“Your sister is dead, Cahan Du-Nahere.” You, in that moment of pain, became strangely fascinated by the glittering paint on her face. “You are angry, Cahan Du-Nahere, and this is right.” The Skua-Rai Saradis raises a hand and a cold breeze runs through the room, the fires gutter and your trainer of arms and trainer of spirit enter. Their sacred white robes are splattered with mud and blood. They are dragging a man between them. “We have the man who killed your sister. All you need do is touch him, and let that within you do what it wishes. Do not waste her death, let it raise you into something more than one of the people.”
You are the fire.