The ruined chapel groaned with the weight of years. Its roof had caved long ago, leaving only broken beams silhouetted against the midnight sky. Dust and cobwebs lay thick on the shattered altar. Yet here, among decay, Draven collapsed against a pillar, clutching his ribs as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Every breath was agony. His body trembled with the aftershocks of Elric's blows, each bruise and fracture screaming against his will to stand. But it was not pain that gnawed deepest. It was the bitter taste of defeat.
He closed his eyes. The clash replayed in his mind—the effortless way Elric brushed aside his fire, the hammer-blows of the greatsword, the sheer gulf of strength. He had bled the captain, true, but barely. And the burn on Elric's cheek would not stop him from hunting.
Too weak, Draven thought, chest heaving. I burned everything and still… it wasn't enough.
---
The Blood Awakens
The shadows around him stirred, restless. The fire in his veins, though dim, pulsed like a heartbeat. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, feeling it throb. It was more than his own strength—it was the inheritance of the Ignivar line, the blood of shadowfire.
As he let himself drift into half-consciousness, visions seeped into his mind.
He stood, not in the chapel, but on a vast plain of ash. The sky overhead was black with storm, yet the horizon burned crimson. Figures moved in the haze—warriors cloaked in flame and shadow, their eyes like embers. At their head towered a man clad in blackened armor, his voice echoing like a furnace.
"Draven…"
The voice struck like thunder. The figure raised a hand wreathed in black fire.
"You are my blood. You are flame unquenched. Why do you crawl like a worm when you were born to burn like the sun?"
The vision seared him, filled him with both dread and yearning. His chest tightened as if the fire inside sought to burst free.
Was this… my ancestor?
The figure's burning gaze pinned him. "Rise, Ignivar. The world will try to snuff you out. But your fire… your fire is eternal."
Then the vision shattered like glass.
---
Awakening in Ruin
Draven jolted awake, gasping, sweat pouring down his brow. The chapel remained around him, but the flame inside burned hotter, steadier. His hands glowed faintly, tendrils of shadow curling from his fingertips.
For the first time, he felt not only the fire—but its shape. It was no longer wild chaos, but a living current, twisting with intent.
He clenched his fist, and the flame obeyed. It coiled around his hand, compact, focused. Not a torrent that devoured aimlessly, but a weapon he could guide.
Draven smiled faintly despite the pain. "So… this is the ember of the bloodline."
---
A Visitor in the Dark
Footsteps.
Draven's head snapped up. He forced himself to rise, black fire flickering at his side. From the broken archway of the chapel, a figure approached—hooded, cloak tattered from the rain.
Draven tensed, preparing for another fight.
But the figure raised empty hands. "Easy, boy. If I meant you harm, you'd already be ash."
A voice old and rasping. The hood fell back, revealing a gaunt face lined with years, eyes sharp with uncanny light.
Draven narrowed his gaze. "Who are you?"
"Name's irrelevant," the stranger said. "What matters is the blood that runs in you. Ignivar's flame."
Draven's pulse quickened. "You know my name."
The man chuckled, dry as leaves. "Every whisper of power carries through Grey Town. The captain hunts you. The Baron watches. But I… I see something else. A spark worth fanning."
Draven's hand tightened. "Why help me?"
"Because fire forgotten is fire wasted. And you, boy, you burn with the same shadowflame that once shook empires."
The stranger stepped closer, eyes glinting. "But you don't control it yet. That's why you lost to Elric. Power without mastery is a blade without edge."
---
The Training Begins
Though suspicion gnawed at him, Draven knew the man spoke truth. He remembered the humiliation of being overpowered, his fire scattered like smoke.
"What do you want from me?" Draven asked.
The old man smiled faintly. "Nothing… yet. For now, I will teach. If you survive, perhaps we'll speak of wants."
He extended a bony hand. Black sparks flickered at his fingertips, shadows coiling like serpents. Draven's eyes widened.
"You… you wield shadowfire too."
"A relic of old blood," the man admitted. "Not as pure as yours. But enough to guide you."
Draven hesitated, then nodded. "Teach me."
The man's smile widened. "Good. Then listen well. Shadowfire is not mere flame. It is hunger, memory, and will. To wield it, you must bind it, or it will devour you."
---
Trial of Flame
The man drew a circle in the dust with his foot. "Step inside."
Draven obeyed, standing within the cracked stone ring.
"Now—ignite. But do not let it spill. Contain it, as if caging a beast."
Draven closed his eyes, summoning the fire. It flared instantly, licking up his arms, threatening to lash outward. He gritted his teeth, forcing it inward, gripping it tight with sheer will.
The strain was unbearable. His veins felt molten, his body screaming as though tearing itself apart. Sweat poured down his face.
"Hold it," the man commanded.
Draven roared, every muscle trembling. The fire surged, fought to escape, but he refused. Inch by inch, he drew it closer, tighter, until at last it coiled within his palms—a sphere of burning shadow, trembling but contained.
His knees nearly buckled. His vision swam. But the flame held.
The man's eyes gleamed. "Yes. That's it. The ember takes shape."
---
The Spark of Resolve
When at last Draven collapsed, the fire fading, the man nodded with grim approval.
"You will need more than rage to face the captain again. Control. Precision. And above all, resolve."
Draven coughed blood, yet his gaze burned brighter than ever. "I will face him again. I will burn him down. No matter how many times I fall."
The man studied him, then laughed quietly. "Ignivar indeed. Very well. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we temper the flame again."
As the old stranger turned away, Draven slumped against the cold stone. His body was broken, his strength barely enough to stand. But within his chest, the ember burned hotter, steadier.
The shadowfire had begun to obey.
And when next he faced Captain Elric, it would not be as prey—but as hunter.