Chapter 3 – The Whisper of Fire
The night had grown too quiet. The kind of silence that follows after the storm—but promises another one soon.
Kiran stood in the ruined doorway, chest heaving, fists still tingling with fading heat. The Syndicate enforcers lay scattered in the dirt, groaning. Neighbors whispered from the shadows, eyes filled with fear and wonder.
"This boy… fire on his hands."
"Did you see that? He's cursed."
"No… he's blessed."
The words reached Kiran's ears, but they blurred into noise. His sister's gaze cut sharper than any knife. Ayla clutched their mother's dress, her eyes wide.
"Kiran… are you still my brother?" she asked.
Kiran opened his mouth to answer—only to collapse to his knees. The fire inside him sputtered, and exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. His breath rattled. Sweat drenched his skin. He felt like his body had been drained of everything it had.
Dael knelt beside him. "Easy, son. Don't force yourself." But even his father's steady hands trembled.
Miren hovered at the door, pale and shaken. "That wasn't normal, Kiran. No one… no one should be able to do that."
Kiran wanted to argue. He wanted to deny it. But the truth burned too brightly. The flame inside him was real.
---
From the shadows at the edge of the slums, an old man stepped forward. His cloak was torn, his beard unkempt, but his eyes burned with a strange clarity. People stepped back as he passed.
"Kiran Vale," the old man rasped, voice like gravel. "The fire has chosen you."
Kiran lifted his head, startled. "You… know me?"
"I know what you are," the stranger said. His gaze flickered to the groaning enforcers. "And so do they. The Syndicate won't stop. You've shown them too much tonight. They'll return—with chains and fire of their own."
Kiran's father frowned. "Who are you?"
The old man lowered his hood. His face was scarred, burned in places, but his eyes glowed faintly with embers. "Name's Orin. Once, I was Flameborn… like the boy."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some spat, others backed away. Flameborn were legends, myths—beings said to carry the fire of the stars. Some called them heroes, others called them cursed weapons.
Orin ignored the whispers and knelt before Kiran. His voice dropped to a near whisper:
"The fire within you is wild. Untamed. It will destroy you—and everyone you love—unless you learn to wield it."
Kiran swallowed hard, staring at his trembling hands. "And if I don't?"
Orin's expression darkened. "Then the Syndicate will claim you. Or worse—the flames will."
---
From the distance, a horn sounded. Deep. Metallic. The Syndicate's signal.
They were regrouping.
Orin's eyes sharpened. "The choice is yours, boy. Stay and burn everything you love… or leave, and learn to master the fire."
Kiran glanced at his family. His mother's fearful eyes. His father's clenched jaw. His sister's trembling hands.
For the first time, the fire inside him didn't feel like a curse. It felt like a responsibility.
He clenched his fists. "Then teach me."
Orin's lips curled into the faintest of smiles. "Good. The path of fire begins tonight."