Fyroh laughed. "Olhal'll be pleased to get some time away from everyone- no offense, m'lady. He's always begging for us to leave him alone... and now he's alone. Finally, he should be happy." He smiled as he said so, confident that Olhal wouldn't mind.
Olhal was trembling with fear in reality. He wouldn't have minded so much if he could still produce a flame... but he couldn't, and that was the harsh truth. His sabre was still a beautiful blade in his eyes, and with no other blade would he ever fight in the same way, but without flame, he realised he was just another teenager that had a sword. When he truly thought about it, his abilities weren't that great; his magic gave him strength to destroy his enemies, and he'd grown used to it... Slowly, he started walking, with no intentions of arriving anywhere.