The forges of Pyrian burned day and night.
But today, there was no flame.
The Great Forge—heart of the Ember Citadel—had gone cold. The blacksmiths stood still, uncertain. The molten channels, which had flowed for generations, hissed once… and then stopped.
It wasn't a broken pipe. It wasn't a blocked valve.
It was something else.
Something waiting.
Kai Orithia Pyrian stood at the edge of the forge's main chamber, fists clenched, boots scuffed with soot.
She had been told to stay in the upper court. But rules didn't hold much weight when the fire in her chest refused to be ignored.
For the past week, something had been building inside her.
It started with heat in her palms during sparring drills. Then during lessons, when the ink on her scrolls smudged without reason. Then dreams—of flame rising around her, and shadows curling away like ash.
Today, it surged again.
A pulse beneath her skin. Wild. Restless. Waiting.
"Kai."
Her name snapped in the chamber like a whip.
She turned. Duke Alric, her father, stood in the doorway with two guards behind him.
"I told you not to come down here alone."
"I didn't come alone," she said, defiant. "The forge brought me."
He frowned. "The forge is silent."
"No," she whispered. "It's listening."
She stepped toward the center platform—where the forge heart had always glowed—and knelt.
Her hands touched the cold stone.
And then…
It roared.
A column of flame burst from the forge's mouth, licking upward, spiraling around the iron beams.
The guards stepped back, shocked, but held their ground—trained men of Pyrian steel, but unprepared for the sight before them.
Duke Alric gripped his sword but did not draw.
Kai stood slowly. Her hair blew back. Her eyes widened—not with fear, but with understanding.
The fire wasn't burning her.
It was answering her.
A sudden warmth flared on her skin.
Just above her brow, a bright red sigil shimmered into view—a flame curled into a circular crest, its center shaped like a flickering eye.
It was the mark of Pyrrha, glowing fiercely on her forehead.
And then, as suddenly as it rose, the flames receded.
The forge calmed.
A long moment passed.
Then, faintly, the hearth began to flicker—first with a soft glow, then a pulse of steady light. The stone floor warmed beneath Kai's feet.
From the center of the forge, the flames began to swirl again—not wild, but purposeful.
A column of fire rose slowly, curling upward and folding inward, shaping itself not into chaos, but into form. A shape began to emerge—flickering like molten glass.
The fire pulled inward, concentrating into a single point before blooming outward in waves. Bit by bit, it shaped a human figure—formed from light, flame, and heat. As the fire settled, it revealed a man cloaked in glowing embers, his form outlined in living armor.
He stepped forward, now fully formed. Cloaked in red steel, with flame motifs carved into his bracers and a helm shaped like a phoenix's crest.
He removed the helm slowly. His eyes glowed—not with flame, but with purpose long buried.
"I am Veylan of the Cinderguard, once Vel'Asari."
"The forge has awakened because the flame within you has answered. You are the daughter of the fire. The mark of Pyrrha reborn."
Duke Alric said nothing. He watched, tension rippling through his stance—but he did not interrupt.
Kai took a breath.
"So… this means I've awakened?"
"Yes," Veylan replied. "You are the incarnation of Goddess Pyrrha. And by your flame, I was called from the slumber sealed deep within these mountains."
"Then what now?" she asked.
He bowed his head.
"Now, you learn to master what you've only just begun to feel. And one day soon… the true guardian meant to stand beside you will awaken as well."
High above the Citadel, smoke curled in the sky—not from war, but from rebirth.
And far beneath the earth, other embers stirred, drawn by the light of the children.
The heirs were rising.
And Luneth was beginning to burn.