During a skirmish, Ember was struck by a shadow spear. His flames flickered, wings faltered.
Lucky caught him, holding his tiny body in her hands, weeping.
But then—Ember pulsed, flared, and rose.
He wasn't dying. He was becoming.
From his light burst a grown phoenix, massive and majestic, crowned with gold fire. He cried out, and the sound banished darkness across the entire glade.
He landed beside Lucky, eyes wiser.
"I burn for you," he said, in phoenix-tongue.