The Masked Legacy

Thorne and Akira had been walking for what felt like an eternity under the blistering sun, and the heat was becoming unbearable. The canopy of the forest did little to shield them now, and every breath felt heavy, like they were inhaling fire.

The water they had reserved was running dangerously low, and Thorne could feel his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin, drenched in sweat. Despite it all, he knew they were close. Just a few more steps.

As he moved forward, the dense forest abruptly opened up, revealing a landscape that was utterly hostile. Geysers erupted at random, spitting scalding steam into the air with enough force to cook a person alive in mere seconds.

The ground was fractured, glowing cracks running through the earth as if it had been torn apart by fire itself.

Just as he took in the dangerous sight, a flood of information poured into his mind—the second location had revealed itself.

The gift he sought grew here, but it was guarded by a beast, one ancient and fiery, as old as the earth itself. The guardian was no ordinary creature, but one formed of molten rock and fire, its strength tied to the searing heat that surrounded them.

Akira eyed him warily.

 "This is where you want to get something?" she asked, incredulous.

Thorne gave a curt nod.

 "Yes."

Her eyes narrowed with a mix of curiosity and concern.

 "How?"

Thorne simply smiled, choosing not to answer. He could sense her growing impatience, but she was sharp enough to pick up on his silence. Sighing, she crossed her arms.

"Fine," she muttered.

"But don't expect me to save you if you get yourself killed."

"I won't," Thorne replied, his tone more determined than before.

"But I'll be going alone. Stay here, wait for me. I'll be back soon."

Akira frowned but didn't protest further. Though she didn't say it, he could feel her hesitation. She was already used to having someone nearby in the Garden.

The unknown dangers made everything unpredictable, and Thorne knew that walking into this fiery field alone would seem reckless. Still, it was a risk he had to take.

As he neared the edge of the hostile terrain, a geyser exploded violently in front of him, the burst of steam sending scalding water high into the air. He paused, gauging the intervals between eruptions. The pattern was erratic, the danger very real, but there was no other way.

Part of the information revealed in his mind was about the fruit—the Fruit of Steel. It grew from an outcrop of molten rock, forged in the fire itself. The fruit would help him fortify his body, making him stronger, more durable. He smirked to himself. This would be good for him, a perfect way to reinforce his strength.

Thorne took a deep breath and surged forward, dodging left, then right, weaving through the landscape of erupting geysers. His legs moved quickly, his instincts guiding him as jets of boiling steam shot into the air all around him. His skin prickled from the heat, and his eyes stung. But he pressed on, listening to the telltale rumblings beneath the earth, predicting when the next geyser would erupt.

The heat was intense, almost unbearable, but he couldn't stop now.

Just as he dodged one eruption, another geyser exploded dangerously close to him, the scalding steam grazing his back. He screamed in pain as the heat seared his skin, and his clothes tore at the impact. The force of the steam sent him tumbling forward, his body slamming into the ground. His back was red and raw, burning from the scalding touch of the steam.

Thorne gritted his teeth, biting back the pain as he forced himself to his feet. The pain in his back was unbearable, but he couldn't afford to stop. The geysers erupted without mercy, and if he didn't move, the next one could kill him. Despite the pain, he pressed on, half-limping, half-running, his body screaming in protest with each step.

For a moment, he allowed himself a grim smile.

I wonder what I'd taste like after being cooked? The dark humor helped him push through, a fleeting distraction from the agony.

As he neared the center of the field, he spotted it—a rocky outcrop rising from the molten earth, and at its peak, glowing with a light unlike anything else, was the fruit. It shimmered in hues of gold and orange, like a living ember, its surface radiating heat and power. The Fruit of Steel.

With one last burst of strength, Thorne sprinted to the outcrop, his body aching from the heat and the strain of dodging the geysers. He collapsed onto the rock, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every inch of his body screamed in pain, but he was alive.

Barely.

Reaching into his ring, Thorne pulled out a skin bag of water. He quickly tore it open, pouring it over his back. The cold liquid hit his scorched skin, and he let out a groan as the pain momentarily subsided. The water wasn't enough to heal him but it cooled him down, but it would keep him going.

He glanced up, and there it was—the fruit. It was closer now, just within his reach, its heat pulsing with a steady rhythm, as if it were alive. Thorne reached out, his fingers brushing against its warm surface. The moment he touched it, a surge of energy rushed through him, filling him with a fiery power. The fruit's energy seemed to fuse with his body, strengthening him from within, forging his muscles and bones like metal being tempered in a forge.

But just as he plucked the fruit, the ground beneath him trembled. A low rumble echoed through the landscape, growing louder by the second. The outcrop began to rise, lifting him higher into the air. He barely had time to react when he felt it—a massive presence shifting beneath him.

Thorne froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, the ground below him began to move, and from beneath the rock, something emerged. A massive head, crowned with molten stone and lava, rose from the earth, its eyes glowing like pools of molten fire. The creature's shell was a fortress of magma and rock, its skin glowing with heat.

It was a magma turtle, its enormous body heaving as it emerged fully from the earth. Molten lava dripped from its head, hissing as it met the cooler ground. The turtle's eyes locked onto Thorne, and for a moment, he felt his heart stop.

The beast scrutinized him, its gaze sharp and penetrating, but there was no hostility. The mark on Thorne's body pulsed again, and the turtle seemed to recognize it. The connection was clear—the beast had no intention of harming him. It was only curious, as if verifying the ward he carried.

After a moment of tense silence, the turtle let out a low rumble, almost as if in acknowledgment, and then slowly withdrew back into its molten shell, sinking back into the earth from which it had emerged.

Thorne let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, relief flooding through him. He had expected the guardian beast, but he hadn't expected it to rise from beneath the very outcrop he stood on.