The air in the lower market always smelled of wet stone and old fish. Stalls leaned into each other like tired old men, patched with cloth and rope. Somewhere above the fog-covered rooftops, the bells of the Fire Guild tower rang, their deep notes rolling over the slums like a warning. Kaelin kept his head down as he moved between the crowd, his bare feet splashing through shallow puddles. The coins in his pocket were few, not enough for bread, but he had something more valuable in his hand... a small leather pouch he had lifted from a merchant's belt only moments ago.
He had been stealing since he could walk, yet every time felt like the first. His heart was beating hard in his ears, and his throat tasted of iron. The sound of boots striking the cobblestones followed behind him. Not the slow, annoyed stride of a merchant chasing a thief, but the pounding rhythm of trained enforcers. He risked a glance over his shoulder and his stomach turned cold.
The Fire Guild had sent two of their flame guards. Their armor was scorched black, edges glowing faintly as if holding embers inside. Even their eyes seemed lit from within, reflecting a furnace Kaelin could almost feel from this far away. People moved out of their way without a word. No one interfered with the Guilds.
Kaelin shoved between a cart of salted fish and a stall selling wilted herbs, hearing curses behind him as the stall owner shouted at him to watch it. His legs burned but he pushed harder, slipping into a narrow alley. The air there was heavy and damp, carrying the faint scent of mildew and ash.
He knew these alleys better than most, but the flame guards were fast. The heat of their approach prickled at his back. Something in him told him not to turn, not to see the fire coming. He focused on running, yet the heat only grew, crawling up his spine.
The alley opened into a small square where rainwater pooled in uneven cobblestones. There was nowhere to hide. The guards closed in, and the leader stepped forward. Flames curled around his gauntlets, licking the air with a hiss.
"Hand it over, boy," the man said, his voice carrying the low crackle of burning wood.
Kaelin's hands tightened on the pouch. He could smell the heat now, a sharp, suffocating scent. His thoughts raced. If he gave it back, maybe they would just beat him and leave him breathing. But there was something in the guard's eyes that told him mercy was not on offer.
The flames flared brighter. Kaelin's breath caught in his throat. He remembered the winter nights in the slums when he and his sister had huddled beneath thin blankets, dreaming of warmth. She had died coughing in the cold, and the Guilds had done nothing. That memory burned inside him now, hotter than the flames before him.
The guard moved closer. Kaelin's chest tightened, his skin prickling with a strange pressure, as if the air itself was waiting for his command. He did not understand it. His pulse was thunder in his ears.
The flames roared forward. Kaelin stumbled back, but his fear twisted into something sharper, deeper. His breath came out in a sharp gasp. The air around him dropped in temperature so quickly that mist coiled from his lips.
A sound like splitting ice cracked through the square. Wind surged outward in a spiral, sharp as knives, and in the middle of it a spray of frost exploded from his hands. The blast struck the guards, their flames hissing and dying as ice crusted over their armor. The ground froze in jagged sheets, and the puddles turned to white glass beneath Kaelin's feet.
The market fell silent. People stood frozen, their eyes wide as they stared at the frost curling over the cobblestones. Kaelin's own breath came in ragged clouds. His hands trembled, pale with cold.
The guards struggled to move, breaking shards of ice off their arms and shoulders. One shouted something about "Aeryn blood" before the crowd swallowed the words.
Kaelin's stomach lurched. He did not know what he had just done, but he knew the Guilds would not forget it. Without thinking, he turned and ran, the pouch still in his grip, the cold wind still whispering at his back like it wanted to follow him.
...
Kaelin's lungs burned as he pushed through the narrow back alleys of the slums. His bare feet slipped on the ice still clinging to the cobblestones from the blast he had caused moments ago. The sound of pursuit echoed faintly in the distance. Somewhere behind him, the Fire Guild enforcers would be breaking free from the frost, and they would not stop.
He gripped the leather pouch tighter. The memory of what he had just done pulsed through him like an echo… the sudden drop in temperature, the white cloud that had burst from his hands, the way the guards' flames had been smothered in an instant. It had felt impossible, yet his bones told him it had been real. The cold still clung to his skin, sinking deep into his fingertips.
A shadow shifted at the corner of his vision.
He spun, ready to run, but a rough hand gripped his arm and yanked him into a gap between two crumbling walls. Before he could shout, another hand clamped over his mouth. The stranger's voice was low and sharp.
"Quiet, boy. Unless you want your guts roasted where you stand."
The man was bent with age, his back curved beneath a heavy cloak patched with strips of fur and sailcloth. His beard was streaked with frost, not just white hair but tiny ice crystals glinting in the dim light. His eyes, however, were steady, the pale color of a winter sky.
Kaelin struggled, but the man's grip was stronger than it looked. Outside the gap, two armored shapes pounded past, their steps sending vibrations through the ground. The faint smell of smoke followed them, then faded into the wet air.
Only when the street was quiet again did the old man release him.
"Who are you?" Kaelin asked, his voice raw.
"Someone who has been waiting," the man said, studying him. His gaze dropped to Kaelin's hands, still trembling from the cold. "I felt it from halfway across the market. That surge… the wind and frost moving as one. Not many can call the air and water together like that."
Kaelin's stomach tightened. "I don't know what you mean. I didn't… I just… it happened."
The old man smiled faintly, though it was not the smile of someone amused. "It never just happens. It is in your blood. Tell me, boy, have you ever heard the name Aeryn?"