As he looked down to the flames whirling in his palms, the realization of what it meant hit him with the force of a thousand waves. He was controlling the fire—it was answering to him.
He was a Sorcerer.
“No!” he yelled, flicking his hands, trying to extinguish the flames, but with each jerk he shot sparks flying out toward the gathered crowd of Sorcerers. Small fires ignited in the grass and spread quickly, causing the Sorcerers to flee and disperse in all directions.
“I’m sorry!” Doraan yelled, eyes searching the crowd for a familiar face, but only strangers stared back at him, their faces set into varying looks of disgust and horror. “I’m so sorry!”
It was Lariin, the Fire Sorcerer who came up in front of him, taking his hands in hers and pulling the fire into her own palms. The Water Sorcerer behind her extinguished the fires he had started.
“I—I—” he stuttered. “I’m sorry,” he said a final time before he fled into the night.
29
Kamira
Kamirawasmesmerizedbythe display of sorcery around her. She had never been in the presence of so many at once. She felt transcended—like she was living out a vivid dream and at any moment she would wake up.
But she was torn from the beauty of the Sorcerer’s show as movement caught her eye. She glanced to her left, stunned to see a man. Memories crawled forth from the recesses of her mind. It was the same man she had seen twice before, his pale hair like a beacon, begging her to venture closer.
She frowned, stepping away from the celebration and, against her better judgment, walked into the darkness to meet him.
He held the same smirk on his mouth she had seen when he was along the forested shoreline of Torheim.
“You,” she breathed. “Have you been following me?”
“You could say that.” His voice was low and captivating, but laced with a bitter tinge that made her skin crawl. She took a step back.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He stepped closer and the moonlight revealed the angles of his face. He was possibly the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His bright green eyes reminded her of fresh spring leaves and his square jaw was sharp like the edge of a blade.
He stepped closer and turned his head like a sand lion assessing his prey, causing gooseflesh to snake up her arms. “My, you look just like her, practically the spitting image.”
She wrinkled her brow, backing away from him again. “Who?”
She didn’t like how he ignored her question. This man had been at the top of the hill the night she fled. It had to be him—she recalled his white hair and how it flashed beneath the moonlight. She studied him, noticing how he wasn’t wearing the ceremonial colors of the Sorcerers, nor the robes they all dressed in. He wore solid black—and odd looking clothing she had never seen before.
“The first of her name. The first Legion,” he said with a crooked smile.
The night air suddenly seemed much colder and Kamira wrapped her arms around herself. “H—how do you know what the first Legion looked like?” There were never any depictions of the first Legion, which made it a very strange thing for him to say.
He ignored her question again and in a single blink he was mere inches from her face, glowering down at her. She jumped back, but he gripped her arm and held her in place. Any ounce of a smile that was on his face disappeared. “Your enemies are closer than you think, Kamira. Be careful who you put your trust in.”
“How do you know my name?” she demanded, trying to dislodge his grip from her arm.
His hand burned like a brand against her skin, and at the same time felt cold as ice. She could feel the intensity of his power with that single touch. Every nerve ending tensed, her body on high alert, giving her the sudden urge to run. Something dark and sinister lurked beneath his surface, this was no ordinary Sorcerer. “They won’t survive the fight that’s coming. No one will, and I would truly hate to see this entire realm fall to ruin. I have so many fond memories here.”
“Who are you?” she breathed. Everything around them grew deathly quiet, as if they were the only two people left in the Empire.
“Who I am isn’t important. What is, is that you master the final element. You must learn to control your gift of fire, Kamira, and only then will you be able to unlock your full potential. Everything will click into place and you will be able to do more than you could even imagine.” His mouth curved on one side and his piercing eyes grew dark, now almost black. “The blood of the first runs in your veins. The power of the Immortals is at the tip of your fingers. All you have to do is grasp it.”
Kamira was too stunned to speak. Her heart was beating in her chest like the galloping hooves of a stallion. What was this man talking about? What were the Immortals? How did he know so much about her?
He stood over her, cocked his head to the side, and snapped his finger’s beside her ear. A flame sparked to life between them. She balked and pushed her hands against his chest in an attempt to shove him away, but he didn’t budge. How had he done that? He had commanded the flame with no source, created it from nothing.
“Take it from me,” he said, the light of the flame dancing across his face, making him look far more menacing than he had before.
“H—how did you do that?” she stammered.
