The next morning, Alex awoke with ash on his palms.
He stared at his hands for a long time, turning them over in the gray morning light. The blackened dust clung to his skin like soot, streaking into the lines of his fingers. He tried brushing it off, but the stains remained. There was no burn, no pain. Just... ash.
No one else seemed to notice.
Classes proceeded as usual. In Spellcraft, he failed to summon a simple light orb—again. In Sword Theory, he forgot the names of the ten basic stances and earned a reprimand from the instructor. By lunchtime, he'd received three glares, two whispered insults, and one piece of spoiled bread hurled at his back. All as expected.
But everything felt wrong.
It wasn't just the ash. It was the way the wind whispered through the academy halls like it carried secrets. It was how the torches flickered slightly when he walked past, even unlit. It was the way his heart beat faster whenever he passed the old tree.
Something inside him had changed, even if the world refused to acknowledge it.
That night, Alex returned to the tree. He waited until the other students had gone to sleep and slipped out of his room, careful not to wake his roommate, Brinn, who snored like a drunk warhorn.
The moon was full and bright. The tree's silhouette loomed like a watchful sentinel, its bark rough and ancient. Alex touched its trunk, half-expecting a jolt of power. Nothing.
But when he looked down—there it was.
A faint glow beneath the roots. Blue. Like before.
Heart pounding, Alex knelt and pressed his hand to the ground.
This time, it welcomed him.
The world vanished in a rush of cold light. His mind was pulled somewhere deep—beneath stone, beneath time. He found himself standing on a cliff of obsidian, a vast sky swirling above him in hues of crimson and gold. Mountains moved in the distance—no, not mountains. Wings.
"Elix," he whispered, though he didn't know why.
The dragon emerged from the clouds, enormous and terrible. Scales the color of molten dusk shimmered across its form. Its eyes—piercing, intelligent—locked onto his.
You are the last.
The voice echoed inside him. Not sound, but truth. It vibrated in his bones.
"Why me?" he asked.
Because you remember what others forget. Because your soul carries the fire of the first flame, though your body has not yet learned to burn.
"I don't understand."
You will. Soon.
The dragon opened its maw, revealing a fire so pure it looked like light.
But you are not safe. Not yet. The others have felt the stir. They will come. Some to test. Some to kill. Trust no one blindly. Not even those who smile.
Alex took a step back. "What are you talking about? Who are they?"
But the dragon's form blurred, and the cliff beneath him cracked like glass. The vision shattered, pulling him back.
He gasped, sitting up beneath the tree, covered in sweat. The ground was cold. The glow was gone. But in his hand, clenched tightly, was a scale.
It was no bigger than a coin, warm to the touch, and shimmered between copper and gold. It pulsed faintly, like it was alive.
He shoved it into the pouch at his belt just as footsteps echoed behind him.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
Alex jumped to his feet. It was Professor Halem Quell, the school's history master, a man whose robes always seemed dusty and whose eyes never quite lost their sharpness.
"I—uh—was just out for air," Alex lied poorly.
Halem looked past him, toward the base of the tree, then back. "Strange place for air. That tree predates even the founding of the academy. Some say it grew from the ashes of the last dragon pyre. Nonsense, of course."
Alex said nothing.
Halem stepped closer, then smiled gently. "The night whispers to you now, doesn't it?"
Alex froze. "What?"
"I've seen it before. The way magic finds its vessel. Quiet at first. Then loud. Then terrifying. Tell me, Alex—have you dreamt of wings yet?"
The question struck him like a blade.
Halem's eyes glinted. "Be careful. The world is full of liars. And not all dragons stay buried."
Without waiting for a response, the professor turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the night.
Alex stood there for a long time, the dragon scale pulsing faintly in his hand.
The flame had awakened.
And he was no longer alone.