Varka's voice cut through the crackling chaos like a blade.

Something that made even the bravest among them falter.

Amber landed first. Her bow lowered. Her breath caught.

In the center of the clearing, ringed by the burning remnants of a treasure hoarder camp, stood a figure. No older than twenty. Dressed in little more than scraps of cloth and soot. Trembling like a leaf in a storm.

And clutched in their palm, glowing with a warmth that had nothing to do with the flames around them—

A pyro vision.

The figure's head shot up. Eyes wide. Wet with tears. A survivor caught between two worlds—the fire they'd escaped, and the steel now surrounding them.