The sun was only just beginning to rise above the razor-edged peaks to the north, spilling slanted golden light through the velvet curtains of Dormitory Block C. The warmth of it washed gently over the polished floorboards of Room 11B, where Kenneth Prince sat upright on his bed, shirtless, motionless, staring at the flame burning quietly in his open palm.
It didn't flicker.
It coiled—wrapping around his wrist like a serpent made of sun, kissing his forearm, then hissing away into embers before returning again. And though the fire looked tame, Kenneth's heart beat like a warning drum beneath his chest.
His shirt lay discarded on the desk across the room, singed at the edges. Another one ruined. That made five this week.
He exhaled slowly and closed his palm.
The flame vanished.
But the heat within him remained.
It was never just fire. Not since that night in the forest. Not since his body—wolf and vampire intertwined—ripped into the phoenix's blazing form and consumed its heart. The heat wasn't only physical. It was alive. It breathed with him. It listened. It hungered.
And it was getting harder to control.
---
Later that morning, in the large outdoor sparring fields behind Velmora Central Academy, a ring of students gathered, buzzing with anticipation. The crimson banners above fluttered in the mountain wind, and instructors stood like steel statues at the corners of the yard, watching.
Kenneth stood beside Zarek and Kael, wearing the sleeveless grey training uniform of their house.
"Prince," Zarek said with a grin, stretching his arms behind his back. "You've been avoiding me."
Kenneth tilted his head. "I've been training."
"That's what I mean." Zarek smiled again, but it faded just slightly. "Alone."
Kenneth looked away, shrugging. "It helps me focus."
Zarek studied him for a moment—his bright silver hair, sharp golden eyes, and the way sunlight made Kenneth's skin glow like a marble statue in firelight. Everything about him looked… crafted. But even more than that, it was the way others reacted to him: admiration tangled with fear.
He was magnetic, and terrifying.
"You know," Zarek said, as they walked toward the center of the field, "you don't have to do everything alone."
Kenneth didn't answer.
Behind them, Kael adjusted his tech-bound gloves. "He's hiding something," he said aloud, though he wasn't speaking to either of them. "You don't set yourself on fire in your sleep without a story behind it."
Kenneth stopped walking.
"Excuse me?" he said, voice quiet.
Kael shrugged. "Thermal signatures. I hacked the dorm sensors. Yours spike past human norms every time you have a nightmare. And your training clothes? They're always freshly singed. You don't smell like fire. You are fire."
Zarek blinked. "Kael…"
Kenneth narrowed his eyes, the flicker of orange lighting behind his irises. "I'm not interested in being dissected."
Kael smirked. "Good. I don't do dissection. I do curiosity."
Before things could escalate, the sharp sound of a whistle cracked through the courtyard.
"Line up!" bellowed Instructor Revas, a towering woman with gray battle scars crossing her cheek. "All selected tournament candidates, into formation!"
---
Training drills followed. Combat pairing, agility tests, and simulated matches under the eyes of six different instructors. One for every category—Speed, Strength, Elemental Control, Strategy, Team Coordination, and Power Limitation.
Zarek excelled in every one.
His movements in hand-to-hand were fluid and lethal, each strike delivered with calm precision. His agility scored top marks. In elemental tests, his control over lightning was artful—he could direct bolts through narrow obstacle fields without a single miss. Even the instructors murmured among themselves.
Kenneth kept to the middle. He fought well—but never too well. He held back. Always. He struck with precision, not fury. And when one dummy caught fire during a pressure test, he simply looked away and walked to the next one.
Kael noticed it all. The restraint. The silence. The fear.
But he said nothing.
Not yet.
---
By the end of the day, the students were exhausted. The sun dipped low again, casting a burnt orange glow over the horizon. Kenneth stood alone near the edge of the field, arms folded, hair damp with sweat.
Zarek approached, carrying two bottles of water.
"I know you're holding back," he said, handing one over.
Kenneth didn't take it. "I'm not."
"Your strength is unnatural," Zarek said softly. "You're fast. Strong. And those eyes—when you're focused, they look like they're burning."
Kenneth's voice was low. "I don't like being watched."
"Then stop shining," Zarek said, half a smile curling his lips.
Kenneth finally took the bottle. Their fingers brushed.
Something in Kenneth's chest flared hot. He pulled away quickly, trying to breathe.
"You're a good fighter, Zarek," he said.
"So are you." Zarek looked at him for a long moment. "But you're also lying."
Kenneth didn't respond.
---
That night, Kenneth sat alone at the edge of the dormitory's terrace. The stars were a glimmering sea above, the wind quiet. He stared at his hand. Flames danced across his skin again.
And in the silence of the night, he whispered, "I don't want them to see me."
Because if they did—if they saw the wolf beneath the skin, the fire behind the mask—everything would burn.