The phoenix fire woke up again.
It rose from the deep place where it had been resting and it moved through him like a slow tide coming in.
Gold and red. Warm and full. It moved with a kind of deliberate steadiness that felt almost alive. Almost thoughtful and familiar.
Where the purple flames had erupted all at once in a violent surge, this was the opposite. The phoenix fire moved carefully. Like it understood what was happening. Like it knew exactly where to go.
And where it went, it pushed.
The first contact between the two fires was immediate.
The purple flames reacted violently. They surged up in response to the intruder moving through his veins. Azael gasped sharply. His hands slammed flat against the ground at his sides. His whole body shuddered.
Inside him it was like two storms crashing into each other.
