Fire & Chasm

I’ll be honest: I went into *Fire & Chasm* expecting another *Assassin’s Apprentice* knockoff, but Campbell’s worldbuilding is far more insidious. The Church here isn’t just a backdrop—it’s a living, breathing cult, and Azeril’s blind faith in its teachings is the real horror. The way the story peels back his conditioning, layer by layer, had me gripping my headphones. That said, the middle act drags a bit; there’s a training montage (or three) that could’ve been tighter, and a side character’s betrayal feels telegraphed miles ahead. But when the plot *hits*, it *hits*—especially in the final act, where Azeril’s confrontation with a wizard isn’t just about magic, but about who gets to rewrite history. Podehl’s performance is the glue holding it together. He gives Azeril a voice that’s equal parts monkish discipline and feral instinct—listen to how his cadence shifts when Azeril’s memories flicker back, like a record skipping. The supporting cast is less distinct (some of the Church elders blur together), but the audio production makes up for it with eerie ambient touches: the echo of cathedral halls, the *slick* of a blade unsheathing. My one gripe? The romance subplot feels tacked on, like Campbell wasn’t sure whether to lean into Azeril’s isolation or give him a soft landing. Still, this is a fantasy that trusts its audience to sit with discomfort—and in a genre often drowning in wish fulfillment, that’s refreshing.