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The Secrets of Fire
The Comte de Saint-Germain watched the large block of ice float haphazardly down the river Seine, two cloudy figures barely visible in the dark light of the evening. He had not been there when the Disir had attacked his home with Nidhogg, but Joan had, and the thought of his wife fighting someone as powerful as either the Valkyries or the Devourer of Corpses, made him shudder.

Paris was an ancient city, the earliest records of it dated back thousands of years, and like all elder cities, there are even older points of magic.

Leygates.

Shadowrealm entrances.

The ancient French city housed many a leygate, and myriad Shadowrealms scattered the lush land. And Saint-Germain knew that where he was standing right now was the entrance to a particular Elder who hated him very much.

Be bent low to the steep drop-off of the cement into the water and gently touched an arcane mark etched in the stone. Then he stroked another and another, knowing that when influenced by even the slightest amount of magic, the stones would transform into a translucent hole that one would be able to enter through and come out into the home realm of Prometheus.

His oldest and probably most powerful enemy.

He turned and shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked back towards his truck that he never used but, in times like these, came in handy.

Then he heard a soft sizzling sound. A high-pitched noise that sent goose bumps crawling on his arms and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He whirled around to see the small symbols on the stone glowing a piercing yellow-red...

The portal to the Shadowrealm was being opened.

Fire crackled to life on his hands and sparks shot from his eyes. Suddenly, a tall, tanned figure jumped up out of the stone! His hair was bronze in color, and where the streetlamp light touched it made it glow and shine. He wore black clothes that looked like they were moving. Grayish-black colors drifted along his clothing, looking like dark rivers of lava. His eyes were a collection of colors, red, orange, yellow, and even blue, that seemed to twist and shift like fire.

And the Scathach's haunting words came back to Saint-Germain:

"And one of these days my uncle will want it back." She had been speaking of the Secret of Fire that he had gleaned, or stole, from Prometheus. But exactly where had the Elder gotten it from?

"Comte de Saint-Germain," Prometheus hissed, acid coiling on his words. Tensions hung in the air; it was so thick it was almost tangible.

"Prometheus," He said, bowing slightly. He had no intention of sucking up to the Elder, he just needed time. Saint-Germain had learned myriad spells of auric energy and fire magic. He knew that the most powerful spells left you weak and vulnerable, but he was about to perform one of those spells. He needed to stall the Elder while he pulled his aura into his body, which he could then project into a supernova of energy at the Elder. It was extremely dangerous, but Saint0Germain had no choice. Prometheus would otherwise have him obliterated if he didn't beat him to the punch.

"I see that your power over Fire Magic has not grown," the Elder sad smugly.

Saint-Germain raised his eyebrow in a silent question. Let him think that, he thought, the more underestimated I am, the better.

"You have not attempted to move against me with it," He said, as if not attacking him was because Saint-Germain lacked the power. "I had much knowledge of it. I knew myriad spells, incantations, and cantrips in Fire Magic."

Still stalling, Saint-Germain asked, "Prometheus, where did you steal the Secret of Fire?"

He laughed loudly, his voice rough and croaky. "And why should I tell you that?"

"I doubt that you will let me live, so I ask this as a dying wish."

Prometheus sighed, sadness overwhelming his expression. "Very well then. You see, the Elder Race were not the first creatures upon the planet. There were…others. The Elders used Nidhogg, Amehait, and some of the other primordial monsters as weapons against them." Saint-Germain stood wide-eyed and open mouthed at the revelation as Prometheus continued. "Danu Talis was also not the first island continent. The Others lived upon a massive land in the Pacific Ocean. The humani called it Mu. It was their center of power, much older and larger than Danu Talis. Mu's capital was the great city of Tan Madol, which I'm sure you're familiar with?" Saint-Germain nodded, awestruck by the information. "Well, in the center of Tan Madol stood a huge obelisk. Atop it was a glowing fireball: the Secret of Fire. I climbed it in the middle of the night, snatched the fire and ran. The upset of power sent tremors and earthquakes through Mu. When the Elders saw the firelight die out on top of the obelisk, they attacked. Taking the Secret of Fire was not only the key to the Others downfall, but also the missing piece to every race's prosperity. After the Great War, we, the Elders, destroyed every last remnant of the Others, wiping out a civilization for all eternity." Then he nodded towards Saint-Germain, "The Secret of Fire, which you now hold, is the last thing of the Others, the only thing that we left live."

"That's….amazing," Saint-Germain whispered. The fact that the Elder Race had kept that secret from every other race forever proved how powerful the information was.

Prometheus nodded, eyes glassy, looking off into a place which Saint-Germain couldn't see. "Yes...yes it is."

Then a soft itch starting working it's away along the Count's body and he was suddenly aware of how long he had been holding his aura in check. For a second, he rethought unleashing his power on the Elder who seemed so sad and distant. But then another thought crossed his mind and he slowly lowered himself to the ground, his fingers brushing the cold stone as he let his aura leak into the brick.

Prometheus' head snapped up, and then a broad smile etched itself into his face. "Do not try your minor spells against me, magician,"

Now it was Saint-Germain's turn to smile. "Oh, I wouldn't call me a magician with the spell I'm working."

The Elder's brow furrowed in confusion at his words.

The Comte de Saint-Germain let more of his aura trickle into the stone before he spoke. "I would much rather prefer you call me alchemist." And with that, the earth around Prometheus began to shift and run, dripping into the Seine. The Elder's cries were lost in the splashing of water.

And Saint-Germain didn't see the side of the river wall tumble into the Seine as he ran away from the screaming Elder.