Morning came with unexpected discomfort.

  Cinder woke first, a dull throbbing behind her temples where no headache had existed the night before. She sat up among the barrels, wincing as the movement intensified the sensation. The pain wasn't severe—more annoying than debilitating—but its presence was concerning after a night of relatively peaceful sleep.

  "Anyone else feeling like their brain had a wild night without inviting the rest of them?" she muttered, massaging her temples.

  Beside her, Ember stirred, her typical smooth morning transition interrupted by a grimace. "Mmm. Like someone's gently squeezing my skull." She blinked, golden eyes hazy with discomfort. "That's new."

  Kindle groaned from her nest of blankets, throwing an arm dramatically over her face. "I thought it was just me! My head feels like I tried to memorize an entire dictionary after drinking too much wine."

  "A pressure without source," Ash murmured, already awake and sitting cross-legged in her corner. Wisps of smoke curled around her fingers as she traced invisible patterns in the air. "The universe recalibrating to accommodate our altered state."

  "Or," Cinder countered, stretching cautiously, "we're experiencing the side effects of going from five to four. Remember what Nyx said? Fewer selves equals pain."

  The mention of their condition brought a thoughtful silence. For a moment, they assessed themselves, taking mental inventory of any changes since Pyra's loss and their subsequent merging.

  Yet beyond the lingering ache, there seemed no other symptoms—no dramatic flare of pain, no sense of missing pieces or deteriorating condition.

  "But it's so mild," Ember finally said, sitting up fully. "Nyx made it sound like agony—like we wouldn't be able to function with fewer than five."

  "Maybe absorbing Pyra's essence changed the equation," Kindle suggested, drawing her knees up to her chest. Her ever-bright eyes held a hint of worry. "I mean, she's still with us, just... integrated."

  Outside their wagon, the camp had already come alive with morning activity. The smell of woodsmoke and cooking porridge wafted through the canvas flap, along with the sounds of teamsters preparing for departure. Marta's voice carried clearly as she issued orders, her no-nonsense tone suggesting today would be a particularly focused travel day.

  "We should get moving," Ember decided, setting aside the discomfort in favor of practicality. "Last thing we need is to upset Marta by lagging behind."

  They emerged into the crisp morning air to find the camp already half-dismantled, Marta Koval's legendary efficiency driving preparations even faster than usual. The caravan leader herself stood by the lead wagon, her copper-streaked hair gleaming in the early light as she consulted a weathered map with her senior scouts.

  Noticing their emergence, she nodded briskly—not friendly, exactly, but acknowledging their existence without obvious fear. Progress, of a sort.

  "We leave in ten minutes," she called, rolling up her map. "Northern route looks clear, but we're pushing hard today. Should reach the Amaranth outskirts by nightfall if the weather holds."

  "Any particular reason for the rush?" Ember asked, automatically taking position as their spokesperson.

  "Intuition," Marta replied curtly. Her hand rested on the protective amulet at her belt—a gesture they'd noticed increasingly since yesterday's events. "Been at this long enough to know when to move quickly. This region's had bandit troubles lately."

  "Bandits?" Kindle perked up, her golden eyes brightening with interest. "Are we talking the comical kind with exaggerated accents and questionable morals? Because those—"

  Marta cut her off with a raised palm. "The type that make messy work of travelers caught unaware. Trust me, it's in everyone's best interest to reach Amaranth's walls before dusk."

  "What she said," Malik's voice drifted over from behind them. The bard sauntered up, adjusting his pack across his narrow shoulders. "Lovely place for an ambush this time of year. More so with four radiant torches providing an easy beacon."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence," Cinder muttered under her breath.

  But Marta merely offered them a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "The bard speaks truly, in his own flowery way. We'll take all precautions."

  By the time the caravan rolled out, the sun had cleared the eastern horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling plains that stretched between them and Amaranth. The Shimmerwood receded behind them, now little more than a blur of distant haze to the southeast.

  Atop their wagon—once again relegated to the rear position despite their upgraded status from mere passengers to curiosities of concerning power—the four settled into a comfortable pattern. Ember and Cinder took the front bench, handling the reins with casual competence, while Kindle and Ash positioned themselves among the cargo, maintaining watchful vigilance over their rear approach.

  "So, these headaches," Kindle said once they'd established a steady pace, her voice pitched low enough that it wouldn't carry to the wagon ahead. "Are we worried about them?"

  "Concerned, not worried," Ember clarified, her eyes scanning the horizon with the habitual vigilance of someone accustomed to anticipating trouble. "They're mild, but they're definitely related to our reduced number."

  "The curse enforces five as optimal," Ash noted, trailing smoky tendrils that now contained distinct orange sparks—visible evidence of Pyra's integration. "Perhaps this discomfort is merely the first stage of its enforcement mechanism."

  "You make it sound like we're breaking a magical contract," Cinder remarked, absently adjusting the reins. "Which, I suppose, isn't entirely inaccurate."

  "But what happens if the discomfort escalates?" Kindle asked, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers—a nervous tic she'd picked up from Ember. "Do we end up crippled by pain with three?"

  "Or two?" Ash added quietly, her usually detached demeanor showing a rare hint of worry. "Nyx's cryptic warnings did suggest a deterioration of well-being..."

  Cinder let out a huff of air, frustration simmering below the surface. "Speculating won't help. We don't have enough information to predict anything accurately. And it's not like we can just undo what's been done—we're down one self, integrated or not."

  They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. The rhythmic clatter of wagon wheels and the whisper of wind through the long grasses filled the space around them. Ahead, the plains undulated in gentle waves, dotted with wildflowers that seemed to dance in the breeze.

  Finally, it was Ember who broke the thoughtful quiet. "It's out of our control, for now. We adapt, like always. Worrying won't change reality. We learn, we adjust, we keep moving forward."

  Cinder nodded, her lips tightening into a thin line. "That's what we do best, isn't it?"

  The conversation paused as their wagon hit a particularly deep rut, jolting them all and sending a synchronized spike of discomfort through their shared headache. Cinder winced, muttering something unflattering about road maintenance in fantasy realms.

  "I wonder..." Kindle began, then hesitated, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard despite the relative privacy of their position.

  "Wonder what?" Ember prompted.

  "If we can integrate once, could we do it again?" Kindle's voice dropped even lower, barely audible above the creak of wagon wheels. "Could four become three? Three become two? Could we eventually return to being just Abigail?"

  A profound silence settled over the wagon again. It was a logical progression of thought, yet not one they'd dared to voice aloud until now.

  "I've considered it," Ash admitted, her hands tracing absent smoke-patterns in the air. "If the curse allows gradual reintegration rather than treating it as consolidation..."

  "That's a massive assumption," Cinder warned. "And we have exactly one data point—Pyra's accidental merging through a magical explosion. Not exactly something we should rush to replicate."

  "Especially considering the 'explosion' part," Kindle agreed with a grimace. "I'm all for experimentation, but maybe not the 'potentially fatal magical backlash' variety."

  "Still," Ash continued, unfazed, "if we gain more control over the process—perhaps through further investigation of these 'Mnemosynes' or the tomes they supposedly guard..."

  Cinder shot her a disbelieving look. "That's even more of a hypothetical than your hypothetical hypotheticals."

  Kindle giggled at the convoluted phrasing, earning an exasperated sigh from Cinder.

  "She's right, though," Ember pointed out, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "We're discussing something incredibly speculative here. Let's focus on reaching Amaranth first."

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  Around midday, the caravan paused briefly to water the massive kraal and allow travelers to stretch their legs. Unlike previous rest stops, where the four had mingled freely with other passengers, they now found themselves isolated in a bubble of wary distance.

  Even Malik, who had been their most consistent ally, seemed preoccupied with his instrument, making adjustments to its strings while stealing occasional thoughtful glances in their direction.

  "We've become the weird kids at the lunch table," Kindle observed, munching on journey bread while perched atop their wagon. "All because Pyra decided to high-five a magical tree."

  "You make it sound like she had a choice," Cinder replied, though with more exasperated fondness than genuine criticism.

  "Would any of us have done differently in her position?" Ember asked. "Surrounded by Mistfangs, trapped in a magical clearing, mental defenses failing..."

  "I might have chosen a method with less dramatic flair," Cinder admitted, "but the outcome would likely have been similar."

  "The universe provides exactly the challenges we require for growth," Ash observed, her eyes half-closed in meditation."Pyra's transformation may be merely the first step on our path to wholeness."

  "Well, if the universe could provide slightly less painful challenges, I'd appreciate it," Kindle replied, rubbing her temples where the persistent ache had settled like an unwelcome guest. "This headache is putting a damper on my enjoyment of the fantasy bandit countryside."

  "Speaking of which," Ember murmured, her attention caught by something in the distance, "does that ridge seem a little too convenient for an ambush to anyone else?"

  The others followed her gaze to where the road ahead curved around a rocky outcropping, bordered on one side by a steep embankment and on the other by a dense copse of trees. The perfect natural funnel to trap travelers with limited escape routes.

  "Now who's hoping for bandits?" Kindle teased, though her eyes narrowed as she assessed the terrain.

  "Not hoping," Ember corrected. "Preparing. There's a difference."

  Cinder stood, craning her neck to gauge the relative positions of other wagons in the caravan. We should warn Marta."

  Before they could act on this decision, the caravan leader herself approached their wagon, her features set in the stoic mask of someone anticipating trouble and not looking forward to it.

  "You four," she said without preamble, "are my rear guard if trouble comes."

  Not a request—a statement of fact, delivered with the expectation of compliance.

  "You've spotted it too," Ember noted, gesturing toward the suspicious ridge. "The prime ambush location."

  "Aye, it's no secret," Marta confirmed, crossing her arms. "That stretch has seen three ambushes in as many months. My scouts report fresh tracks near the tree line."

  "How many?" Cinder asked.

  "Unknown. Could be nothing," Marta replied, though her tone suggested she believed otherwise. "But if it's trouble, it'll come from both sides. Front and rear attack to split our defenses."

  "Hence stationing us at the back," Ember nodded, understanding the tactical logic. The caravan's usual guards would focus on protecting the front, while the four flame-women—whose combat capabilities had been amply demonstrated during the Mistfang encounter—would secure the rear.

  "Exactly," Marta confirmed. "Whatever... abilities... you possess, keep them measured. Defend, don't destroy. We clear?"

  "Crystal," Kindle chirped with a cheerfulness that drew a wary glance from the caravan leader.

  "Don't worry," Cinder added with dry reassurance. "We'll try not to incinerate anyone unless absolutely necessary."

  Marta's eyes narrowed fractionally. "That's not as comforting as you seem to think it is."

  With that parting observation, she strode away, already issuing quiet orders to her guards that sent them checking weapons and adjusting positions. The caravan, which had begun as a relatively loose procession, tightened formation—wagons drawing closer together, vulnerable passengers moving to more protected positions.

  "Well," Kindle remarked brightly once Marta was out of earshot, "looks like we might get those fantasy bandits after all."

  "Try to contain your enthusiasm," Cinder muttered, though her own flames flickered with anticipation—another subtle influence of Pyra's merger. "These are real people with real weapons, not storybook villains."

  "Dangerous, yes," Ember agreed, "but also likely outmatched if they're expecting ordinary travelers."

  "Bandits or no bandits, this headache is making it hard to care," Kindle admitted, absently massaging her temples.

  They continued their journey. As they approached the suspicious ridge, silence fell—not the natural quiet of rural travel, but the deliberate hush of people straining to detect the first sign of danger. Even the massive kraal seemed to sense the mood, their spiraled horns lowering slightly as they pulled the wagons forward.

  "Remember," Cinder murmured from her seat at the front, reins in hand, "restrained combat only. No fireworks displays."

  Kindle gave an exaggerated pout. "Where's the fun in that?"

  "Still feeling the Pyra-effect, huh?" Ember asked, golden eyes scanning the tree line for any hint of movement.

  "Like a sugar rush that doesn't quit," Kindle replied, hopping from foot to foot. "It's kind of... invigorating?"

  "That's one word for it," Cinder remarked dryly. Her own more aggressive tendencies, always simmering beneath the surface, seemed closer to boiling over than usual. Perhaps a result of Pyra's influence.

  Or her own worry. Or both.

  A high, sharp whistle split the air—Marta's signal. Moments later, shouts and clamoring hoofbeats echoed from the front of the caravan, confirming their fears. The attack was underway.

  With an eerie howl, a volley of arrows descended upon their wagon from the forested side of the ridge. Cinder's flames roared skyward, engulfing the projectiles before they could find their mark. Behind her, she heard the sizzle and crackle as Ember and Ash dealt with the arrows targeting their own wagon.

  "Burning arrows is well and good," Kindle called out, her hands wreathed in orange flames, "but shouldn't we do something about the people shooting them?"

  Cinder glanced towards the front of the caravan, where Marta and her guards had already engaged the bandits. Blades clashed, horses whinnied, and shouts of pain and exertion filled the air. The four of them, positioned at the rear, hadn't yet attracted attention—but that was unlikely to last.

  A dozen bandits emerged from the forest's edge, their faces obscured by tattered cloth masks and their weapons glinting dully in the afternoon light. Unlike the frontal assault, this rear attack seemed more measured—a secondary force meant to cut off retreat rather than overwhelm immediately.

  "Anyone else noticing something weird?" Kindle whispered, bouncing on her toes with nervous energy. "My flames feel... different."

  She wasn't wrong. Despite the persistent headache throbbing behind their temples, there was something undeniably altered about their flames.

  Where before the forest had dampened their powers, now they seemed to flow more readily, with greater intensity than even their pre-Shimmerwood state. Orange fire crackled along Kindle's body, brighter and more vibrant than it had any right to be.

  "Power redistribution," Ash murmured, watching smoky tendrils curl around her wrists with unusual vigor. "What once fueled five now fuels four. Mathematics of magical energy conservation."

  "Theorize later," Cinder snapped, bracing herself as the first wave of bandits charged toward their wagon. "Fight now."

  The bandits clearly expected easy prey—merchants or farmers with minimal combat training, perhaps one or two lightly armed guards. It was almost comical how quickly their expressions shifted from smug confidence to shock as Ember leapt from the wagon, landing directly in their path.

  "Gentlemen," she said with deceptive calm, as if addressing unruly dinner guests rather than armed assailants. "I strongly suggest you reconsider your current life choices."

  The lead bandit—a burly man with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow—laughed, though the sound held an edge of uncertainty. "Pretty threats from a prettier face," he growled, signaling his companions to spread out. "Step aside, girl, and we might let you live to earn your keep another way."

  Ember sighed, an oddly Pyra-like flicker of impatience crossing her features. "I tried diplomacy," she said to no one in particular.

  Then her eyes shifted—gold bleeding into something brighter, fiercer—and flames erupted along her arms, not in the controlled, amber streams of her usual manifestation, but in wild, crackling spirals that carried distinct notes of Pyra's chaotic energy.

  "What in the seven hells—" the lead bandit managed before Ember moved.

  One moment she stood calmly before them; the next she was among them, moving with speed that left afterimages trailing fire in her wake. Her first strike sent the leader sprawling, the second disarmed his lieutenant, and the third left three bandits tumbling backward like dominoes struck by an enthusiastic child.

  Back at the wagon, Cinder watched with raised eyebrows as Ember unleashed a fighting style that blended her usual methodical technique with flashes of Pyra's sheer, unbridled aggression. "Well, that's new."

  "Our turn!" Kindle declared, leaping down from the wagon with a whoop of excitement. Her golden fire had taken on an orange-tinged edge, trails of flame marking her path as she accelerated into the fray.

  Ash was right behind her, the usual smoky wisps now dancing with sparks and the occasional streak of bright flame. She sidestepped a bandit's hasty spear thrust, her movements languid, almost dismissive. Then, with a wave of her hand, she conjured a wave of searing heat that sent him reeling away, clutching his eyes.

  "Existence is pain," she remarked, her voice serene. "Allow me to alleviate some of yours."

  Meanwhile, Ember continued her whirlwind assault on the main group. Another bandit lunged at her with a rusty mace, only to be met with a searing punch to the gut that sent him sprawling with a cry. A pair attempted to flank her, but a sweeping kick sent them toppling into each other.

  "Hey, gals! I think Ash was onto something here with the 'merging' thing!" she called to the others, throwing an unnecessarily flamboyant kick at a charging bandit's face. "Because this—"

  She paused to duck a sword swing.

  "—is too easy!"

  Kindle, darting around the perimeter of the skirmish like a spastic firefly, chimed in with breathless agreement. "I can confirm! It's like my power, but... crisper? Zingier? Way more—ooh, what's that word?—pyromanic!"

  "Does that even qualify as a word?" Cinder retorted, half-watching the conflict and half-keeping an eye on their wagon's position.

  Something moved in her peripheral vision—a lone figure breaking away from the main group, circling toward their wagon with the clear intent of seizing what appeared to be an undefended prize.

  "Amateur hour," she muttered, stepping down from the driver's bench with casual grace. Her flames flickered amber and orange, reflecting in the bandit's widening eyes as he realized his mistake.

  "Excuse me," she said, cracking her knuckles theatrically, "but I believe that's ours."

  The bandit whirled, blade already slashing toward her throat—a desperate, fear-driven strike.

  Cinder didn't dodge. She didn't need to. The sword passed through air that shimmered with heat, the metal glowing red before it completed its arc.

  With a yelp, the bandit dropped his now-useless weapon, the hilt glowing with residual heat. His mask couldn't hide the panic in his eyes.

  "Ah-ah," Cinder tutted, wagging a flaming finger. "Rude."

  She moved in a blur of orange and white, fist slamming into his gut with enough force to lift him off his feet. As he doubled over, retching, her foot swept up, catching him squarely in the jaw and sending him sprawling to the dirt, out cold.

  Straightening, Cinder brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes and turned back toward the others, only to find the skirmish at an end. Around the groaning bodies of the defeated bandits, her sister-selves stood triumphant, a tinge of orange still lingering on their flames.

  "Okay," Cinder conceded, looking at the bandits littering the ground around her, "that was a little fun."