⚔️ **CHAPTER 71 — Flames in the Mist**
The mist rolled across the jagged ruins like living smoke. Kael's muscles burned, hunger clawed, and every breath tasted of cold metal and earth—but Centering and Iron Mind kept him upright. Not strong. Not invincible. Just alive.
Veyrath's voice echoed faintly from the ridge above. "The Council grows bolder. They will attack from every angle. Be ready."
Kael's eyes darted across the forest floor. Shadowy forms moved between trees. But he wasn't alone this time.
Caelin stepped forward, his sword drawn, but now he did more than slash or guard. A faint heat shimmered around his blade. With a whispered incantation, flames erupted along the edge, burning with controlled intensity—not wild, not overwhelming, just **enough to shape and manipulate the battlefield**.
"Kael," he said, voice steady, "we can use this. Control fire, control space. Keep them from surrounding us."
Mireya raised her shield, Tomas melted into the shadows, and Kael adjusted Centering, threading body and mind into precise motion, ready to support Caelin's fire manipulation.
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The first strike hit.
**Rhayel** lunged, blades flashing through the mist. Kael rolled under the strike, landing near Mireya as Tavric's massive log swung dangerously from behind.
Caelin's sword flared. He swung in a wide arc, flames erupting along the blade. The fire ignited small shrubs, creating walls of heat that forced the Council generals to misstep. Tavric tripped over scorched roots; Rhayel's blade was slowed by the smoke.
Soryn reached into Kael's mind with a psychic push, sharper than ever. Memories and fears stabbed at him like knives. Iron Mind filtered the chaos; Centering kept his body upright. Kael pivoted mid-step, using the smoke and fire from Caelin's sword as cover to evade Rhayel's next strike.
Mireya shoved Tavric back with her shield, taking advantage of the heat and shadows Caelin created. Tomas darted forward, striking at Soryn's focus points, using firelight to blind and distract.
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The battlefield had changed. Fire licked the edges of ruins, illuminating shadows, creating new hazards for the Council generals. Caelin's skill wasn't raw destruction—it was **control**, shaping fire to block paths, misdirect attacks, and protect allies.
Kael realized something crucial: **magic didn't replace skill. It enhanced it**. His Centering and Iron Mind kept him alive; Caelin's fire manipulation gave them breathing space. Mireya's shield and terrain control amplified the effect, and Tomas's flanking attacks disrupted psychic assaults.
The generals faltered. Rhayel misjudged distance, Tavric's swings became slower, Soryn's mental pushes hit empty spaces.
Kael used the moment. He pivoted, pushed through exhaustion, and struck back—not with raw strength, but with timing, positioning, and the **controlled chaos of fire, terrain, and companions' skills**.
By nightfall, the Council withdrew once more, frustration and scorched earth marking their retreat.
Kael sank to a knee, chest heaving. "We… survived again."
Caelin's flaming sword dimmed as he exhaled. "It's not the fire that saved us. It's how we used it."
Mireya nodded, bruised but steady. "And how we survived everything else."
Tomas smirked faintly, wiping sweat from his brow. "Average balance, clever fire, and luck… that's the recipe for survival."
Kael's gaze swept over the misty ruins. The Council would return. Always. But this time, they faced more than a boy balancing mind and body—they faced **a team with skills that shaped reality itself**, even if only in fragments.
And for the first time, Kael felt a flicker of hope: **they could survive… and fight back.**
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