By sunrise, Aira Flameheart's name was on every major news network across the continent.
"BREAKING: Emberglow Academy student awakens the mythical SSS-Rank Talent, 'Primordial Flame!'"
"Guilds scrambling to recruit the Fire Prodigy."
"Could this be the next Flame Sovereign?"
The academy's quiet halls transformed overnight into a media circus.
Drones hovered outside the school gates. Reporters lined up beyond magical wards, shouting questions like flocks of squawking birds.
"Aira! Are you planning to join the Royal Pyre Guild?"
"How did it feel to touch the Primordial Flame?"
"Are the rumors true—you're descended from the Fire Goddess herself?"
Inside the school, it was no better.
In the cafeteria, eyes trailed her every movement. Students whispered in huddles, some in awe, others in envy.
"She used to sit in the back row like a nobody," one muttered.
"She's just lucky. SSS doesn't mean skill," another snapped.
Aira ignored them. Not because it didn't sting—but because she'd learned long ago that silence burns louder than words.
In her locker, she found over a dozen sealed letters. Invitations—gilded, perfumed, or magically engraved—from every high-tier guild across the Empire.
The Royal Pyre, Obsidian Flamecloaks, even the infamous Ashen Covenant, whose leader was rumored to bathe in dragon blood.
Each letter offered riches, rare artifacts, instant elite status. One even offered a private citadel and a personal dragon mount.
But Aira didn't answer a single one.
"Flaunting it now, are you?" sneered Liliana Vale, a third-year noble student and heiress of the Vale Consortium. Her turquoise uniform was lined with gold, her expression with venom.
"You think you're untouchable because some ancient flame picked you? My brother is an A-Rank mage, and he earned it."
Aira didn't flinch. "Good for him."
The cafeteria quieted. Tension sparked in the air.
Liliana's lips curled. "You'll burn out, Flameheart. Talents are gifts. But power? Power is earned."
Before Aira could respond, a deep voice cut through the air.
"Miss Flameheart, please come with us."
She turned. Two instructors stood at the entrance, flanked by three armored guards bearing the sigil of the National Talent Authority.
Her heart skipped. The NTA? Already?
Liliana's smirk vanished.
An Hour Later: Headmaster's Chamber
The room smelled of old scrolls and cinders. Headmaster Varric, an aged man with glowing runes carved into his bald scalp, looked her over like one would examine a divine weapon.
"SSS-rank talents are not accidents," he said. "They are omens. You may not realize it yet, Miss Flameheart, but your awakening changes the balance of power in this realm."
The officer beside him, a woman in red armor, nodded. "You've attracted attention not just from guilds… but from royal courts, black-market mercenary syndicates, even foreign empires."
"Some will want to recruit you," she added grimly. "Others… may want to eliminate you."
Aira said nothing.
She already knew.
She could feel it. The fire wasn't just a power. It was a challenge. A throne of embers waiting to be claimed.
And the world was watching to see if she'd burn—
—or rise.