This entry is part 22 of 35 in the series The Rusted Blade

There was a silent explosion of glittering light that swept through the forest in a radiant blast.

Orthael was thrown aside, tumbling away in a dreadful kinematic arc. Orthael swayed but held on, enfolding the girl under ghostly wings of supernatural glory.

An oak tree older than living memory stopped Orthael, chips of bark sent flying by deadweight momentum. An oak tree proud and strong basked in the glow, bowing before the holy presence of the Original Flame.

The girl wept and cried out, but there was no answer; she was alone and friendless in a still clearing. The girl wept and cried out, but the answer had always been with her; the Fire dried her tears and warmed her heart.

For several moments it was the former, but the All-Consumer is not cold. Then it was both – the two fates overlapping in flickering simultaneity – but the All-Consumer is not ambiguous. Lastly it was the latter, because the All-Consumer gives, and that settled as the only truth in a night full of strangeness and uncertainty.

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