The fire banners of the Veyra Clan streamed like rivers of molten silk across the dawn. Every roof, every pillar of obsidian shimmered in the breath of a thousand flames. From the highest spire, the eternal pyre burned—a symbol of the clan's unbroken dominance over the element of fire.
To be born a Veyra was to command flame itself.
Except for one.
At the edge of the courtyard stood Aelion Veyra, a boy of sixteen with ash-colored hair that refused to catch the light. While the other youths drew fiery sigils into the air, his hands remained empty, cold, still.
"Again!" barked Master Ravon, the clan's instructor. "Focus your core. Feel the ember within!"
Aelion obeyed. He closed his eyes, inhaled smoke, and reached inward for the heat that should have been his birthright. For a heartbeat he imagined it—crimson energy blooming behind his ribs—then nothing. Only the dull ache of failure.
The training ground filled with the laughter of his cousins.
Kael, eldest among them, tossed a sphere of flame lazily between his palms. "Careful, cousin," he jeered. "If you stare at my fire long enough, maybe it'll pity you and jump into your hand."
Aelion ignored him and tried again. Sweat dampened his brow. Still no spark.
Master Ravon's sigh was heavier than any insult. "Enough. Some vessels were not meant to hold flame. Go cool your frustration elsewhere."
The words stung worse than the laughter. Aelion bowed, his eyes on the blackened stone, and left the courtyard.
---
The clan's halls were carved from obsidian and lined with braziers that never went dark. Heat breathed from the walls themselves. To Aelion, it was suffocating. Every flame was a reminder that he was wrong—an echo of what should have been his power.
He passed the portraits of the great Veyra lords: conquerors crowned in fire, eyes alight with pride. Beneath them, lesser servants bowed in reverence. Aelion felt their gazes linger as he walked past—sympathy from the weak, scorn from the proud.
At the far end of the hall, he stopped before the sealed bronze doors that led to the Hall of Flamebirth. Tomorrow he would stand there for his Awakening Ceremony. His parents would watch. The elders would judge. The crystal would choose his element.
If it chose none—if the stories were true—he would be cast out.
He touched the cold metal. "Just once," he whispered, "let me feel it."
A faint spark flickered at his fingertip—then died.
---
Night descended. The clan feasted beneath the crimson moons, celebrating the eve of new awakenings. Fire dancers twirled, embers spiraled through the air like living stars. Aelion sat apart, alone on the stone steps outside the hall.
His mother found him there.
"Why hide, my son?" she asked softly. Her hair glowed with a faint ember hue, proof of her lineage.
"I don't belong inside," he said. "They'd rather the fire go out than share warmth with me."
She knelt, cupping his cheek. "You carry the Veyra name. No spark can change that."
He almost believed her—until his father appeared in the doorway, expression hard as cooled lava.
"Enough coddling. Tomorrow will prove what he is. If the crystal rejects him again…" He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
When they left, Aelion stared at the heavens until the moons blurred. He felt very small beneath their twin flames.
---
Morning rose crimson. The clan assembled within the Hall of Flamebirth, an arena of black marble encircling the Crystal of Embers—a monolith that pulsed with living fire. One by one, the youths approached, pressed their palms to its surface, and unleashed their inner heat. Each success painted the crystal in shades of scarlet and gold.
Then came Aelion.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"He'll shame the name again."
"Why let him try?"
"Maybe he'll freeze it this time."
Aelion inhaled deeply and stepped forward. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He placed his hand on the crystal. Warmth surged—stronger than ever before. For the first time, he felt something move inside him.
He reached for it.
The warmth turned to fire—then to pain.
The crystal screamed.
Light exploded outward, white and blinding. The floor cracked; flames warped into spirals of water and lightning. The crowd scattered in panic as the crystal shattered, releasing a shockwave that hurled Aelion to the ground.
When the glare faded, he lay motionless at the center of the ruin. Colors he had never seen swirled around him—seven hues dancing like living spirits.
Elder Ravon's voice trembled. "Impossible… all elements at once?"
Kael pointed a shaking hand. "He's cursed! Look at his eyes!"
Aelion opened them slowly. Reflections of fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, light, and shadow blazed within. His veins pulsed with the rhythm of storms.
"I… didn't mean to," he gasped. "It just—happened."
No one answered. The hall itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then the world twisted.
---
He found himself standing in an endless expanse of color and light. Rivers of molten gold flowed through skies of amethyst. Mountains floated, wreathed in cloud and thunder.
A voice like distant thunder spoke within his mind:
"Welcome, bearer of the Core of Infinity."
Aelion turned. Seven colossal beings loomed around him, each formed of pure elemental essence—Fire blazing with molten armor, Water shimmering as a serpent of glass, Wind whispering through a body of storm.
"Who are you?" he cried.
"We are the Primordial Spirits," said the fiery one. "For eons we slept, awaiting the soul that could hold us all."
"Hold you? I can barely breathe!"
"Then learn."
The Core flared inside him—a sphere of light that spun faster and faster until it tore reality apart. Pain seared through his body. He screamed as the elements clashed within him—fire against water, lightning against shadow.
"Balance or burn," the voice warned.
---
He awoke to silence.
Smoke drifted across the ruins of the hall. Elders knelt in awe or fear; even Ravon dared not speak. The sacred pyre had gone out.
Aelion rose unsteadily, the seven colors fading to embers beneath his skin.
Kael's whisper carried through the smoke. "He's no Veyra… he's something else."
Aelion looked at his trembling hands, where traces of fire and frost still danced together. "Something else," he murmured. "Maybe that's enough."
Outside, the eternal pyre flickered once—then reignited, brighter than ever before. Its flames no longer burned pure red but shimmered in seven hues.
And somewhere, deep in the unseen void of his soul, the Core of Infinity pulsed like a newborn star.