The world came back to Nova in fragments of color and sound.
Heat.
Ash.
Whispers of steel striking steel.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The forge was silent now. The chains had stopped rattling, the faint glow of mana veins dimmed back into stillness. Nova lay on his back near the anvil, chest rising in slow, measured breaths. His fingers still wrapped tightly around the sword — though it no longer burned with that blinding light.
It felt… alive.
Warm, as though it breathed with him.
He sat up, head pounding. And then the memories came — not visions, not dreams — memories not his own.
His father's hands shaping steel at the forge.
His father's voice murmuring prayers to flame.
His father's fear as the Royal Court demanded the impossible:
"Forge us a legacy that cannot die."
Nova's breath caught.
He saw his father standing before the unfinished blade — the very one Nova now held — his eyes heavy with dread.
If the kingdom falls,
if the crown falters,
the Phoenix will awaken through the blood of Grey.
Not blessed.
Not chosen.
Engineered.
The Phoenix Crest — Terra's holy symbol — wasn't divine at all.
It was forged from House Grey.
Nova closed his eyes, jaw tightening. The world had praised the Kings for centuries, calling them descendants of divine flame.
But it was a forge that gave them their fire.
A forge that destroyed his family.
He stood slowly, the sword held loosely at his side. Its edge hummed softly — as though recognizing him.
"Father… you didn't die in the flames."
His voice was quiet.
"You were used. And then erased."
Thunder rolled again overhead, but now it sounded different.
Closer.
Watching.
Nova tightened his grip on the blade.
"Sorra needs to know."
He turned to leave the forge —
But something stirred in the darkness behind him.
A presence.
Cold.
Watching.
Someone else had been here.
Recently.
And they would return.
Not yet, Nova thought. Not until I'm stronger.
He stepped back into the stormwind.
Silvercrest Academy
Sorra stood on the balcony overlooking the training fields, the evening sun casting long gold shadows across the stone. Her heartbeat had finally steadied, but the echo remained — a pulse of heat behind her ribs, flickering like flame.
Nico found her there.
"You pushed yourself too far," he said gently. There was worry in his voice — worry he wasn't trying to hide.
Sorra didn't look at him. "No… This felt different. It was like something… woke up."
Nico leaned on the railing beside her.
"You're changing. Growing."
He smiled faintly.
"It's what happens when you stop surviving and start living."
She didn't respond — because she felt something else.
A pull.
A heartbeat that wasn't her own.
Nova…
Her fingers curled over her chest.
Far below, the Academy courtyard grew still. Students paused, heads turning, as a small group entered the grounds — cloaks bearing the Royal Crest.
Nico straightened immediately.
"Royal Envoys… Here?"
Headmaster Verden walked to greet them.
His face was calm.
His eyes were not.
The envoy at the front removed their hood —
revealing hair like gold wire
and eyes like smoldering embers.
A member of the Royal Line.
Their gaze scanned the courtyard slowly.
Searching.
Until their eyes found Sorra.
The air seemed to tighten.
The flame behind her ribs flared hot and sharp.
The envoy smiled.
"So," they said softly, almost to themselves,
"the Phoenix blood still burns."
Sorra's heart hammered.
She didn't know why.
She didn't know how.
But she understood one thing:
They recognized her.
Not as a student.
Not as a survivor.
Not as a Grey.
But as something meant to rise.
And miles away, in the thunder-wrapped wilderness,
Nova felt his chest burn with the same fire.