Two Days Later
The academy posted the list for the Flame Selection Trials—a highly public, combative rite of passage meant to determine which students would represent their school in the upcoming Summit of Seven Realms.
Kael hadn't applied.
Yet his name appeared.
Scrawled in gold ink near the bottom of the list, separate from the others.
A lone name among the prestigious.
Kael Asher.
He stared at it in disbelief.
Naya appeared beside him, her brows arched. "You signed up?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Well," she said with a strange little smile, "someone clearly wants to see what you're made of."
Kael looked up. Across the courtyard, standing just beneath the high tower steps, Master Lioren was watching.
No expression. No gesture.
But Kael understood.
This wasn't a test.
It was a stage.
_______
The cave mouth opened to a vast, circular chamber—a forgotten arena buried beneath the academy grounds.
Kael staggered into it, the wound on his shoulder pulsing with heat. His clothes were scorched, torn by the last trap — a collapsing flame wall that nearly incinerated him. The taste of ash still clung to his tongue.
He wasn't alone.
Across the arena floor stood three figures.
Noble sons.
Their academy robes were spotless, pressed, as if they hadn't fought for survival but strolled into this final chamber like it was made for them. Their insignias gleamed in the dim light—fire, wind, and bone.
"Late as expected," sneered Alric Vandar, heir to the Fire Court and crown prince of smugness. He leaned on his ornate spear, flame crest embossed in gold at the hilt. "I thought the trials would've weeded out the dirt."
Kael said nothing. His gaze flicked to the other two—one with hair like spun silver and eyes cold as a glacier. The other, wiry, snake-quiet, wearing the symbol of House Drayke.
Their names barely mattered.
They all saw him the same way.
Unranked. Unwanted. A background peasant who stumbled into their stage.
"What's the matter?" Alric stepped forward. "You look like you crawled through a monster's gut."
Kael's hand twitched. Not yet.
"Enough posturing," said Professor Lioren's voice from above. He stood high on a balcony overlooking the chamber, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But his gaze—sharp, steady—lingered on Kael.
This was a final test.
The sacred flame challenge.
One team would be chosen to represent the academy in the upcoming interschool summit. This wasn't about grades. It was power. Legacy. Politics.
And Kael had no allies.
The nobles stepped to one side of the arena.
Kael stood alone on the other.
Then the ground shook.
From the center of the arena, the floor split open with a hiss of steam. Lava-light spilled upward as a metal pedestal rose. On it—a crystal sphere burning with golden flame.
The Voice of Flame.
Lioren's voice echoed through the chamber.
"Three minutes. One will claim the sphere. The rest… will kneel or burn."
---
The signal rang.
They moved like lightning.
Alric darted forward, flame erupting from his spear. The silver-haired one vanished in a gust of air, reappearing near the pedestal. The third summoned skeletal wings and leapt above them all.
Kael breathed deeply.
He ran—not at the sphere, but at the wall.
The nobles sneered—until Kael leapt off the wall and twisted mid-air. He collided with the winged one in a roll, slamming him down into the molten stone. The impact cracked bone.
The silver-haired noble turned. "How dare you—"
Kael was already moving.
His legs burned. His vision blurred.
Then the flames responded.
For a heartbeat, the golden fire flared around him—like it recognized him.
Alric's spear screamed through the air.
Kael caught it with his bare hand.
The fire surged up the shaft—and died in his grip.
Alric's eyes widened. "What—"
Kael moved like smoke, sliding beneath the blow and driving his elbow into the prince's gut. The noble crumpled.
Kael stood alone before the flame.
It pulsed, calling to him. Deep inside, something stirred — not power, but hunger.
He reached out.
The crystal sphere flared.
And then—silence.
---
When Kael opened his eyes, he was no longer in the arena.
He stood in a dark void, with stars floating around him. A massive eye blinked open before him — golden, ancient, burning.
A dragon's eye.
"You are not ready," the voice whispered. "But you are mine."
---
Kael gasped and collapsed to the floor of the arena, the flame sphere pulsing dimly in his hand.
Lioren stared down at him.
The nobles groaned on the ground.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then, slowly, Lioren gave the faintest nod.
Not approval. Not pride.
Recognition.
Kael didn't smile. He didn't raise the sphere like a trophy.
He simply stood up.
And walked out of the fire.