The Fire Hunts Him
The horns of Elyndor screamed like dying beasts, echoing through every stone wall and street. Kaelen's legs carried him faster than his mind could think, his boots slapping the wet cobblestones of the alley. He didn't even remember dropping his basket. The bread was gone. His coins were gone. All that remained was the taste of smoke still burning his throat and the sound of shouts behind him.
"Find the half-blood!" someone roared. "He carries dragon flame!"
The words stabbed into Kaelen's back harder than any blade. He shoved past a woman dragging her child indoors, ignored the curses spat at him, and turned down a narrow lane where shadows swallowed the morning light. His chest heaved, the fire inside him still restless, like a beast pacing in its cage.
No, not now. Not again.
He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm the pounding beneath his ribs, but his blood only burned hotter. It scared him—how alive it felt, how it wanted to rise, how it didn't care if he was ready or not.
The sound of armored boots came next. Heavy, disciplined. The empire's guards didn't run like common thieves; they marched like a storm closing in. Kaelen ducked behind a row of stacked barrels, crouching low as three guards in black and gold swept down the street. Their helms gleamed, their long spears crackled faintly with blue wards that hummed like bees.
He held his breath. Maybe they would pass. Maybe they hadn't seen—
"There!" one barked.
Of course. Nothing ever passed.
Kaelen bolted before they reached him, his heart hammering as the spears clanged against stone. He darted left, then right, slipping into a side street he knew twisted like a serpent. He had grown up in the Outskirts; these alleys were the only home he knew. But the guards were trained, fast, relentless.
"Stop, half-blood!"
Kaelen didn't. He couldn't. Stopping meant chains. Stopping meant the flame inside him would be smothered before he understood it.
He leapt a pile of crates, his arms straining as he pulled himself up onto a low roof. His hands scraped, but he barely felt it. The fire inside gave him strength he had never known. He ran across the tiles, his boots slipping on dew, the city sprawling beneath him—lanterns swaying, towers gleaming, smoke twisting in the morning air.
A spear whistled past his ear. It smashed against a chimney, splintering stone. Kaelen stumbled, almost fell, but caught himself on his knees.
The guards were climbing after him, their armor rattling, their curses sharp.
He needed to keep moving.
He ran toward the next roof, but the gap was wider than he realized. His stomach was thrown off balance . He couldn't make that jump.
Unless—
The fire inside pulsed, begging to be unleashed. He felt it in his legs, in his lungs, in his bones.
"No," he whispered. "Not again."
But when he jumped , the fire jumped with him.
For a heartbeat, wings of flame burst from his back—not solid, not real, but blazing shadows that caught the air and carried him further than any human legs could. He landed hard on the other roof, rolling, his breath gone. The fire flickered out, leaving him trembling and wide-eyed.
He had no time to wonder nor think .
The guards had seen.
"Dragon offspring !" one shouted, pointing with his spear. "By the emperor's decree, he belongs to the pile of wood !"
Kaelen stumbled to his feet, his knees weak. He didn't know what pile of wood they meant, but the word sent chills through his veins. He kept running, even as tears stung his eyes. He didn't ask for this. He didn't want this. He only wanted to survive.
Down below, voices spread like wildfire.
"He's dragon-blooded!"
"Prophecy… the prophecy!"
"No, kill him before he burns us all!"
The whispers chased him faster than the guards. Prophecy? What prophecy? He had heard only scraps of old tales—stories told to scare children, about the last dragons who turned cities to ash, about the bloodline cursed to destroy.
He didn't want to destroy anything. He wasn't a monster.
The fire inside disagreed.
It happened again when the next spear came too close, when it's tip scraped his arm and burned like ice. Kaelen cried out, clutching the wound, and the flames erupted around his hand, wild and bright. He threw without thinking, and the fire lashed like a whip. It struck the guard's spear, bending metal, sending the man crashing backward with a scream.
The other guards froze, fear flashing behind their helms. They had chased half-bloods before. They had beaten and chained dozens. But this—this was different.
Kaelen stared at his hand, horrified. Smoke curled from his skin, but he felt no pain. Only power.
And for a terrifying moment, he liked it.
"Arrest him!" a guard shouted , trying to cover his fear. "Before he calls the flames of ruin!"
More horns blared. More boots marched . They were calling backups now. Kaelen's body shook, torn between running and collapsing where he stood. His vision darkened . He couldn't fight them all. He couldn't even control himself.
Then, from the shadows at the end of the road , a cloaked figure appeared.
The same one from the alley. The one who had whispered about crowns and flame.
Their voice carried through the chaos, calm and sharp. "The boy is mine."
The guards hesitated. "By whose order?"
The figure raised a hand. A silver seal gleamed, etched with markings Kaelen didn't recognize but the guards clearly did. Their faces tightened, their spears lowering.
"Take him, then," one muttered, spitting out the dust. "But he's cursed. Mark my words—he'll bring only fire, destruction and death."
They moved away, disappearing into the smoke of the streets.
Kaelen stood frozen, his heart pounding , his arm still glowing with little heat. The cloaked figure approached slowly, their steps measured, deliberate.
"You've felt it now," they said Slowly, stopping in front of a him. "The fire that you can't denied."
Kaelen's throat was dry. "What do you want from me?"
The hood moved back just enough to reveal pale eyes that looked far older than the face they belonged to. "Not what I want. What the world has always been scared of . The prophecy has returned, Kaelen. The Crown of Scales has come for its heir."
Kaelen shook his head, backing away. "No. You're wrong. I'm no heir. I'm nothing."
The figure smiled, and said . "Nothing does not summon wings of fire."
Kaelen's stomach twisted. He wanted to deny it, to run again, but the fire inside his veins moved alike a second heartbeat. Deep down, he already knew.
He was not nothing.
And that scared him more than anything.