The world smelled different.
Cairo Flamesworth squinted up at the morning sky from the wooden balcony of a small café nestled on the edge of Flamguardia. The wind no longer carried the crisp scent of forge smoke and war banners. It smelled of bread, pine, and a kingdom too at peace for comfort.
He was fourteen now born to Cassandra and Clint Flamesworth, humble café owners who had no idea their son was once the greatest warrior their kingdom ever knew.
His mother, a mage with a keen mind and a kind voice, handled the finances and magic-infused baking. His father, a retired swordsman with a permanent limp and a laugh that could shake walls, brewed coffee and kept the peace with regulars.
Cairo wasn't unhappy.
But he wasn't home either.
"I was gone for a thousand years," he murmured.
The streets were paved differently. The statue in the central square was no longer of King Ernesto or the Ten Great Heroes. It was of Alice Shard The Great Queen. Her obsidian-crowned likeness loomed over the people, her stone hands raised as if to cradle the city.
Cairo's eyes narrowed.
"How many lies have you told, Alice?"
He didn't confront his parents about the past. When he once casually asked about the Flamesworth family bloodline, all they could offer was that their name was "once something important, a long time ago," before the nobility restructured. The name had quietly faded into obscurity, like ashes swept under a royal rug.
But Cairo had memories.
Of flame and betrayal. Of laughter beneath a bridge. Of screams in the throne room.
And now he had a purpose.
That morning, Cairo donned the simple uniform of a delivery boy and set out through the bustling streets. The city thrummed with life vendors shouting their wares, children running between crowded market stalls, and nobles strolling in elaborate robes beneath flowering archways.
His first stop was the spice merchant, an old woman who always slipped him an extra sweet bun when she thought no one was looking. Then the blacksmith's forge, where he exchanged warm greetings for freshly sharpened knives. Every delivery was a chance to observe, to listen.
The people spoke freely.
"They say Queen Alice saved us all from ruin," a young girl said, clutching her mother's hand as they passed.
Cairo's jaw tightened. The lies spread like wildfire.
Later, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, Cairo found himself at the edge of a crowded square where an old man perched on a crate, spinning tales to a gathering crowd.
"The Great Queen Alice," the man declared, voice booming, "single-handedly vanquished the Abyssal Giant. She eliminated the demon's wrath alone to save Flamguardia. A true hero, born of sacrifice!"
The crowd cheered, some wiping tears.
Cairo stepped closer, eyes locked on the man. He knew the truth the ancient giant was slain by ten heroes united, not by one. He remembered the battle's fury, the trust betrayed.
The old man's words twisted history into a myth that glorified a traitor.
Cairo's hand twitched toward his belt, but he stayed silent.
He watched as the crowd's admiration for the queen grew, built on half-truths and falsehoods.
After the crowd dispersed, Cairo approached the old man quietly.
"Why spread stories that aren't true?" Cairo asked.
The man shrugged, eyes wary. "We don't really know what the absolute truth is kid, but I know that statue right there stands for something. A story that inspired a generation."
Cairo nodded slowly, understanding yet burning with frustration.
"Then I'll give them a new story," he said quietly.
The city darkened as night crept in. Cairo wandered toward the outskirts, past crumbling walls and abandoned battlegrounds, until he reached the old stone bridge their meeting place so long ago.
He sat beneath it, feeling the rough wood against his back and the chill of earth beneath his fingers. He still remembers it like it was yesterday.
"Someday, we'll be the protectors of this kingdom," Robert had said, back when his hands were still soft and his laugh still real.
"You'll be the brains," Alice had teased. "I'll be the storm."
"We'll need more than strength," Marcus added. "We'll need unity."
Robert had nodded. "Then we stick together."
Now Cairo sat alone, eyes stinging with the weight of betrayal.
But the vow burned again in his chest.
"Then I'll do what you never could," he whispered. "I'll gather them again. Not the old blood, but the new."
He would find the descendants, the scattered embers of the Ten Great Families.
He would train them. Forge them into something stronger.
The Ashen Vanguard.
And this time, the fire would not go out.