Kaelen's legs barely held him upright. His blood still throbbed, his chest burning as if a coal had been shoved beneath his ribs. The cloaked figure didn't rush him, didn't grab him, only turned slowly and walked into the shadows as though certain Kaelen would follow.
And he did.
Not because he trusted them. Trust was a luxury he never had. But the guards had seen what he could do, the city had heard the whispers, and soon every street would know about the "dragon flame." Where else could he go? Back to the alleys that spat him out? Back to the people who wouldn't even meet his eyes?
The thought was enough to drive him forward.
They walked deeper into the Alley , where the lamps burned low and the streets twisted like broken ribs. The figure moved with silent steps, slipping through gaps in stone walls Kaelen had never noticed, past doorways marked with sigils he didn't recognize.
"You're limping," the cloaked figure said finally, their voice quiet but sharp.
Kaelen glanced down at his arm, still seared from the guard's spear. "It's nothing."
"Nothing doesn't bleed that much."
Before he could answer, they stopped before what looked like a ruined bakery. The windows were shattered, the sign split in two, but the figure pushed through the collapsed door as if it were only a curtain. Kaelen hesitated, then followed.
Inside, the smell of ash lingered. Broken tables lay scattered, and old flour clung to the walls like ghosts. The figure crossed to the far corner and pressed their palm against the stones. Runes flickered faintly, and the wall shook before sliding open, revealing a narrow stair that sank into darkness.
Kaelen's mouth went dry. "What is this?"
"A place your kind was never meant to find," the figure said. "Move quickly. The guards will not waste long before tracking the flame's trail."
Against every instinct screaming in him, Kaelen stepped into the stairwell. The wall rumbled shut behind them, sealing the ruin away.
The descent was long, the air damp and heavy. Small crystals lit the walls, casting pale blue glows. When they finally reached the bottom, Kaelen found himself in a vast chamber carved out of stone. Shelves lined with scrolls and old tomes surrounded them. In the center, a long table was scattered with maps, broken blades, and bones far too large to be human.
He stopped, staring. "What… what is this place?"
The cloaked figure pulled their hood back at last. A woman's face was revealed—sharp cheekbones, skin pale as moonlight, and eyes that seemed carved from silver. Her hair, long and dark, carried streaks of white at the temples, though she couldn't have been more than thirty.
"A sanctuary," she said. "Once, it belonged to those who carried the flame. Now it belongs to dust. Until you."
Kaelen's throat tightened. "You've made a mistake. I don't carry anything. I didn't ask for this—I don't even know what it is!"
"You know enough." She stepped closer, her gaze piercing. "Wings of fire do not erupt from emptiness. Blood answered. Your blood."
He shook his head violently. "I'm not a dragon. I'm not—"
"No," she cut in. "You're both. That is what the prophecy warned us of."
The word again. Prophecy. He wanted to block his ears.
"What prophecy?"
She turned, pulling a tattered scroll from the shelves. Carefully, she unrolled it across the table. The parchment was old, its edges crumbling, the ink faded but still legible. Strange glyphs sprawled across it, but at its heart was an image that sent Kaelen's stomach twisting.
A figure stood between two worlds—one side crowned with fire, the other drowned in ash. Behind the figure, wings stretched wide, scales glowing like molten gold.
Beneath it, the words read:
"When dragon blood wakes in mortal veins, the Crown of Scales shall rise. Fire shall judge the empire. Salvation or ruin, the heir will choose."
Kaelen stepped back. His knees nearly gave out. "No. That's not me. That's just… some old story."
The woman's silver eyes narrowed. "The guards saw you summon fire . The city already whispers. Old stories do not burn rooftops."
He wanted to scream at her, at the scroll, at the cursed fire inside him that refused to leave him alone. He clenched his fists until his nails bit his palms. "I don't want to be some prophecy. I just want to live."
The woman's voice softened. "Then learn to live with what you are. Because the empire will not let you live otherwise. To them, you are either a weapon… or fuel for their pyres."
The word made Kaelen's stomach twist. He had seen the pyres from a distance—bonfires built in the capital square, flames devouring anyone accused of heresy. To imagine himself thrown on them—burned alive while crowds cheered—made bile rise in his throat.
He swallowed hard. "And if I refuse? If I don't play their game, or yours?"
"Then the fire will consume you on its own," she said simply. "It always does."
Silence thickened between them. Only the low hum of the crystals filled the chamber. Kaelen's breath shook, his hands trembling against his sides.
Finally, he forced out the words. "Why are you helping me? What do you want from me?"
The woman studied him for a long time. Then she dipped her hand into her cloak and brought out a small object. A scale—larger than her palm, shimmering with colors that shifted between crimson and gold. It pulsed , like it carried a heartbeat of its own.
Kaelen's eyes widened. Heat rolled from it, the same kind of heat that lived in his veins. His chest answered with a painful throb, as though something deep inside him recognized it.
"This," the woman said quietly, "belonged to the last dragon who walked Elyndor. And it burns now because it knows you."
Kaelen took a step back. "No. No, I don't want—"
Before he could finish, the chamber's walls shook. Dust rained down, scrolls falling from their shelves. A deep boom echoed from above, followed by the roar of horns.
The woman's head snapped up. "They've found us."
Kaelen froze, fear knotting his chest.
The woman thrust the scale into his hands. Its heat burned his skin, but he couldn't let go. "Whether you want it or not, you are bound to this. The Crown of Scales has already chosen you."
The stairway rumbled as heavy boots clanged down the stone steps. The guards had returned—dozens this time, their voices harsh, their spears ready.
Kaelen's breath caught. The fire in his blood surged again, hotter than ever.
The woman whispered, almost like a prayer: "Now, Kaelen… let's see if you burn them, or yourself."
And the stairway doors exploded inward.