her cart guard duty. She still occasionally flicked her tail at the melted racks in scornful judgment.

Zephyr laid the rogue dead in a shallow depression, layering them with glassy slag from Aurora’s furnace wave. No crosses, no names, only a single melted crest fused to a basalt spire. It was a monument and warning alike.

Fenna seated herself at the edge of camp, cradling Aurora. The phoenix’s new form was awkward—slightly longer torso, wingfeathers marbled with cooling obsidian veining. She refused to leave Fenna’s lap, pinions trembling whenever wind hissed across the crater, as if expecting her protector to vanish.

"Rest," Fenna whispered, stroking lava-flecked plumage. "That was brave. And stupid." Aurora’s eyelids fluttered; a peep of contrite agreement escaped.

Star padded over, grooming his wing tear with heated tongue. Zephyr examined the gash, edges already knitted courtesy of draconic regeneration but still flushed the wound with cooled charfruit liquor, which hissed on contact then soaked in.

Between tasks guilt gnawed at him. He replayed last day’s mercy: letting the rogues crawl away rather than finishing them. His gaze roamed the crater walls, melted racks, Fenna’s bandaged thigh. "One lapse in judgment. Never again."

He voiced it under breath. Fenna cut him off before the apology finished. "If you’d killed them, we’d still be blind to Ayan’s desperation. Now we see exactly how far he’ll go."

Zephyr met her storm filled eyes, fierce beneath soot. "You were nearly taken."

"And I’m still here," she answered, calm but steel-edged. She set Aurora on a blanket, cupped Zephyr’s cheek, ash smudging his stubble. "We survived. Tomorrow we train harder. Then we break him."

His shoulders loosened. "Okay. Harder."

They kissed, lips tasting of charcoal and vow. It wasn’t lingered passion but hot, determined fusion—promise forged in fresh fire.

Night draped Emberwood forest in amethyst gloom. Aurora’s core-glow vented in irregular pulses, each bright enough to paint pinpricks on the lean-to canvas before fading. She had shrunk nearly to her old chick proportions, though new lava-flecks remained.

Star completed burial duty. He prowled the camp’s edge, gaze scanning moonlit treeline. Zephyr rubbed the drake’s snout, noting faint cracks in scale margins where wyvern teeth had scored. "Two C-rank beasts down. You did it." Star’s low rumble vibrated the ground; he leaned into Zephyr’s palm, fatigue hidden under pride.

Muse, belly full of salt, yawn-mooed, then folded her legs and collapsed mid-chew, snoring within seconds.