Chapter One: Embers of the Forgotten
Kael stood on the charred threshold of Drelmor, the winds hissing through the broken bones of what once was a bustling city. Smoke coiled upward like serpents whispering curses to the sky, and ash clung to him like a second skin. The glowing feather in his hand had cooled but pulsed with a faint warmth—his only proof that the night before had been real and not some fevered dream conjured by grief and fear.
The silence was unbearable.
He moved like a shadow through the ruined streets, past overturned carts, blackened statues, and the empty shells of buildings. Every few steps, he found bodies—twisted in agony, their eyes wide with a terror Kael could almost taste. He stopped beside a child, barely older than himself, clutching a doll that had melted into her hand.
He swallowed a sob.
The woman in the shrine had called him something. The Phoenix Flame. The words meant nothing—yet everything. He didn't feel powerful. He felt hollow.
"I didn't mean to…" he whispered, crouching near the child. "I didn't ask for this."
But the fire had answered anyway.
Miles away, in a tower carved into the spine of a sleeping volcano, a council gathered in haste. The Circle of Ember Mages—scholars of ancient flame—had not convened in decades. Yet now, all eyes were fixed on the Seer who had collapsed during the night, trembling from the force of his vision.
"Speak, Elarion," commanded Archmage Vael, his robes inscribed with living runes.
Elarion's voice cracked like old parchment. "The Phoenix Flame has chosen. The child is born."
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Not since the Fall of Aeryndor had the Flame stirred.
"But the prophecy—" a younger mage began.
"It is unraveling," Elarion interrupted. "The child's awakening was premature. The Flame is no longer just rebirth—it is destruction."
"Then we must find the child," Vael said. "Before others do."
Before the Ashbound, the flame cultists twisted by ambition and shadow.
Before the Silence, the assassins who hunted prophecy.
Before the world burned again.
Kael wandered until his legs gave out. He found shelter beneath the skeletal frame of an old bridge, huddled beside the last dregs of a fire he hadn't lit. The feather lay on the ground beside him, and for a moment, he imagined it whispering.
They're coming.
He didn't sleep. Not really. The dreams came anyway.
He stood at the edge of a cliff, flames curling around his feet. Ahead, a massive bird of fire—wings spanning the sky—descended upon a burning world. Kael reached toward it, and the Phoenix turned its head. Its eyes were his own.
He woke screaming.
A voice greeted him. "Rough night?"
He scrambled up, fists ready, until he saw her.
A girl—no older than sixteen, dressed in tattered leathers and a cloak that shimmered like dusk. Her eyes were silver, reflecting the dying fire.
"I'm Reya," she said. "You're the boy they're all looking for."
Kael blinked. "How do you know?"
She tapped her temple. "I dream too."
"Who sent you?"
"No one. I follow the signs. And they all led me here."
Kael hesitated. Trust was dangerous. But so was being alone.
"Fine," he said. "But if you betray me—"
"You'll what?" she grinned. "Explode again?"
He winced. "I didn't mean to."
"I know." Her smile faded. "That's why I'm here. Because if you don't learn control, someone else will use that power for you."
She threw him a pack. "Come on, Phoenix Boy. We've got work to do."
As they walked, Kael looked back at the ruins of Drelmor one last time. The wind carried the scent of scorched stone and forgotten prayers.
Reya spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "You know what the prophecy says, right?"
Kael shook his head.
She glanced at him, eyes solemn. "The Phoenix returns when the world is most broken. To burn... or to begin again."
Kael said nothing.
He didn't know if he was a savior—or a spark that would end it all.
But the flame inside him was growing.
And the world was watching.
(End of Chapter One: Embers of the Forgotten)