With his arm still wrapped around my shoulders, Peter led me through the smoky halls of The Hungry Goblet. All the patrons stopped talking and stared at us as though he were the God of the Underworld escorting me through the pits of Hades.

Even though the half-timbered, dingy establishment was packed to bursting, somehow the sea of black and red scoundrels parted before us. We didn't have to cross the River Styx--Peter's mere presence created a path of dry land.

Some patrons tipped their hats to him, while others bowed their heads or slurred a greeting of camaraderie in various languages and dialects. Peter responded to each person in their respective native tongue. Even the Warriors saluted him.

That was the power of a Defender.

Wrapping the coat tighter around me, I huddled closer to Peter. His presence felt like some kind of shield from their villainy.

What am I doing here?

"Another recruit," I heard a patron whisper in a deep voice.

I whipped around to see a middle-aged dwarf with a torn, sullied red ribbon and a tattered, dirty uniform. He was talking to a Human Rogue dressed in black, faded armor, his face hidden behind a curtain of dark, long, dirty strands.

"Pretty one this time," the Rogue replied.

When the dwarf grinned, I shuddered at his broken array of rotten, yellowed teeth. "You think he's finally fallen?"

"This way," Peter whispered.

He lent me a hand of support as we descended the narrow, dark stairwell. "Where are you taking me?" I asked. "What is this place?"

"Our headquarters," came his cryptic reply. "For now."

When Peter opened the door, a cacophony of cheers and bombastic shouting made me recoil. Casting him a suspicious glare, I shook my head and headed back up the stairs.

He grabbed me by the hand, and a tiny shock like lightning traveled up my arm. I shivered at the strange sensation. For a moment, Peter closed his eyes and the tingling dissipated.

"Liselle, wait."

"I told you," I snarled in reply, ripping my hand away. "I don't do rallies. I'm not a radical like you."

"Please, give me a chance." His gray eyes twinkled with a mixture of mischief and curiosity. "Give the Fireborn a chance. Aren't you the slightest bit curious?"

Absolutely I was. I needed to see them if only to prove to myself that my visions were fake. Demons didn't exist. Everyone knew that. Peter would show me some kind of elite soldier or weapon, and I could leave with a light heart. 

Still, I wasn't a fool. I wouldn't let him drag me into his radical politics.

"Why should I trust a Rogue?"

Peter's face fell. "You disappoint me, Liselle. I'd think a woman of your intellect would be a bit more open-minded."

My spirit wavered. I was open-minded! But Father died due to his radical politics, and my mother died from grief. How could I blindly follow the same path like a moth to a flame?

But if this information could somehow protect Bragda--

"Besides, there's someone you need to see," he added.

"You have thirty minutes," I said in a harsh tone, gesturing with my index finger. "No more, no less."

"Oh, I think you'll want more when you see this."

When Peter opened the door, I coughed as a cloud of pipe smoke billowed out of the basement. Old, battered oak tables and chairs were scattered across the creaky hardwood floors of the converted gaming area. The bar tilted to such an extent that I wondered how it stayed upright.

"Charming," I muttered. "Color me impressed."

"What color would that be?" he murmured in my ear.

Wooden booths with tattered leather seats lined the far walls, filled to the brim with people of all classes and races, but mostly Humans, Risa, and Dwarfs. With bated breath, they all listened to the speaker at the podium. 

They had the glazed expression of radicals standing before their leader.

I expected to see a Fighter or a Rogue giving such a passionate speech. But I was wrong. The speaker wore the blue robes of the educated elite. His baby-blue eyes twinkled with intensity as he spoke, straight golden strands dipping across his forehead. His pale skin blushed red as though his words had stoked the fire in his belly. 

No grooves in his palms. Definitely Human.

His listeners trembled in awe, eagerly anticipating his next word like he was the antidote to all their problems, the drug to ease their pain and suffering.

I'd never understood the hive mentality.

"We have stood silent for far too long!" he raved from a raised wooden dais behind a lectern, pounding his fist like a crazed radical. "How dare the Gatál attack us?"

A chorus of deep boos resounded from the audience. "Tell 'em, Johan!" a Human Fighter shouted at the speaker.

"Our so-called leaders say it is a warning." He scoffed. "Chaff them! This means war!"

Now just one minute--

"Our enemies claim they want to negotiate," said Johan, almost spitting his words. "We know the truth. As we speak, they're moving their Dragonborn army towards our borders."

The audience raved in outraged shouts and jeers. "They're playing for time."

"Exactly!" Johan raised his hand and balled it into a fist. "What does the Ministry do?"

"Nothing!" one of the dwarves shouted, raising his tankard of ale. "We gotta fight back!"

Everyone began to bang their fists on the table and shout in an incoherent mass of discontent.

"They attacked first!" Johan said. "We must defend ourselves if the Ministry refuses to fight!"

What is this insanity?

"The Gatál think they can conquer Paxus?"

"Nay!" the audience replied in unison.

Johan threw his right fist in the air, and I recoiled against Peter's chest. "They think they're invincible?"

"Nay!"

"They think we will kowtow before their firedrakes?"

"Nay!"

"Listen to me, and listen well," he seethed. "You fight monsters with monsters!"

"Aye!"

"We must create our own forces!"

"Aye!"

"We need...the Fireborn!"

"Aye! Aye! Aye!"

The audience leaped to their feet, stomping and pounding their fists and tankards in a rhythmic chorus of dissonant cheers. The chaotic roars began to take shape. Before I knew it, dozens of patrons began to chant.

"Fi-re-born! Fi-re-born! Fi-re-born!"

"They sound like the hordes at a Gatál military rally," I cried, my spirit turning to ice.

"Just wait for it," Peter said, his eyes twinkling. "Wait for it. This changes everything."

That was when I saw it. My body shook with terror. My eyes refused to believe it.

A creature from the deepest pits of Hades. 

It was worse than my fiscas could possibly imagine.

The demon thudded onto the raised dais from backstage, causing the floorboards to tremble beneath our feet like the thunderous tread of a firedrake. The audience drew a collective intake of air when he appeared.

His shiny, polished black horns extended two feet from either temple. He stood ten feet tall. Maybe more. He must have been twice my height, and probably fifty times my strength.

Gods, no! They can't be real.

"The Dragonborn have nothing on our Fireborn warriors. Look at this beautiful specimen, ladies and gentlemen," the speaker said, gesturing at the creature's massive frame. "This Fireborn weighs almost four hundred pounds and has the brute, raw strength to lift five times his size."

As the creature flexed his massive arms, at least five times as large as a strong human male. His skin shone under the glow of nearby torches, sleek and smooth like that of a snake.

My eyes bulged in shock.

"Holy chaff!" someone cried out from the audience.

"That's amazing!"

"Indeed." The Wizard gave his audience a wry grin. "Thanks to the efforts of our scientists, we have developed skin that has resistance to all fire. Their drakes can't touch us now!"

A massive Fighter approached the Fireborn with caution, lighting the Warrior's skin with a torch. Transfixed, I watched as the flames flickered on its fire-repellent skin as they had danced on my palm outside the pub. 

Not once did the beast indicate any pain. He looked bored despite resounding cheers from the audience.

"That can't be real," I breathed. "It's a magical mirage."

Please let it be a fisca. Please...

"Oh, it's very real," Peter replied in an awed whisper.

"The Ministry told us we were frauds," the speaker continued, "but look at the fearsome Warriors we have created, ladies and gentlemen."

Ten Human Barbarians heaved a huge log onto the stage until they dropped it with a resounding thud. The Fireborn picked the log up and snapped it over his massive thigh like a twig.

I gasped. 

The audience shouted in approval. The Fireborn roared so loudly my ears rang in protest.

"This can't be real," I said. "The stage would have collapsed under his weight."

"It isn't made of wood," Peter replied. "It's reinforced stone that looks like wood."

I recoiled in shock. "What?"

"One day, you will stand with pride and say that you witnessed this miracle," the Wizard proclaimed. "This amazing fusion of magic and science. You've witnessed the birth of a new race, ladies and gentlemen, one that can conquer the Dragonborn hordes and the Gatál Empire."

"Ju-u-u-u-stice!" the Fireborn roared in a deep, bass voice that rumbled in my eardrums like a sonic boom.

The audience rose to their feet and chanted. "Jus-tice! Jus-tice! Jus-tice!"

"This is crazy," I murmured under my breath.

"I swear to you!" The Wizard almost seemed rabid with power and hatred. "A day will come when the Ministry will crawl to our feet, begging for our Fireborn on the battlefields of blood. And we shall answer the call with a resounding yes!"

I stared at the audience, agape in shock and dismay. They all frothed at the mouth, chanting their love of the fire-resistant beast and their hatred of the Gatál. The Wizard had ensnared the listeners with his Fireborn spectacle and his malevolent web of lies.

No longer could I stand by and watch his trickery. I grabbed hold of Peter's forearm. Pushing our way through the throng, I tugged him back towards the main exit.

"This is ridiculous. I'm not staying a minute longer."

"You promised. Thirty minutes."

"I can't believe you brought me to this drivel," I shouted above the din. "I'm going home!"

Everyone directed their attention to the speaker, whose voice resounded in a strong baritone. "Our next speaker will answer all your questions about this new Warrior race."

"I'm leaving right this minute, Peter."

"Just wait," he replied. "Trust me."

The Wizard extended his palms to the heavens like a cleric issuing a devilish prayer. "Please welcome the director of our Fireborn team, Gregory David Alta!"

My breath caught in my throat as the audience roared in applause. I whipped my head towards the stage. Tears welled in my eyes as the new Wizard walked towards the lectern.

No, this has to be some kind of mistake. It can't be. 

His voice made my heart sing and flame with indignation all at once. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I believe you have several questions for me."

No kidding, I did.

It was my father. My dead father.