The sun sets in a blaze of reds and oranges. Rangitoto Island silhouetted against a backdrop as old as time and as beautiful as any masterpiece. The funeral pyres stand resolutely against a background that is awe inspiring. There are too many bodies to count.

We have all lost somebody.

My mother stands with her cronies. Melita at her side. My father has been allowed out of confinement in order to pay his last respects. He is bound by Alchemist chains; a notion that is at once reprehensible and also quite necessary. Marcus Eden stands to one side of him, Noah, the doctor, at the other.

I meet Casey’s brother’s eyes and nod my head.

Nero stand in various monstrous forms, the scent of the ocean gently wafting on the breeze.

Aeras stand behind their King, the shaman dancing to a tune only he can hear, but one that speaks to every person who watches on bemusedly.

Pyrkagia is divided. I know it is because of me. Some stand with my mother, who is closest to my father and the Alchemists. Some stand with me.

It is heartbreaking. How can such a powerful caste of people be so weak?

I glance behind me and share a look with Aktor. Nico is at his side. Sonya, the human, beside him. Isadora stands at my right shoulder. Behind us stand Pisces and Hippolytos, as if we are still battling an imbalanced world and Cassandra is present.

I realise when both men nod their heads to me that they are standing behind me and not Aether.

I let out an incredulous breath of air.

They stand behind Aether’s sword.

Cassandra may not be here, but I am. Her Thisavros. I will always fight for Casey. On her behalf and to be at her side eventually.

This needs to be done, although that does not make it any easier.

But for Casey, I will win. I am her sword.

I step forward; no one accompanies me.

“In order for balance to exist,” I say, “we must all believe.”

There are murmurs of agreement and not surprisingly some grumbling.

“We must cast aside our vengeance,” I say, “and embrace inclusivity.”

The stars burst out above us. No one dares bicker further when Aetheros watches from the heavens.

“‘Aether is for balance,” I say, “as Air is to breathe. Aether is for harmony, as Water is to life. Aether is for peace, as Earth is to ground us. Aether is for survival, as Fire is to fight.’”

The shaman cackles delightedly.

No one else utters a single word.

“I am not Aether,” I say. “I would make a poor Aether.”

I look at each face I can see in the dim light of the stars and then continue.

“But never doubt that I am her sword.”

The funeral pyres flare to life, Fire licking up to the heavens. Gold blazes from my eyes; Pyrkagia responds en masse, together. Ice-blue eyes blaze as the mournful cry of sea creatures surround us. An eerie white shines from the Aeras camp, as the shaman continues to dance and cackle. The earth shudders, even though the Gi are not here. But amongst the Alchemists, Noah in particular, green shines brightly.

“We have all sacrificed,” I say loudly over the roar of the flames. “We have all lost.”

The funeral pyres flame higher and higher; gold blazes up to the night sky from my eyes, sweat beads my brow and my body thrums with the potent force of Pyrkagia.

And then a silence descends over the congregated, and the sound of a bird cawing reaches our ears. The rustle of leaves and the hiss of a snake follow. The slow buzz of a lazy bee and the sweet scent of flowers engulf us. The flutter of wings and the splash of fish in a river touch our senses.

The Amazon bursts to life all around us.

We can not see it. We can only hear it. Smell it. Sense it. Through the flickering flames of Fire.

Casey has sacrificed her Pyrkagia to save the Gi and our world. There is no one in her camp who can communicate through the flames of a fire. But she is my Thisavros, and when I reach for her, I can hear. I can scent. I can feel.

I will never be able to touch Cassandra this way. I hadn’t been sure I’d be able to reach her, either. But I trusted Dora as I trust my Thisavros connection. And I reached out into the ether and touched, maybe not Casey, but that which makes us connected.

Perhaps she can feel the heat of my flames. Perhaps she has a fire burning, and she can hear our funeral pyres raging. Perhaps it is only one sided, and Aetheros believed I needed a hand to stake my claim.

It does not matter. I have done what no other has attempted. At this moment, I rule Fire. Pyrkagia dances to my command as it does no other. Not even my father.

My eyes find him involuntarily. He seethes where he sits, his glower almost palpable from across the space between us. Both Marcus and Noah watch him closely.

If anyone here can disrupt my display, it is Gallus Petropoulos.

But to do so would be to disrupt the sacred burning of our dead. And even my father has some restraint.

It won't last. The time is swiftly approaching where we must pit ourselves against each other. Pyrkagia stands at the precipice of a dark abyss, one wrong step and it will be lost forever.

I wonder at that moment, as Fire blazes through my veins, if I am making a mistake.

And then I think of Casey in that dungeon, stretched out on a mad scientist’s table.

I think of our severed Thisavros connection; the very connection that brings the Amazon right here to Auckland City.

I think of what my father almost succeeded in doing. Tearing us apart forever.

Pyrkagia surges within me. So wild. So angry. A Fire spitting rage.

And the funeral pyres burst apart in a blaze of heat and glowing embers, ash raining down to cover us in heated waves.

The connection to Casey and the Amazon is lost.

The dead have evaporated. Or dissipated. They are gone.

And I stand before a group of people who equally fear me and am in awe of me.

My father looks pale.

For a moment, I let them see me. Truly see me. The me I am because of the woman I love beyond all reason.

For a moment, I accept my fate.

Then I say, cooly, “To have balance we must believe. And never stop believing. Together.”

Silence greets me. I am tempted to say more.

But with one last look at those standing before me, I turn and walk away.

After a few steps, I realise Isadora is walking behind me. Behind her is Aktor and Nico and Sonya. Behind them is Pisces and Hip and Marcus Eden.

We walk in silence to the tent Aktor has claimed as our base. The one he had been in with Sonya. I push open the flap, step inside, and then miss my footing. My legs give out beneath me as if they can no longer carry my weight.

Sweat coats me now. My breathing is laboured. The tent is spinning. I feel a pain in my chest that I can only describe as excruciating.

The tent is closed behind me, someone lights a lamp, and then my body starts to shake.

I know what is happening. I’ve spent too much energy. Given too much of myself to the flame. My body will be shutting down, my organs swift to follow. My teeth chattering as my mind closes itself off, lest it gets devoured by the hungry flames.

“Quickly,” I hear Aktor say. “Isadora, feed him.”

I shake my head; although I am sure in reality, I have no such control over my body. And then Dora’s Pyrkagia flares beside me and I can't stop from reaching. Grasping. Consuming.

Not Dora, I want to shout. Casey would not like it. Not Isadora, my mind feebly says.

But I have no recourse. I have no chance of stopping this. I have fed too long from a well that is almost empty. I am starved, and she is offering a feast. And I am too gluttonous to deny myself a feeding.

As consciousness diminishes, I send a prayer up to Aetheros that Casey will understand. That she will forgive me.

And I receive a soft stroke of a delicate hand down my face.

“Even swords need to be oiled occasionally,” I could swear I hear Cassandra say.