The stars were smothered by mist as Rivan stood on the edge of Eldhollow, his village fading behind him like a half-remembered dream. The forest stretched out ahead, dense and dark, trees like skeletal guardians of the path that led into the unknown.
He turned back one last time.
The village was quiet, too quiet. Not even the usual creak of windmills or the low call of nightbirds. The Ashborn had frightened everyone into silence. Maybe that was good. He didn't want to say goodbye. He didn't want anyone to see him leave.
Not like this. Not as someone different.
"You're not going back," Kael said beside him, adjusting the strap of his sword. "You understand that, right?"
Rivan nodded, though his chest ached. "It doesn't feel real."
Kael's expression didn't change. "It never does."
Old Marn stood a few paces behind, leaning on his cane. He had insisted on walking them to the edge of the forest, despite the warnings. His breath came in shallow puffs, and his old eyes lingered on Rivan with something close to regret.
"Your father once stood here," Marn said. "Right where you are now. With the same fire in his blood and the same weight on his shoulders."
Rivan turned sharply. "You knew my father?"
Marn nodded slowly. "Not well. But enough to know he was too brave for his own good. He believed he could change fate."
"And he failed," Rivan said bitterly.
"No." Marn's voice was firm. "He gave you a chance to live. Don't throw it away."
A lump formed in Rivan's throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kael cut in.
"We need to move. The Veiled Forest isn't safe during moonset."
Marn placed a hand on Rivan's shoulder. "You were born cursed, lad. But that curse can become your crown—if you learn to control it."
Rivan met the old man's gaze, then slowly nodded. He stepped into the forest.
The air changed immediately.
The temperature dropped. Mist clung to every branch, curling like fingers. The trees whispered as they walked, leaves rustling with voices that weren't quite natural.
Kael led the way, his movements precise, as though he'd walked this path a thousand times.
"Stay close," he murmured. "The forest plays tricks."
They walked in silence for a while. Rivan tried to focus on the path, but his mind wandered.
His hands still remembered the heat—the explosion of fire that came without warning. He could still feel the echo of it in his veins, like a sleeping beast curled beneath his skin.
"What am I?" he finally asked.
Kael didn't stop walking. "You're the last direct descendant of King Elandor Flameborn. The fire obeys your bloodline. You are its vessel."
"That doesn't tell me who I am."
Kael glanced at him. "You're someone who's about to learn the truth. And it won't be easy."
"Then tell me everything."
Kael paused. For a long moment, only the sound of crunching leaves and distant wind moved between them.
"The Fire Kingdom ruled this continent once," he began. "Not through fear—but power. Elemental power passed down through blood. Your ancestors could summon firestorms, shape lava rivers, breathe flame into steel. It was a sacred inheritance."
"And what happened?"
"Betrayal," Kael said simply. "The other elemental kingdoms—Air, Stone, Tide—they feared your family's strength. A pact was made. Assassins were sent. War followed."
"And the Ashborn?" Rivan asked.
Kael's expression darkened. "The Ashborn were created in that war. Twisted souls of traitorous flame-mages who chose destruction over surrender. They can't be reasoned with. Only burned."
"And you?" Rivan asked, eyeing him. "You knew my father. What were you?"
Kael hesitated. "I was his sworn blade. His Shield. I failed him."
The shame in his voice surprised Rivan. Kael always seemed so composed—like stone.
"I'm not my father," Rivan said.
"No," Kael agreed. "But the fire chose you. And that means something."
A sudden howl pierced the air.
Not an animal. Not Ashborn.
Something else.
Kael stopped immediately. "Stay behind me."
From the trees, a figure emerged.
It was small. Hooded. Human-sized. And sobbing.
Rivan stepped forward instinctively. "It's a child."
Kael grabbed his arm. "Look again."
Rivan's eyes adjusted in the fog. The figure's feet weren't touching the ground. Its hands were clawed. And its face—when it turned—was empty. A void of swirling flame.
"A wraith," Kael hissed. "Soulbound. Keep your mind clear."
The creature screeched and lunged.
Kael's blade flashed, but the wraith slipped through it like smoke. It hovered before Rivan now, hands reaching forward—not to kill, but to invade.
Rivan's thoughts were suddenly filled with voices. Hundreds. Screaming. Laughing. Begging.
He stumbled back. His vision blurred.
"You are fire. You are death. You are ruin…"
"No!" Rivan shouted. His heart burned.
Instinct rose again. Heat surged from his chest, down his arms, into his palms.
He threw his hands forward—and fire erupted.
Not an explosion like before. This time it was controlled. A focused stream of golden flame struck the wraith in the chest. It screamed, twisting violently, and burst into ash.
Rivan fell to one knee, panting.
Kael stood beside him, looking almost impressed. "You're learning."
"I didn't even try. It just happened."
"Then next time," Kael said, offering a hand, "try harder. Control it. Don't let it control you."
Rivan nodded and stood. His body ached, but not from the fight.
From the truth.
He was fire. And fire destroyed.
They continued through the forest until dawn began to break through the canopy. The mist lifted, revealing a wide cliff edge—and beyond it, nestled between jagged mountains and half-buried in volcanic rock—
The Ruins of Emberhold.
Broken towers jutted from the ground like blackened bones. Ancient walls cracked by war. A massive gate carved with the sigil of flame—half-buried in ash.
Rivan felt something stir in his chest. A pulse. A memory not his own.
"This," Kael whispered, "was once your kingdom."
Rivan stepped forward.
The ashes didn't move, but they felt alive. Like they were watching.
And in the wind, barely audible, a voice drifted to his ears.
"Welcome home… heir of fire."
To be continued...