Matthias had given a cheeky grin before scrambling to scale the boulder. He's not grinning now, but that doesn't mean he's unhappy. He's ready, and that's something different. All his focus is on the mouth of the cave--the wrinkle of fire that creases at the air, blooming hot orange light in that darkness, and its brighter flare when it finds its target--and Matthias so intent he nearly misses the burst of Lukas' blade, ghostly sharp. He only sees it when he darts a glance at him, and something lifts in his chest before he pushes it down, and grabs hard at his plain clumsy staff.

And then: the giant.

Brutish, blunt, clad crudely in thick pelt and hide. Its skin has a greyish tint, and its knuckles--Matthias sees them, close, as the creature drags its club up aloft, mere feet from where he's pressed flat at the crown of the boulder--look hard as horn. Its face looks like a child's clay doll, thick features and a heavy brow. And its eyes--small, piggish, screwed in deep--haven't seen him yet. Matthias readies his spell, as the giant bellows again, its breath foul and stinking.

The giant bulls toward Lukas, and Matthias holds, counting down the seconds, his eyes on a piece of rocky ground just before Lukas. He will bloom a wall of flame there, before the giant can touch him. Three, and he can feel the fire itching down his arms, into his fingers, fevered and ready--two, and he's sweating already, warm in the cold, all that fire eating at him from within, ready, he's ready--one, and he lets the spell go, and flames seam and unspool between Lukas and the beast, high and rising higher.