It was second nature, somehow, that flames leapt down her blade as she struck back, willing fire into the sword itself. When it met the black iron of the creature, blue sparks danced, so bright that she dared look into the creature’s face to glimpse—surprise. Horror. Rage. The hilt of the sword was warm—comforting—in her hand, and the red stone glowed as if with a fire of its own.
