Chapter Three — Flames Over Greywick
Greywick had always smelled of smoke… but tonight, it breathed fire.
The streets were chaos — shutters slamming, bells ringing from the watchtower, and the heavy drumming of boots on cobblestones. Kairo pressed his back against a crumbling wall, clutching the pouch at his side where the Tear pulsed faintly. It wasn't just a jewel; it was alive.
Every few seconds, the warmth inside it surged, flooding up his arm as if warning him of something unseen.
In the shadows beside him, the cloaked woman from two nights before appeared again — like she'd stepped between heartbeats. She stood calmly, as if soldiers weren't scouring the city just beyond the alley.
"They've found you faster than I expected," she said. Her golden eyes flicked toward the pouch. "That's not a good sign. It means word has already reached the Hollow Flame."
Kairo's breath caught. He'd heard those words before: *Hollow Flame.* A war cult, infamous for burning cities to ash in search of artifacts said to be "divine embers."
"You know about this thing," he said.
"I know enough." She took one step closer, her voice dropping low. "If they take the Tear, your world will end before the war ever begins."
Kairo's reply was cut short when a thunderous crack split the night. The far end of Greywick's main street erupted in fire — yet the flames spiraled into enormous shapes, twisting upward into something draconic.
From the blaze stepped figures in blackened armor, edges glowing like forge metal. Their leader held a staff tipped with a blade, and as his gaze fell on Kairo, the dragon-shaped flames writhed higher.
"Kairo of Greywick," the man said, voice amplified as if the fire itself carried it. "You hold what belongs to the Hollow Flame. Give it, or burn with the rest of them."
Kairo's instinct was to run — but he couldn't move. The Tear's warmth surged into a near-painful heat, and suddenly, the roar from his vision days ago came again… only louder.
His surroundings trembled. The ground beneath him cracked. And in the flash of burning light, he saw *it*:
A spectral dragon, vast and impossible, coiling above the rooftops like a living storm. Its scales shimmered with molten gold, its eyes piercing straight through him.
The warrior leader staggered back. "Impossible…"
The cloaked woman spoke quickly, urgently. "It's bonded to you! If you want to survive, stop running. Call it."
Kairo's throat was tight, but something inside him — a spark, a note of courage he didn't know he possessed — answered. He gripped the Tear with both hands.
The street exploded.
Fire tore outward, but instead of consuming him, it wrapped around him — shields of golden flame spiraling like wings. Out of the blaze lunged the spectral dragon, its roar shaking every stone in Greywick. With one sweep of its incorporeal tail, it scattered the Hollow Flame warriors as if they were leaves in a storm.
The leader raised his staff to counterstrike, but the dragon's eyes blazed brighter, and the weapon shattered in his hands.
When the light dimmed, Kairo was still standing, chest heaving, hands still clutching the Tear. The street was scorched, but the fire had marked a path open toward the city's outer gate. The cloaked woman stepped toward him, her voice steady despite the chaos.
"You're no longer just a thief, Kairo. You're the Tearbearer now."
He laughed breathlessly, shaking his head. "Sounds like trouble."
"It is," she said. Her golden eyes burned with something like purpose. "But if you want answers — and if you want to live — you have to come with me."
Kairo looked at the ruined street, the dragon's lingering ember-trails above… and felt that strange pulse in his chest again, like destiny knocking.
With one last glance over his shoulder, he followed her into the night.