Chapter 1 – The Boy Who Stole Fire
The first thing Kael remembered was the sound of chains.
Cold iron links scraping against stone, echoing in the dark like whispers that never died.
He had no idea how long he'd been in that dungeon. Days, weeks maybe years. The only light came from the cracks above, where thin fingers of sunlight dared to touch the floor. That was where he waited each morning, hands outstretched, trying to catch a fragment of warmth.
He was not supposed to exist.
That's what the priest had told him. "You're a relic of the old fire," the man had said. "A curse born when the gods turned away."
But Kael didn't believe in gods. Not anymore.
The night everything changed, he felt it before he saw it: a pulse beneath his skin, burning like a brand. The old mark on his wrist the one that had always looked like a scar flared with light.
For a heartbeat, he thought he was dying.
Then the chains melted.
A voice spoke from the fire itself.
"You stole what was forbidden, child. Now the world will steal you back."
And the dungeon walls split apart.
Kael stumbled into the open air for the first time in years. The city of Eryndor spread before him a maze of towers, banners, and ancient runes carved into the very stones. The kingdom was still burning from the inside, fighting wars no one spoke of. Above it all, the royal citadel shone like a crown of dying stars.
Somewhere up there, they were waiting for him. The scholars, the knights, the high mages everyone who wanted to claim the power now burning in his veins.
Kael didn't know who he was yet.
Only that the world would soon remember his name.
Chapter 2 – The Ash and the Gate
Rain fell over Eryndor like it was trying to wash the city clean.
It couldn't.
The streets were thick with smoke, and the air reeked of burnt iron. Kael moved through the lower wards with his hood up, the firemark on his wrist hidden beneath a torn sleeve. Every few steps, he caught a reflection of himself in puddles — eyes faintly glowing, steam rising from his skin.
He didn't know where to go. Only that he couldn't stay still. The mark hadn't stopped burning since he escaped the dungeon. Every heartbeat sent a ripple of heat up his arm, whispering a language he didn't understand.
He passed a group of soldiers at the market gate. Their armor bore the sigil of the High Sanctum — a circle broken by flame. The same mark that had been carved above the cell where he was kept.
One of them turned.
"Hey, boy. You there—stop!"
Kael froze. The soldier's eyes widened.
"By the Light… his eyes—"
The mark pulsed. Kael didn't think. The air around him shimmered, and in a single breath, the world caught fire.
Flames burst from the stones, curling around his hands like serpents. The soldiers stumbled back, shouting, but the fire didn't burn them—it only burned brighter. Then it collapsed inward, swallowing itself, leaving the street blackened and empty.
Kael fell to his knees, gasping.
The rain hissed where it touched him.
"Still alive, I see."
The voice came from behind him—soft, unhurried, dangerous. A woman stepped out from the shadows. She wore no armor, just a dark cloak trimmed with silver runes that glowed faintly in the rain. Her eyes were pale as winter glass.
"Who are you?" Kael asked, breathless.
"Someone who's been looking for you," she said. "The firemark doesn't choose by chance."
Kael's heart pounded. "You know what this is?"
She smiled, the kind of smile that never reached the eyes.
"That, boy, is the last ember of a god who died before history began."
A pause. Lightning flashed over the city's spires.
"And you just lit it again."