Kevin ran.
Not from the guards, not this time.
From the truth.
His boots skidded across the stone street slick with last night's rain. He ducked under a low archway, heart pounding in rhythm with the distant warning bells ringing from the high tower of Eldspire. Somewhere behind him, the shop he'd accidentally set on fire was now erupting in magical flames that glowed violet.
He hadn't meant to do it. He never meant to.
But something inside him—something ancient and wild—had awakened.
Just like it had thirteen nights ago, when the scar on his right palm had burned for the first time in his life.
Kevin stopped in the shadow of a broken statue, catching his breath. The scar shimmered faintly beneath his glove, shaped like a twisting flame. He pulled the glove off and stared at it, his fingers trembling.
"What are you…?" he whispered to himself.
Suddenly, the wind shifted.
A figure emerged from the alley shadows—a cloaked man, face hidden beneath a hood of black feathers. In his hand, a staff made of bone and root. His voice rasped like dying fire.
"You bear the Embermark. The last one. You've been found."
Kevin stepped back, hand instinctively reaching for the knife at his belt.
"Found by who?" he demanded.
The stranger lifted his staff, tapping it once against the ground.
The world around Kevin blinked—and twisted.
The buildings melted into trees. The air grew thick with golden mist. And in the sky above, three moons hung in silence.
Kevin was no longer in the city.
He was in the realm of lost kings.