---
Chapter Two: The First Spark
The city of Mirevault never slept.
Even in the dead of night, its streets pulsed with noise—drunken laughter, clashing steel, whispers of forbidden deals. Smoke curled from chimneys and alley fires, painting the sky a dull orange. Beneath that false warmth, shadows moved.
Kael moved with them.
He slipped through the marketplace rooftops like a ghost, boots silent on wet tile. His cloak blended into the night, and the half-mask over his face concealed the faint grin he wore whenever danger pressed close.
Tonight's prize was worth the risk.
At the edge of the slums stood an ancient vault, long thought sealed by curse and dust. It belonged once to the Order of Saint Talvar, a holy sect wiped out during the Great Purge. Now it was forgotten. Lost.
Until Kael found the map.
He dropped down silently into a courtyard choked with vines. Ivy crawled over a crumbling statue of a saint whose face had been shattered by time. In the statue's chest was a crack, just wide enough for Kael to slip his fingers in.
Click.
The stone groaned. The earth beneath him shuddered. Then, with a hiss of dust, a stairway opened into the dark.
Kael lit a blue flame with a flick of his gloved fingers—his only hint of magic, the tiniest flicker he'd never quite explained.
"Let's see what the dead forgot to lock up," he whispered.
---
Inside, the vault felt alive.
The air was thick with old secrets. Symbols glowed faintly on the walls—wards that should have long faded. Bones littered the edges, untouched by time. But Kael's eyes weren't on them.
They were on the pedestal.
At its center, encased in crystal, was a gemstone the size of a heart, pulsing faintly like it was breathing. Not gold. Not jewels. Power.
He reached out, hesitant for the first time. As his fingers brushed the crystal—
A pulse of heat surged through him.
Kael stumbled back. Visions hit him like lightning. Screams. Fire. A face he didn't know but somehow feared. And a voice—deep, ancient, angry:
"You awaken what should never rise."
The crystal shattered.
The light burst upward into the air, curling into the shape of a burning eye. It hovered—watching—then vanished.
And far above, in the city above the vault, a thousand candles went out at once.
---
Kael gasped for breath, heart racing.
The gem was gone, but something had changed inside him. Something had latched on. In the vault's silence, he heard it:
"You are one of five."
He didn't understand it. He didn't want to. But as he climbed back into the night, he noticed something terrifying.
The stars were gone.
And the wind now carried whispers.
---
A scream split the air.
Kael turned sharply toward the eastern wall of Mirevault—where a watchtower once stood.
It was burning.
He sprinted across the rooftops. From above, he saw chaos: guards fleeing, townspeople screaming, and from the flames emerged a creature unlike any he'd seen—twisted, skeletal, eyes burning with grief.
A demon.
Kael froze. "No way…"
It locked eyes with him.
Then it leapt.
---
He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding its claws. Tiles shattered where he had stood. The demon shrieked—its cry more human than beast.
Kael landed hard, coughing. "What are you?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He ran.
The creature chased him across the city, faster than any man. But Kael knew the streets. He darted down alleys, through trap doors, over walls. He led it to the Rift, a broken bridge over a dried canal.
There, he turned.
He had no sword, no magic, no backup. Just instinct.
And the strange flame flickering in his palm again.
The demon lunged.
Kael thrust his hand forward.
Light exploded from his palm—raw, chaotic, ancient. The demon screeched as it hit the blast, disintegrating in midair. Ash scattered across the canal.
Silence returned.
Kael stared at his hand, trembling. "What the hell is happening to me?"
A voice whispered in his mind again.
"The first spark has been lit. The others will find you soon."
---
High above the city, unseen by all, five glowing symbols appeared in the stars—burning for only a moment before vanishing.
The wheel had turned.
The prophecy had begun.
---
…
The first spark has been lit. The others will find you soon.
---
Inside the city....
Far from Mirevault, in the golden halls of Velmora, a different fire was burning—quiet, cruel, and ignored by the powerful.
Lady Elenya, a high-ranking councilwoman of Caeldrim, stood beneath the domed ceiling of her manor's courtyard. Marble columns towered over her like silent judges—but there would be no justice here.
At her feet knelt a frail girl—barefoot, dirt-streaked, no older than seventeen. Her hands trembled as she clutched a half-loaf of stolen bread.
"I was hungry…" the girl whispered. "My brother… he hasn't eaten in days—"
CRACK.
The cane struck her across the cheek.
"You dare speak?" Elenya hissed, eyes glittering with disdain. "You thieving rats are the reason this kingdom rots!"
The girl didn't fight back. She only cried.
Another strike. Then another.
Until the girl stopped moving.
She collapsed like a doll whose strings had been cut, bread falling from limp fingers.
The guards shifted uncomfortably.
Elenya only turned away, disgusted. "Dispose of it. Quietly."
---
The girl's name had been Nira.
And when her soul left her body, there was no light. No warmth. No path forward.
Only cold.
She wandered through empty streets, unseen, unheard—searching for her brother, for peace, for something.
But none came.
Anger took root. Grief twisted her core. Why hadn't the gods helped? Why had no one cared?
And slowly, her body began to change.
Her arms stretched into claws. Her skin darkened to shadow. Her eyes became embers of rage.
Where once there was a girl—
Now there was a demon.
And she would return to Velmora.
She would remember the taste of blood and bread.
---
Back in Mirevault, Kael stared up at the moonless sky. Somewhere out there, the pieces were falling into place.
He just didn't know yet how many of those pieces wanted revenge.
---
Cruelty...