Snow fell—so cold that even death itself seemed frozen.
Kael stood motionless in the square, his eyes wide, bloodshot. Before him lay charred corpses—no longer distinguishable as neighbors, friends, or the foster parents who raised him.
The village of Nordheim was gone.
Fires still flickered weakly. Ash floated like cursed spirits, and the smell of blood and smoke seared into his memory. Echoes of screams, crackling flames, and soldiers laughing still rang like a waking nightmare.
Kael didn't understand. No one in Nordheim had broken Virelia's laws. They were simple folk. Poor, kind, and obedient. So why…?
"It's all because of you, monster."
A freezing hand seized Kael's collar. It was Old Toren—the village blacksmith, the man who once gave him bread when he was starving.
"They came for you! That talisman… You're cursed!"
He yanked a silver charm from Kael's shirt—a flame-shaped pendant, the only thing left from Kael's birth parents. He never knew what it meant, only that it glowed strangely when the soldiers arrived.
"No… I don't know anything! I didn't do anything!" Kael shouted, backing away.
Suddenly, a surge of heat burst from his body, throwing Toren back.
The old man's body hit the snow with a thud. Steam rose as the snow beneath him melted and sizzled.
Kael froze in horror. His hand was glowing—burning red like hot coals.
"Fire… where did it…?"
Then he heard it—a whisper on the wind. Not natural wind. It echoed ancient and deep, inside his skull:
"Awakened at last, Flameborn of Ardarion?"
Kael screamed, clutching his head, but the voice didn't fade. In his mind, he saw a vision: a burning tower, a silver-haired woman in chains, and a symbol—identical to the charm in his hand.
Everything went black.
When Kael woke, he was surrounded by shadows. Above him loomed a damp stone ceiling. A flickering flame lit the room faintly. Someone was kneeling beside him.
"Finally awake."
A girl—pale as snow, with violet eyes darker than midnight. She wore a black cloak embroidered with flame, and on her wrist was a silver band bearing the same symbol as Kael's pendant.
"Who are you?" Kael asked hoarsely.
"I'm Elira. The last of the Firekind. And if you're still alive, then perhaps… Ardarion hasn't died completely."
Kael's heart pounded.
Ardarion—that name had haunted his dreams, echoed in nightmares… and now, burned in his blood.
"Why me? I'm just an orphan!"
Elira stared at him, her gaze cold but not without pity.
"No, Kael. You carry the Flameblood—the fire that once scorched the heavens. And the world will hunt you… before you burn it down."