There is a constant ebb and flow to the levels of ambient power in the Elemental Realms, a rhythm composed of natural events large and small, and unnatural summonings and dismissals. The Realms are a rich source of power, readily available to any mage who knows the proper invocations and has the strength of will. But in the normal course of things, summonings are limited in scope and duration ? especially duration. Holding the power of an Element too long tends to have? unfortunate results for the mage or mages involved. Holding an Elemental against its will to use its power and abilities can be done, but again, not for long. Never for long.

Or so it has always been believed.

?We conjure and abjure thee, spirits of Flame and Fire! Come to our need, stay to our bidding! With wood and pitch we summon thee, with salt and water we contain thee! Come spirits of Flame and Fire, we conjure and abjure thee, do our bidding in this our hour of need! Fiat, fiat, fiat. Amen.?

The words echoed from Realm of Elion through the planes, called in concert by thirteen mages who stood in a circle, hands linked. A bonfire roared in the center of their circle, ringed by a shallow ditch lined with silver and filled with salted water. Again and again the words were chanted, until finally they found purchase in the Realm of Fire. The flames of the bonfire twisted and then split, coiling back upon themselves. The mages raised their linked hands, and the fire lanced around the circle. Each mage glowed with flame, with Fire. The bonfire suddenly collapsed into cold ash, but the mages continued to glow.

It felt like a shiver of coldness down the back of his neck. A sensation Devin would never have been truly familiar with if not for the battle-bond he had shared with Paola. A spine-tingling feeling of imbalance. He had been reinforcing the Fire wards of warning, a task that strained his attempts at patience. Now, midway through the chore, something felt? wrong.

Devin?s eyes glowed white with the power he was holding. But ? it was taking more effort to hold that force than it should. Calling the White Fire had always been as effortless for him as breathing ? more so, since in truth it was work to maintain a shell that needed to breathe. He released the White Fire slowly, watching, feeling it swirl into the plane. As he released the power his eyes faded to a deep chocolate brown, and then darkened farther with concern.

Bare feet crushed powdery dirt as he started to walk. There was a vague feeling of tugging, and beneath that Devin felt a weakness. As if a banked fire had failed instead of maintaining its coals. Coal-black brows drew together, a troubled frown creasing his expression. The harsh landscape of the Realm appeared unchanged, there was nothing obviously wrong ? what was he feeling?

As Devin crossed the entrance to the Fire Temple, the feeling of wrongness intensified. Once within the Temple, he released his shell, discarding the pretense of a contained form, a human-seeming body. He was fire ? he was Fire, dancing and swirling, as much a part of the Realm as any other Fire, any other flame. Without the distraction of his shell, he could feel the disruption to the flow of power in the Realm. A siphoning, a lessening ? not much, but there was no balancing influx of power in return. It was so vague, though ? if it were a summoning, it should have been directed, focused, defined.

Fire coalesced and reformed, an outline of a body solidifying back into Devin?s usual shell. Sparks danced and ran wild through the hallways, his careful restraint lessened. His voice was a hissing, crackling whisper. ?What is happening??