A rival.

"The rift you fell from," he growled, his voice still hot but no longer mocking. "It wanders. Near the Rock Wall. I will take you there."

"I don't want to hurt you," Ness said, and meant it. "I just want to go home. So either you help me find a way back to that rift… or I'll learn exactly how much fire it takes to melt a glacier. Your choice."

Crack.

It caught Zetterburn in the open mouth.

"You're lost, little boy," Zetterburn growled, his voice the sound of a collapsing forge. He flexed a claw, and a corona of fire licked up his forearm. "This isn't Onett. There are no weak, sentient animals here for you to bully with your mind."

The psychic cryo-blast erupted from his forehead, a needle-thin lance of absolute zero. It wasn't the wide, powerful blizzard he used on Starmen. It was a surgical strike, honed by desperation.

Zetterburn laughed, a sound like a landslide of hot coals. "Home? This is your home now. Ash and bone."

The lion prince of the Fire Armada wasn't just a rival. He was a cataclysm. His fur was a cascade of dying embers, his mane a roaring inferno that warped the air around his scarred muzzle. Every time he exhaled, a puff of superheated ash and contempt billowed towards Ness.

It wasn't a victory. It was a truce. And as the sun set over the strange, churning horizon, the Boy from Onett and the Prince of Fire walked side-by-side into the unknown, two rivals bound by the simple, terrifying truth that neither could destroy the other.

"Fragile!" Zetterburn snarled, raking his claws across the shield. Green sparks flew. "Just like all your kind!"

Ness didn't run. He stepped in . Close. Too close. He could smell the sulfur on the lion's breath, feel the individual points of heat radiating from his mane. He pressed two fingers to his own temple.

He turned, his tail lashing, and began to walk. After a second, Ness followed, his battered sneakers squelching in the mud.