The blood-dragon flares his wings, halting in alarm as two massive water-dragons appear beside him. But, at Volterra's urging, he continues his headlong flight forwards, dwarfed by his watery compatriots. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the beastling feels a considerable stab of envy at the girl's magic. Like turning into a raven isn't enough, she can make dragons too? No fair. He feels Vérzés bristle, offended, and an image of the crimson appears in his head, as if to say you don't need water-dragons when you have the real thing. A fair point, the colt concedes.

Finally they reach the wall of flame and he slams on the brakes, his massive feathered hooves churning up a tidal wave of dirt as he grinds to a halt, sweaty and frantic. "Detain it?!" His voice is incredulous, eyes wide with the whites clearly visible as Isopia begins to dig. Help me, she demands. This is the most animated he has ever seen her - she is as full of fire as the flames before her, and Volterra is taken aback by the force of her desire to protect nature. He wants to help her, but how on earth can he? He is not blessed with magic, and Vérzés is made of blood and steel, not water.

Vérzés!

His attention had momentarily wavered from the crimson dragon, and he looks now to see his mind-partner making a determined beeline towards the flames after the watery replicas conjured up by the raven girl. In his youth and exuberance the ruby one does not understand fire, and certainly hasn't experienced its wrath as Volterra has. His infantile mind doesn't yet grasp the danger the red-orange-yellow mess poses, and he thinks that if water-dragons can help by diving into it, then so can he! "No!" bellows the colt as he watches helplessly on, his dragon flying closer, closer to the flames, closer to searing oblivion. The red's mind is blocking him out, unwilling to listen to reason, such is his enthusiasm. Fear like Volterra has never known before grips him at the possibility of losing his precious companion, so soon, not yet.

Somewhere deep within the boy, the fear triggers a spark. A tiny little iota of magic squirreled away in his genetic makeup, unknown to him until now. Perhaps it simply took an emotion this strong to trigger it; Volterra simply wanting magic for the sake of being greedy hadn't been enough. This terror, this need to protect his dragon, is just what the spark needed to ignite.

In front of the fire, between Isopia's trench and the searing wall of fire, between Vérzés and his impending demise, the earth bubbles, then erupts. A wall of rock stabs out from beneath the soil, pushing singed grass aside like hair as it ascends higher than both the gathered foals. Dirt tumbles from the structure as it grows outwards as well as upwards, forming a barrier between the fire and the foals - the flames lick greedily at the stone-hard surface on the other side, but find no way through. There is a dull thud as Vérzés flies straight into the wall and falls to the ground, dazed and bruised but alive, confused at the sudden immovable obstacle in his path.

Volterra watches in awe, watches his magic create the structure that just saved his dragon's life. Such glory! But his elation lasts only a fraction of a second, because suddenly the life drains out of him as though sucked by a vampire. Fit and healthy he may be, but this is not like the tiredness he feels after running for too long against the wind. He has never used magic before, is unaware of how it requires energy the same as any other movement - black spots float before his vision and his legs fold beneath him, skinning his knees on the hard ground as he collapses into a heap. A groan leaves him as he holds onto consciousness by the thinnest of threads, his conjured wall wobbling slightly but holding firm as Volterra pours every ounce of power he has into maintaining it. "Didn't...know...I...could...do...that," he gasps, but he doesn't even have the energy to hold his head up and so allows it to flop down chin-first, eyelids flickering.