The sun rose over Graypeak City like a tired lantern, its pale light smothered by haze. Kael felt as if the world mocked him with that weary glow—half-alive, just like he was after last night.
His arms still trembled from the flames, his chest tight with a soreness that seemed to burrow into his bones. He could barely lift the wooden pail of water by the shrine steps, yet the memory of Shadowfire still clung to him, whispering like embers beneath his skin.
You failed.
The thought gnawed at him.
But another voice—the stranger's voice—echoed louder. "Good. Because now you know what failure feels like."
Kael hated it. Hated how those words refused to leave him.
The cloaked man—his so-called "watcher"—was waiting in the courtyard again. He stood unmoving, staff planted firmly in the cracked stone, as if the night itself had kept him rooted there.
"You look half-dead," the man said, not unkindly.
"I feel worse," Kael muttered.
"Good. Pain teaches faster than comfort. If you wish for rest, go home. But if you wish for strength, step forward."
Kael stared at him, jaw tight. Every part of his body screamed to turn back, crawl into bed, and pretend none of this had happened.
But the image of those men dying in Shadowfire's grip haunted him. The way they looked at him—not as a boy, but as a monster. If he walked away now, that was all he'd ever be.
He forced himself to step forward.
The man's lips curved faintly, as if in approval. "Then let us begin again."
The training was nothing like Kael had imagined.
He had thought of flowing movements, of graceful strikes, of power surging at command like in the old tales. Instead, the man made him kneel in silence for an hour, palms pressed to the broken stones, forcing him to listen.
"To what?" Kael had asked, exasperated.
"To yourself. To the place where the fire sleeps."
It was maddening. His knees ached, his mind wandered, and the silence pressed like a weight on his chest. Every time he thought he caught a flicker of the fire, it slipped away again.
When he grew restless and shifted, the man struck the ground with his staff. The sound cracked like thunder.
"Stillness," the mentor said sharply. "If you cannot master your own body, you cannot hope to master the flame."
Kael bit back his frustration. Sweat dripped down his brow. His thoughts screamed that this was pointless, that he'd never manage it.
But then… faintly… he felt it.
A pulse. Cold. Restless. Like a tide churning in darkness.
Shadowfire.
His breath caught. He reached for it—
And it surged, wild and hungry. Pain lanced through his chest. His hands shook violently, dark sparks crawling up his arms before fizzling out.
He collapsed forward, gasping.
The man watched, silent.
"I—can't—" Kael wheezed.
"You can," the stranger said evenly. "But not yet. Again."
Kael's head snapped up. "Again? I can barely breathe!"
The man's gaze hardened. "Do you think the world will wait for you to catch your breath? Power does not wait. Enemies will not wait. If you falter, you die. Again."
Kael slammed a fist into the ground, fury boiling. He wanted to scream, to curse this merciless man who expected the impossible. But beneath the anger, something else stirred—stubbornness.
He sat back up, trembling, and pressed his palms to the stone again.
The hours crawled.
Kael failed, over and over. Sometimes the flame refused to answer. Sometimes it lashed out violently, sending him sprawling. Once it nearly burned his hand black before fading.
Each failure carved another notch of shame into him. And yet—each time, he rose again.
By the time the sun dipped low, Kael was drenched in sweat, his arms shaking like reeds in a storm. His entire body screamed surrender.
But then, for a fleeting heartbeat, something shifted.
The flame answered—not in violence, but in stillness. It flickered at his call, hovering like a cold ember in his chest, waiting.
It lasted only a breath. But it was enough.
The man's hood inclined. "There. At last."
Kael exhaled a shaky laugh, part relief, part disbelief. His vision blurred with exhaustion, yet a strange warmth—no, pride—flickered in his chest.
"I… I did it," he whispered.
"For a moment," the man corrected. But there was a softness in his tone Kael hadn't heard before. "Remember this feeling. It is the seed of mastery. Tomorrow, you will hold it longer."
Kael nearly collapsed where he knelt. His body screamed for rest, his lungs burned, but for once—just once—he didn't feel like nothing.
Night had fallen by the time Kael stumbled back toward the city. His legs were unsteady, his hands raw, his chest still aching. Yet his heart carried that fragile ember of success.
The streets were quieter than usual. Lanterns glowed faintly, their light casting ripples across puddles left by the afternoon rain.
Kael thought he could slip home unseen. But as he turned the corner near his building, a voice called softly:
"Kael?"
He froze.
Lyra stood beneath a lantern, her auburn hair catching the light, her brows knit in worry. "Where have you been? I came by earlier, but you weren't home."
Kael's heart lurched. He scrambled for words. "I… I was just—out. Walking."
Her eyes narrowed. "Walking? You look like you've been through a war."
He glanced down—his clothes were damp with sweat and dirt, his hands scraped raw.
"Kael…" Her voice softened, carrying more worry than reproach. "Talk to me. Please."
For a moment, he wanted to. Gods, he wanted to spill everything—to tell her about the Shadowfire, the stranger, the training that left him barely standing.
But the man's warning echoed: "If they see the mark, they will kill you."
He forced a weak smile. "I'm fine, Lyra. Really."
She didn't believe him. He could see it in her eyes. But she didn't push. Instead, she stepped closer, reaching into her satchel.
"Here." She pressed a small bundle into his hands—fresh bread wrapped in cloth. "You need it more than I do."
Kael's throat tightened. He wanted to refuse, but his empty stomach betrayed him. The warmth of the bread seeped into his palms, and something inside him cracked.
"Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse.
Lyra's smile was faint but genuine. "Just… don't shut me out, okay?"
Kael nodded, though guilt gnawed at him.
As she walked away, the shadows seemed to grow heavier around him. He clutched the bread, his chest torn between warmth and fear.
He was no longer alone in this. But he also couldn't let her see the truth—not yet.
That night, as Kael lay in bed, the bruises of training pulsing through his body, one thought lingered:
I touched it.
The Shadowfire. Not by accident. Not by fear. But because he reached for it.
The memory kept him awake, torn between dread and wonder.
For the first time, the fire inside him felt less like a curse… and more like a promise.