Kael's scream split the air as the fire surged out of him, uncontrolled and furious.
The training pit became a furnace.
Flames whipped in every direction, golden-hot and alive with fury. The stone beneath Kael's feet cracked, and the nearby wall shattered as phoenix fire slammed into it, sending shards of rock flying.
"Kael—stop!" Elara's voice pierced the inferno.
But he couldn't stop.
He wasn't even sure he was the one controlling it anymore.
The flame roared from his chest like a living thing, a creature awakened and hungry. The memory that triggered it still pulsed behind his eyes—the vivid dream of fire, of a village reduced to ashes, of a boy standing alone with scorched hands and dead eyes.
His village.
His mother.
His curse.
He fell to his knees.
And just like that, the fire vanished.
The world was quiet again—except for the ringing in his ears.
Ash floated down like gray snow. Around him, the training grounds were blackened, some walls scorched to the bone. A few rebels stood frozen, eyes wide, blades half-drawn.
Nyra was the first to move. She stormed forward, her crimson cloak trailing smoke. "You lost control."
Kael didn't look up. "I know."
"You could've killed someone."
"I didn't mean to."
"That won't matter when you do."
Elara stepped between them. "Enough! He's not a weapon. He's learning."
Nyra turned on her. "And when he learns too late? When someone you care about ends up in the fire? Will that comfort you?"
Kael stood, fists clenched. "She's right to worry."
"No," Elara snapped, turning toward him. "She's wrong. Because you're not the flame, Kael. You're the one who decides how it burns."
His breath caught. The shame in his chest twisted into something else—resolve.
Nyra finally sighed and turned away. "Next time you lose control, I won't stop the others from putting you down."
Then she left, leaving only smoke in her wake.
That night, Kael couldn't sleep.
He wandered into the deeper tunnels of Ember Hollow, where the air was still and the walls echoed like a whispering memory. Firelight flickered faintly from sconces as he walked, hands buried in his pockets, mind storming.
He came upon a carved wall—ancient, almost forgotten.
Symbols etched in stone glowed faintly with emberlight. A phoenix with wings outspread. A circle of flame. And a figure standing alone, surrounded by both light and darkness.
Kael reached out, brushing his fingers over the stone. The moment he did, the carving lit up.
A voice echoed—not aloud, but inside his mind.
"Fire reborn shall burn the throne. But in burning, it must choose what remains."
Kael staggered back, heart pounding.
"What was that?" he whispered.
"Prophecy," said a voice behind him.
He turned to find Merek standing in the shadows.
"The wall speaks only to phoenix bearers," the old man said, eyes gleaming. "It's been dormant for decades. Until you."
Kael swallowed hard. "What does it mean?"
"It means you'll have to make a choice," Merek said. "Fire can purify or destroy. It can give life or take it. But it will never leave you unchanged."
Kael looked back at the glowing phoenix. "Then I need to decide who I want to be."
Merek nodded. "And you'll need to decide soon. Word spreads. The Flame Court knows the phoenix has returned."
As Kael returned to his quarters, he paused outside Elara's door.
He didn't knock.
He just stood there for a moment—then whispered, "Thank you," and walked away.
The fire inside him wasn't just a weapon.
It was a choice.
And soon, the world would feel it.