Gabriel woke before dawn.

Tess lay beside him, still asleep. Her hand rested in his, fingers loosely threaded together.

He carefully extracted himself without waking her and sat up.

The camp was quiet. Adan dozed near the treeline, his watch shift ended. Gilbert snored softly. Ennu sat perfectly still against a tree, eyes closed but probably awake. Mera's bedroll was empty.

Where is she?

Gabriel scanned the camp. Found her sitting by the stream, thirty yards away. She faced the water, her back to the camp.

Still carving that wooden figure.

Gabriel left her to it. Whatever was breaking inside Mera, forcing a confrontation wouldn't help.

He pulled the book from his pack.

The leather cover was warm to the touch. Always warm, like something alive resided within.

This is a risk.

Every time he used the book, he felt it change him. Saw things that twisted his understanding of the world. Learned truths he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

But he needed to understand his power better. Needed to know what limits existed. What price he was paying.

And the book held answers.

Gabriel pulled his knife.

Drew the blade across his palm. The cut was shallow but enough. Blood welled up, dark in the pre-dawn light.

He pressed his palm to the book's cover.

The reaction was immediate.

The blood soaked into the leather, vanishing like water into sand. The book's warmth intensified. Heat spread up Gabriel's arm, into his chest, filling his skull with pressure.

Then the world fell away.

...

Vision.

Gabriel stood in a training ground he didn't recognize. Stone floor. High walls. No roof, just open sky bleeding red and gold.

A man practiced forms in the center.

He was tall. Lean muscle moving with perfect economy. Dark hair pulled back. Scars crossing his arms and chest like Gabriel's own.

But older. Maybe forty. And his eyes...

Gabriel's chest tightened.

Those are my eyes.

Before the Order changed them.

Sapphire blue. Clear and focused.

The man moved through combat forms Gabriel half-recognized. Sword work mixed with something else. His free hand traced patterns in the air.

Fire erupted.

Not wild. Not uncontrolled. The flames moved like living things, coiling around the man's body in precise spirals. They obeyed his every intent, responding to gestures too subtle to see.

Gabriel watched, transfixed.

The fire never burned the man. Never escaped his control. It moved like extensions of his limbs.

This is what fire manipulation should look like.

Not the barely contained chaos I produce.

The man finished his forms and turned.

He looked directly at Gabriel.

"You're burning yourself out," he said. His voice was familiar. Like hearing an echo of Gabriel's own. "The fire draws from life force. Stamina first, then essence. Push too far and it consumes you entirely."

Gabriel tried to speak. No sound came out.

The man smiled. Not cruel. Understanding.

"You've felt it. The drain. The exhaustion after sustained use. That's your body warning you." He gestured, and the fire coalesced into a perfect sphere above his palm. "Control is everything. Precision costs less than raw power. Shape the flame with intent, not brute force."

The sphere divided into smaller spheres. Then those divided again. Dozens of tiny flames dancing in complex patterns.

"Learn the cost structure. Small flames, sustained indefinitely with minimal drain. Large bursts, devastating but brief. And everything between." The flames merged back into one. "But there's a hard limit. Push beyond forty-five seconds of sustained output and your body starts burning itself for fuel."

The number crystallized in Gabriel's mind. Forty-five seconds.

"After that, you're dying. Slowly at first, then faster. Minutes matter." The man's expression turned grave. "I've seen it happen. Dracamerians pushing too far. Burning so bright they couldn't stop. They died screaming, consumed by their own power."

The sphere vanished.

"Don't become that. Learn control. Learn restraint. Or the fire will kill you as surely as any blade."

The vision shifted.

...

Different place. Different time.

Gabriel stood in a grand hall. Pillars of white stone reached toward a vaulted ceiling. Banners hung from the walls, displaying symbols Gabriel didn't recognize.

A map dominated one wall. Massive. Detailed. Continents and kingdoms marked in old script.

Gabriel moved closer.

The western lands. Where Vaelmir and the Northern Kingdom sat in his time. But the borders were different. The names were wrong.

And there, on the western coast, written in script that hurt to read:

Dracameria

A kingdom. Not scattered bloodlines hiding in fear. An actual nation.

Gabriel studied the map, committing details to memory. Cities marked with different symbols. Trade routes. Mountain ranges. A capital city on the coast labeled Pyrael.

This is what the Archangels destroyed.

Not just people. An entire civilization.

The vision shifted again.

...

Battlefield.

The sky burned red. The ground was scorched black. Bodies everywhere. Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands.

Gabriel's stomach turned.

And standing in the center of it all: a single figure.

The man from the training ground. But older now. Scarred beyond recognition. His armor was shattered. One arm hung useless at his side.

He faced seven opponents.

Gabriel's blood went cold.

The Seven.

Even in vision form, their presence was crushing. Each one radiated power that made the air shimmer. Their wings spread wide, white and gold and terrible.

They surrounded the Dracamerian warrior.

He was losing. Gabriel could see it in the defensive stance. The labored breathing. The way he favored his good arm.

But he was still fighting.

Fire erupted. Not the controlled flames from training. This was desperation. Raw power channeled through a dying body.

It caught one of the Archangels across the face.

She screamed.

The sound was rage and pain and shock rolled into one inhuman note.

The warrior pressed forward. Fire coiled around his sword. He drove it into another Archangel's wing.

More screaming.

He's hurting them.

They can bleed.

The other Archangels attacked as one. Light and fury and divine wrath descended.

The warrior fell.

But not before landing a third strike. This one opened a gash across an Archangel's chest. Blood spilled, golden and bright.

The vision froze.

Gabriel stood over the dying warrior, seeing the details etched in his brain.

One against seven, and he wounded all of them.

One on one, he might have won.

Even two on one, maybe.

The warrior looked up. Met Gabriel's eyes.

"They can be killed," he said. Blood bubbled from his lips. "Just very, very difficult. You'll need to be stronger than I was." A bitter laugh. "Much stronger. But it's possible."

The vision began to fade.

"And Gabriel?" The warrior's eyes pierced through him. "When you fight them, make sure you're ready to die. Because they won't stop until you're ash. And taking one of them with you is the best you can hope for."

The training ground. The map. The battlefield.

All collapsed into darkness.

...

Gabriel gasped.

He was back at camp. Sitting with his back against a tree. The book lay closed in his lap.

Blood dripped from his nose. He wiped it away with his sleeve.

The sun had fully risen. How long had he been under?

Not long. Maybe minutes.

But he felt drained. Exhausted like he'd just sparred for hours.

Tess crouched in front of him, her hands on his shoulders.

"Gabriel? Can you hear me?"

He blinked. Focused on her face.

"I'm okay."

"Your nose was bleeding. Your eyes..." She searched his face. "You used the book."

Not a question.

Gabriel nodded. "Had to. Needed answers."

"And? Did you get them?"

"Yes." Gabriel's hand moved unconsciously to his chest, feeling the scars through his shirt. "The fire is burning my life force. There's a hard limit. Forty-five seconds sustained maximum. After that, I start dying."

Tess's expression tightened. "How long can you do now?"

"Fifteen seconds. Maybe less."

"That's not much time."

"No." Gabriel looked down at the book. "But I can train. Improve efficiency. Learn control."

"What else did you see?"

Gabriel's mind flashed to the map. The warrior. The Seven bleeding.

"Dracameria was a kingdom. A real nation on the western coast. Cities, culture, everything." His jaw clenched. "The Archangels didn't just kill people. They erased an entire civilization."

"And the Eighth?"

Gabriel met her eyes. "I saw him fight the Seven. He was losing. But he wounded all of them. Made them bleed. Proved they could be hurt."

"Can they be killed?"

"Yes." The certainty in that word surprised Gabriel. "It's difficult. Probably suicidal. But possible."

Tess was quiet for a moment. "That's more than we had before."

"It's something." Gabriel closed the book. Wrapped it carefully and tucked it back into his pack. "But I need to get stronger first. Much stronger."

The camp was stirring now. Gilbert sat up, stretching. Adan moved toward the stream to wash. Ennu began packing supplies.

Mera still sat by the water. She glanced back toward Gabriel. Their eyes met.

Something passed across her face. Not jealousy this time. Something else.

Hunger.

She'd been watching while he used the book.

Shit.

Mera turned back to the stream without comment.

Tess followed Gabriel's gaze. "Did she see?"

"Maybe."

"That's not good."

"I know."

They broke camp quickly. No one spoke much. The tension from yesterday still hung over the group like fog.

By midday, they were back on the road to Kelmar. The city was visible now. Dark walls rising in the distance. Ships' masts poking above the harbor.

One more day. Maybe less.

Gabriel walked at the front, Tess beside him. His mind kept circling back to the visions.

Forty-five seconds maximum.

Dracameria was real.

The Seven can bleed.

Knowledge was power. But it was also burden.

Now he knew what he was capable of. And what it would cost.

Fifteen seconds now. Need to reach forty-five before facing anything serious.

That's thirty seconds to gain. How much training? How much time?

His hand moved to his chest again. Feeling the scars.

The Eighth fought seven Archangels and wounded them all.

I can barely control fire for fifteen seconds.

The gap between what he was and what he needed to be felt insurmountable.

But for the first time, he could see a path forward.

Learn control. Train precision. Extend duration without burning himself out.

And when the time came...

Make sure you're ready to die.

The warrior's final words echoed in his skull.

Gabriel looked at Tess walking beside him. At his friends scattered behind. At the city growing larger on the horizon.

I'm not ready to die yet.

But I will be.

When the time comes, I'll be ready.

The thought should have terrified him.

Instead, it felt like clarity.

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