Kael awoke with dirt in his mouth and the taste of smoke in his lungs.
His body ached like he'd been thrown down a mountain—and maybe he had. Somewhere above, through the jagged edges of collapsed concrete and iron beams, twilight bled into full night. A chill wind slid through the ruins, whispering across scorched ground. Nearby, the air shimmered faintly, the last embers of whatever had saved his life flickering out.
He sat up slowly, cradling his left arm.
The mark was still there.
Dark as charcoal, curling across the back of his hand and wrist like a brand etched into his bones. The warmth that had filled him—terrifying, searing, almost alive—was gone now, but something deep inside had changed.
He was marked.
And that meant everything would change.
"Kael!"
He turned just as Iria Vell sprinted toward him from the shadows of the wreckage, her long silver braid catching the moonlight. Her boots splashed through shallow water as she knelt beside him.
"You absolute idiot!" she hissed, pulling his face toward her with both hands. "You weren't supposed to be in Zone 6! You told me you'd stay on the Skybridge Route!"
"I took a shortcut," Kael muttered, then groaned. "Worst shortcut ever."
Her expression twisted—part anger, part something else. She scanned him quickly, hands brushing over his jacket and arms, checking for wounds. Her fingers hesitated over his left wrist.
Then she saw it.
The mark.
She froze.
"…Is that real?"
Kael didn't answer.
Iria stood slowly, her breath catching. "That symbol—it's from the vault logs. The Eclipsing Flame. I saw the image once when I was accessing encrypted clearance files for Commandant Voren. That mark hasn't surfaced in a hundred years."
Kael struggled to his feet, wincing. "Well, it surfaced tonight. And it saved my life."
"You shouldn't have survived a Veilborn attack. Let alone ignited a mark without a catalyst or inheritance protocol. That's not how it works."
"I know what I saw," Kael said. "I wasn't supposed to survive, but something inside me decided it wasn't ready to die."
Iria's eyes softened. "And now you're something the Citadel won't understand."
Kael flinched at that.
She was right.
The Citadel didn't trust unregistered Emberborne—especially not ones who manifested forbidden Marks. The Eclipsing Flame was linked to Azhen Callis, the First Emberborne to wield flame strong enough to burn through reality itself—and the same man who tried to unmake the city a century ago during the Ashfall War.
And now Kael bore his mark.
"…They'll come for me, won't they?" he asked.
Iria was silent for a moment, then gave a short nod. "They'll want to study you. Control you. Or eliminate you."
"Great," Kael muttered. "Exactly what I wanted for my seventeenth birthday."
"Happy birthday," Iria said dryly.
They stood in silence for a moment, broken only by the hum of far-off sirens echoing through the ruins. The Citadel was sending a sweep team.
"We have to go," Iria said suddenly. "Now. Before they scan the zone."
"But where—"
"I can hide you," she interrupted. "For a little while."
Kael looked at her—really looked at her. She was scared. For him. And that scared him more than the Veilborn had.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked quietly.
She hesitated, then looked away.
"Because once, when my mother vanished into a black zone, everyone else gave up looking. You didn't. You waited outside the patrol wall for six hours in the rain in case she came back. You barely knew me."
"I knew enough."
"Exactly." Iria looked back at him. "Now let me return the favor."
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
The Obsidian Ward was nothing like Kael imagined.
He'd seen it on the broadcast screens before—black towers etched with crystal runes, suspended walkways over gravity wells, the tallest spire reaching into the clouds like a needle piercing the sky. But standing in front of it now, at midnight, soaked in ash and bleeding through his sleeve, it didn't feel like a place of legends.
It felt like a prison.
"This is a terrible idea," Kael muttered, standing behind Iria as she inputted a retinal code at the auxiliary gate.
"Relax," she said. "My clearance lets me register 'emergency subjects' for medical intake. Technically, you're a civilian in post-combat shock."
"Technically," Kael echoed.
The gate hissed open. A glowing floor strip lit the path inside. Kael followed Iria into the facility, trying not to look at the security cameras tracking his every move.
Inside, the ward was quiet. No students, no instructors. Just humming lights and long steel hallways.
Iria led him to a side corridor, stopped in front of a retinal scanner, and leaned in. After a beep, the door slid open.
Kael blinked.
It was a lab—small, dimly lit, filled with vials of silver solution and containment runes scrawled across the walls. In the center sat a medical chair flanked by scanners.
"This is where they assess new Emberborne," Iria said. "We're off protocol hours, so no one should see us. Sit down."
Kael hesitated. "Are you sure this is safe?"
"No," she admitted. "But you need answers."
Reluctantly, Kael sat. Iria connected a diagnostic reader to his wrist and tapped in commands on the console.
"Let's see what this thing did to your vitals…"
Kael watched the scan unfold as lines of code and energy maps flowed across the screen. Then, the display pulsed red.
Subject anomaly detected. Chrona density exceeds containment threshold.Flame Origin: Unknown Tier—Category: Forbidden.Classification: Cataclysm Core.
Kael stared. "That doesn't sound good."
"It isn't," Iria said softly. "Cataclysm-class marks are… theoretical. Supposedly sealed. No one's ever survived holding one for more than a few years."
"Comforting."
She looked at him, her voice lower now. "This mark—it's not just a weapon. It changes you. Mentally, emotionally. It feeds on your will. And if your will breaks, it consumes you."
Kael frowned. "Why would I have it, then? I'm not a soldier. I'm a courier."
"That might be why you survived," she said. "You're not trained to control it. So it responded with instinct. Emotion. Raw need. That's rare."
He fell silent. The weight of everything hit him like a second fall.
The mark. The attack. The questions. The danger.
And her.
"Iria," he said slowly, "you said the mark changes people. What if it changes how I… remember things? Feel things?"
She looked up.
"I don't want to forget who I am," he said.
She took his hand then—his unmarked one—and held it tightly.
"Then hold on to what matters most," she whispered. "Even if everything else burns."
For a moment, there was only the warmth of her hand, and the hum of something soft and quiet behind the fear.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
They didn't get long.
The door burst open a moment later.
Four figures entered—uniforms black with red insignias, eyes glowing faintly from visor implants. The emblem on their shoulders marked them as Ash Division Operatives.
"Subject 47-Beta," one said, voice filtered. "You have activated an unregistered Cataclysm Mark. You are hereby placed under containment."
Kael stood instinctively, shielding Iria.
She stepped forward. "He's under my jurisdiction. I filed the intake—"
"Override protocol," the leader cut in. "He's coming with us. Now."
Kael's pulse surged. He could feel the mark respond, heat bubbling in his chest.
"I won't go with you," he said, voice shaking.
"You don't have a choice."
Another step. A hand reached for his wrist.
Then—flame.
It burst from his palm like a solar flare, flinging the soldier back against the wall. The other operatives raised weapons, but Kael was already moving.
The world blurred, streaked in crimson light.
His body moved on instinct—dodging, weaving, sliding between shadows. The mark thrummed, burning along his spine. A second wave of energy pushed outward, knocking the remaining operatives to the ground.
Kael stood in the center, eyes glowing red.
He hadn't meant to do it.
He hadn't wanted to.
But the flame had acted for him.
"Kael…" Iria whispered.
He looked at her, and for a terrifying moment, saw the fear in her eyes.
Not fear for him.
Fear of him.
The mark dimmed. The fire died.
Kael staggered back. "I… I didn't mean…"
She caught him before he fell. Her hand on his cheek.
"I know," she said. "But now they really won't let you go."
He exhaled, dizzy.
"What now?"
A new voice echoed from the doorway.
"Now, he trains."
They turned.
A man stood there, cloaked in black, a blade strapped to his back and a glimmering mark pulsing across his throat like a crown of flame. He was tall, scarred, with eyes like molten silver.
"I'm Commander Rael," he said. "Head of Emberborne Combat Theory. You've just been drafted."
Kael blinked.
"To what?"
Rael smiled.
"To the Ashen War that's never ended."