The path through the ravine narrowed as Mama Elya led Cael with urgency, her hand gripping his wrist tightly. The trail, once familiar, felt foreign under the shroud of fear and ash. The wind carried the stench of burning thatch and blood, and every distant scream twisted Cael's stomach tighter.
"Almost there," Mama Elya murmured, mostly to herself. The glow of flames still danced on the edges of his vision. Behind them, the attackers were fanning out—searching. And ahead, nestled deeper in the crags, was the hiding place of the remaining villagers.
Cael's breath came in shallow bursts, heart still rattling from the vision—the flicker of flames beneath his skin, the ghost of something ancient whispering from within his blood. It hadn't been a dream.
When they reached the hollowed grove beneath the stone arch, Mama Elya gave three sharp knocks on a slab hidden in ivy. The stone groaned as it shifted inward. Inside, several villagers sat crouched: elders, children, wounded men, all staring with hollow eyes. Cael saw familiar faces—his childhood friend Renna, the old baker Harlen, a hunter whose leg had been crudely wrapped in cloth. But hope was absent.
"We weren't followed?" one whispered.
"Not yet," Mama Elya replied, her eyes scanning the shadows. "But they're coming."
Cael crouched beside Renna. She didn't speak—her face bruised, hands scraped. He opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, a loud crack split the air. Then another. Shadows loomed at the tunnel's mouth. The slab door shuddered as something struck it hard from outside.
"No…" Mama Elya's voice broke as she whispered the old words of warding. But it was too late.
The stone burst inward. Light from a strange orb in one attacker's hand lit the chamber in a sickly violet hue. Four figures stepped in—armor forged in black steel, faces masked in smooth obsidian. Behind them slithered one of their beastly scouts—a malformed creature with too many limbs and a face like molten wax.
The villagers surged back, chaos erupting. Screams rang out as the invaders seized those nearest. One placed a strange device against Harlen's chest—it pulsed, then glowed red. The soldier nodded, throwing the old man aside. Unawakened. Useless.
But others glowed blue. Bloodline. Awakening potential.
The chosen ones were dragged out—Renna among them.
"No! Stop!" Cael lunged forward, but Mama Elya snatched him backward, throwing her hand over his mouth before he could cry out. Tears spilled down his cheeks, fury boiling in his chest.
She pressed her forehead to his. "We are not seen," she whispered. "We are wind, we are ash."
A shimmer spread from her fingers as she drew a circle on the ground. The space around them shimmered faintly. Veilcasting. One of the oldest cloaking gifts of the Ashweavers, it bent light and scent for only a few heartbeats—but it would have to be enough.
But then—a cry. A sharp, cruel screech. The black eagle—the one that had circled earlier—perched in the shadows, its too-large eyes narrowing.
Mama Elya paled.
It let out a second scream.
One of the armored pursuers turned.
"Run," she said.
"No—"
"Run, Cael!" she shouted, breaking the spell of silence.
The creature lunged. She pushed him away, summoning fire in her palms. The tunnel lit up as she released the flames—Blazefury, the elemental burst of the Flameborne, a gift she'd kept hidden for decades. It roared out like a dragon's breath, blinding, wild.
One enemy screamed as the fire engulfed him.
But the others were faster. One blade pierced through her side.
Her scream tore through Cael like lightning.
He stumbled backward. His knees buckled. The roar in his head grew louder—the fire, the whispers, the pressure in his chest.
Mama Elya fell. Her blood pooled around her, staining the earth.
"Cael—" she gasped. "You carry... his fire..."
Her hand reached for him weakly. "You are more than they know. You must live."
As another attacker advanced, something cracked within him.
Not like the vision. This was real.
The fire answered.
His scream shattered the air. Flames erupted from his chest and arms, wild and golden, licking at the stone walls and consuming everything nearby. One soldier caught in the blaze didn't even cry out—he was gone in a second. The beast reeled and wailed. The eagle burst into black feathers.
But it wasn't just fire.
Symbols glowed briefly on his arms—Seals of the Cinderborn. Ancient, long-dormant marks that only revealed themselves during blood-awakenings. The ground beneath him blackened as the heat of his presence deepened. This was not ordinary fire. It was Cindervoke, the signature flare of an Awakened Flameblood.
He knelt beside Mama Elya as her breath came in gasps.
"Why—why didn't you tell me?"
"There wasn't... time," she whispered, coughing. "Your mother... she was different. A hybrid… bound to the old pacts. And your father, he carried the strength of a thousand men. When he vanished... she went looking. She believed... you were meant to continue what he couldn't finish."
Cael trembled. "What was it?"
But she smiled faintly, already fading.
"A cause greater than the war they fight now... greater than the rift between bloodlines…"
Her hand dropped.
And Cael burned.
The chamber collapsed in fire. The remaining soldiers fled as the blaze chased them. The tunnel's walls shook.
But he didn't stop it.
He held her hand long after her body had gone still.
When the fire subsided, only scorched stone and soot remained.
Cael stood amid the ashes, eyes dark, breath heavy. Whatever force had been buried inside him now stirred awake. Not fully, but enough.
Enough to change everything.
And just as he turned to flee, the charred stone underfoot pulsed. From the shadows beyond the collapsed corridor, the sound of heavy, clawed footsteps echoed. Then—a voice, deep and echoing like a forgotten tomb:
"The Heir of Fire has risen... bind him."
The flames on Cael's arms flickered wildly.