The wind howled through the ruins of Virellen Hollow, carrying ash and whispers. Charred stone pillars jutted from the earth like broken teeth, and the sky above was bruised with twilight. Kai crouched beneath a shattered archway, his breath shallow, his fingers still tingling from the flame that had erupted hours earlier. It hadn't faded. It pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat—steady, insistent, alive.
He stared at his hands. The skin was unburnt, but the veins beneath glowed faintly violet, like embers trapped in glass. Every movement sent a ripple of warmth through his bones, and with it, a memory: his brother's final scream, swallowed by fire.
"You shouldn't have come here," said a voice behind him—low, calm, and edged with something ancient.
Kai spun, instinctively raising his hand. The flame surged, flickering to life in his palm. But the figure at the edge of the clearing didn't flinch.
They stood cloaked in dusk-blue robes, the fabric stitched with thread that shimmered like starlight. A mask of polished obsidian hid their face, smooth and expressionless, reflecting the dying light. Their presence was still, but not passive—like a blade sheathed in velvet.
Kai lowered his hand, the flame dimming reluctantly.
"I didn't choose this," he said, voice hoarse.
"No one does," the figure replied. "But the flame chooses. And it's chosen you."
A silence fell between them, heavy with meaning. The stranger stepped forward, boots crunching softly over scorched leaves. As they moved, Kai noticed the silver insignia etched into their glove: a spiral of fire encased in chains. It shimmered faintly, reacting to the flame within him.
His breath caught. He'd seen that symbol once before—buried in the margins of a forbidden Sanctum text, half-erased by time and censorship.
"The Order of the Emberwake," he whispered.
The stranger nodded. "We are the keepers of what the world fears. The flame that burns truth from shadow. The power that cannot be caged."
Kai's pulse quickened. "Then why hide?"
"Because truth is dangerous. And you, Kai, are now its vessel."
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of smoke and something older—like scorched parchment and forgotten prayers. The ruins around them seemed to lean closer, listening.
Kai stepped forward, fists clenched. "If you know what's happening to me… tell me. Why did it awaken? Why now?"
The stranger tilted their head. "Because grief is a spark. And yours was pure."
Kai flinched. The memory of his brother's death surged again—flame, screams, silence. He'd tried to bury it, but the flame had dug it up, fed on it, made it holy.
"What do I do?" he asked, voice cracking.
The stranger extended a gloved hand. "You learn. Or you burn."
Kai hesitated. The flame inside him flickered, uncertain. But something deeper—older—answered. He reached out.
Their hands met.
And the ruins of Virellen Hollow trembled.