Ryn did a double-take. It was definitely him. He was standing right on the main deck of the airship, beneath the centre of its blimp, barking orders at the Imperial soldiers, who seemed to be looking for something for him.

The spark in his heart lit the fuse of Ryn’s rage, and he leapt forwards, lungs filling with heat.

“Ryn, no!” came Nuthea’s voice from behind him. “Don’t! It’s not safe!” But it was far away now, and growing dimmer by the moment.

The palms of Ryn’s hands grew hotter as he cleared the distance to the ship and clambered up the handholds on its starboard side.

Then he was over the rail and shouting “You!”, pointing at the Imperial officer.

Vorr’s head snapped round and his forehead crinkled for a moment before his eyes glinted with the light of recognition.

“The boy from Cleasor!” the Imperial General said disbelievingly. “How did you manage to survive the crash? How did you even get here?”

“General Vorr!” Ryn shouted, fists shaking, heat building. “You murdered my mother! You killed my father! You destroyed my hometown!”

“Did I?” chuckled Vorr. He looked up and to the side. “Oh yes, I suppose I did…” he said, and rubbed his chin, as if he was considering the most insignificant fact in the world.

“KILL YOU!” Ryn shouted.

He flung his hands palm-out at Vorr and let out a primal roar of hatred.

A jet of flame materialised in the air around his hands and shot out towards Vorr.

The flames hit the officer square on, right in the chest. They spread out on his armour and then enveloped him, encasing him in an aura of orange and red as Ryn continued to pour the fire forwards.

He willed his hatred, he willed revenge, he willed death into those flames.

Then Ryn finished exhaling and the flames from his hands disappeared.

His arms quivered where he held them up. The exertion of the fireblast had drained him deeply.

It took a moment, but then the smoke around Vorr cleared, leaving...

...the Imperial officer, still standing, just as he had been before, a malevolent, sharp-toothed grin twisting up his round, red-headed features.

Ryn’s legs nearly gave way.

“N...no…” he stammered.

“You pitiful little peasant,” said Vorr with a leer, in his deep, well-spoken voice. “Didn’t you think that I would have touched the Fire Ruby for myself? We have a whole battalion that can project fire now, can’t you see? We’re going to conquer the whole world! This invasion of Imfis is just the beginning! Haha!”

With that outburst of jubilation, he flung out one of his massive hands in Ryn’s direction like he was swatting away a fly, to launch a fireball through the air.

Ryn felt the force of the fireball crash into his face and knock him backwards onto the ground. The back of his head hit the deck and stars danced in his vision for a moment.

He put his hands to his face, but he was not burned, and he did not feel any pain or heat there.

He pushed himself back onto his feet.

Vorr loomed over him. “Ah, yes. Of course. You have touched the Ruby too, so you are also impervious to the kiss of fire. Not to worry. I have other ways of ending your worthless little life.”

Ryn watched in horror as Vorr reached behind himself, clasped a round steel hilt from between his shoulders, and slowly drew from a scabbard on his back an enormous, wide, long, black sword. The same sword that had pierced his mother’s heart. It seemed to take an age just to slide out of its sheath with a long sliding scraaaaape of metal, then flashed in the light from the burning ships as Vorr drew it back, ready to kill.

Ryn was faintly aware of Imperial soldiers standing in a circle around them, blocking his escape. He did not know if he had the energy left to run.

“Let me send you to the same place that Mummy and Daddy went with this, then,” said Vorr. He paused, and sucked in his lower lip for a moment. “Although...you don’t happen to know where the captain of this ship went, do you? Or that Manolian hussy we locked you up with?”

Ryn remained rooted in place by despair. He had nothing left to say.

“No?” said Vorr. “Oh well. I’ll find them soon enough--if they’re alive to be found, that is.”

The world slowed.

Vorr’s blade sliced through the air towards Ryn.

He was about to die.

Words passed through his mind.

Mother. Father. Hometown. I failed you all. What a stupid way to die.

Something slammed into Ryn’s side and he was pushed off his feet and sent skidding along the deck, past some of the soldiers and out of the way of Vorr’s swordswing.

He landed with his back against the ship’s rail and looked up to see what had happened.

Stood atop the opposite rail was Sagar, two curved swords drawn in a stance of open provocation of the Imperials, his jaw set in defiant fury.

What happened? thought Ryn. What did he hit me with?

“Run, you idiot!” Sagar shouted at him. “Run, pup, run!”