Part I: "The Silent Flame"
Dawn. Four Days After the Naming.
Kael stood in the back fields behind the house, eyes closed, arms wrapped with freshly-forged limitation bands — enchanted cuffs forged by his mother using old Aethersteel fragments Zevran had "borrowed" decades ago.
They were slim, discreet. Not flashy. But incredibly effective.
"Even the proudest flames start by hiding in embers."
Zevran's words echoed through Kael's mind as he clenched his fists.
The pressure inside his body had only grown since naming Ashen. He moved faster. Reacted faster. Felt more.
But now?
Now it was time to hide.
In the forest — a test.
Kael ran.
No beast-bond enhancements. No instinctual guidance. Just raw movement, dulled by the bands.
He'd already fallen once. Face-first into a thornbush Lyra had named "Kael's New Beard."
But he got back up.
Because hiding wasn't just for safety — it was training.
"The world will measure me by how weak I look," he muttered, ducking under a low branch. "Let them."
Ashen trailed beside him, silent.
His golden eyes watched Kael stumble again — not from judgment, but calculation.
And still… the wolf didn't speak.
Though his thoughts stirred:
He learns quickly. Even in silence… he sharpens.
Back at the House…
Lyra barged into the kitchen wearing a hand-drawn robe covered in beast sigils.
"Mom. Emergency."
Seris didn't flinch. "Did you break a magical seal again?"
"Worse. Nobles are sniffing around the village."
Seris raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
Lyra held up her scroll.
It now read:
"Son of Flame — Bound to Emberfang. Future Emperor. Possibly a reincarnated hero, depending on belief system."
Seris: "…Lyra."
"What? Marketing."
Seris sighed. "And how many copies?"
"About fifty. Ish. Also, I might've sold a set to a royal scout."
Meanwhile… in the Deyrun Watchtower
Two cloaked strangers arrived under pre-dawn mist.
One bore the Crest of the Veiled Thorn, a noble faction known for tracking ancient beast activity.
"The reports were vague. A boy… bonded to something that walks through shadow and fire?"
"If true, he's not just a threat."
"He's a weapon."
Elsewhere: Kael's training deepens.
Zevran didn't hold back anymore.
Each strike he threw could've broken bone — if Kael hadn't dodged, redirected, or absorbed them with his own hidden control.
And all of it was under limitation.
"You're slow today," Zevran said.
"That's the point," Kael replied, parrying another heavy slash.
"Then act slower."
Kael smirked. "You're asking a god to limp."
Zevran blinked — then grinned.
That Night — Ashen and Kael under the stars
Kael lay back on the grass outside the home.
Ashen sat beside him, staring silently toward the moon.
"You can talk, can't you?" Kael asked suddenly.
Ashen's ear twitched.
"I can feel it. There's more behind those eyes."
Ashen didn't respond.
Kael chuckled. "I get it. Waiting for the right moment, huh?"
Still silence.
"Fine," Kael said, turning his head toward the stars. "Just don't wait too long. I'm gonna need your voice one day."
Ashen let out a soft huff.
Inside… he smiled.
Though Kael didn't know it yet, Ashen had once spoken the tongue of kings.
But the world wasn't ready for that voice again.
Not yet.
Cliffside — Near Deyrun's northern edge
The two scouts watched Kael spar from afar.
One pulled a parchment from a metallic scroll case.
A sketched image of the dragon crest.
"We track the wolf now. But what happens when the second awakens?"
"Then we're not watching a boy…"
"We're watching a storm before the sky knows it's cracking."
Closing Scene – Late Night, Emberlight Glow
Kael stands alone at the edge of the river that marks the Ardyn lands.
The water is still.
No flame.
No voice.
But his reflection shifts.
He sees himself — older.
Eyes glowing like coals. Robes tattered. Behind him… wings of flame.
He blinks.
Gone.
"Not yet," Kael says aloud. "But one day…"
Ashen pads up behind him and sits.
The stars above shimmer faintly — as if the world already knows:
The silent flame has begun to rise.
Part II: "Crest & Cinders"
Day of the Exhibition Match (That Kael Didn't Sign Up For)
Kael stared at the scroll Lyra casually tossed on the breakfast table.
"What. Is. This?"
"Your entrance slip," she beamed. "I wrote you in for the Deyrun Regional Sparring Festival."
"I didn't agree to that."
"No, but your aura did. And your aura's OP."
"Lyra—"
"Relax. You're registered as a Tier-1 Novice. Lowest bracket. You'll be fighting children and overconfident nobles."
"…That sounds illegal."
"That sounds like comedy gold."
Training Grounds — Hours Before the Festival
Zevran stood beside Kael, adjusting the cuffs on his limitation bands.
"You sure you want to keep these on?"
"If I take them off, I'll break the illusion."
Zevran grunted.
"Or the arena."
Kael cracked a knuckle.
"Let them underestimate me."
Ashen sat off to the side, eyes narrowed. He could feel it — the unease creeping around Deyrun like mist waiting for fire.
The nobles had arrived.
And not all of them came to watch.
Festival Grounds — Arena Circle Three
The festival's opening acts were harmless: local youths sparring, martial form competitions, elemental dances. But in Arena Three, something far more interesting was about to begin.
Kael stepped into the ring.
He wore a plain black tunic, a training blade, and a bored expression. Perfect.
His opponent? A noble heir from the House of Darviel — loud, flashy, and carrying a sword with more engravings than personality.
"You're Kael Ardyn?" the noble sneered. "You look like a charity case."
"You look like a walking billboard," Kael replied without blinking.
The crowd laughed.
Lyra stood near the commentator's table, sipping fruit juice like royalty.
"This is gonna be fun."
The Duel Begins
Kael dodged the first three strikes without lifting his sword.
The noble got angry.
Kael let him.
He ducked, side-stepped, parried lightly — never fully engaging. He fumbled once, on purpose.
The noble smirked.
So did Kael.
Then came the fourth strike — faster, sharper. A real blow.
Kael caught it. Barehanded.
Gasps echoed.
Kael's voice dropped low.
"You should've stayed arrogant."
He pivoted — one clean movement.
The noble landed flat on his back, weapon skittering across the sand.
Silence.
"Wasn't that a Tier-1 match?" someone asked.
"…Did he fake being weak?"
"He moved like a shadow."
Backstage
A tall man in silver robes leaned against the shaded wall of the arena's noble deck.
His cloak bore the crest of a long-dormant bloodline — a symbol not seen in public for nearly a decade.
He watched Kael leave the ring, casual and unbothered.
"So that's the wolf's heir," he murmured. "The boy with fire in his blood and silence in his step."
A cloaked aide beside him stepped forward.
"Orders?"
The man smiled faintly.
"Send word. The flame has not flickered out. It is merely hiding… waiting to burn the stars."
Elsewhere — The Bond Deepens
Kael knelt beside a shallow cave beneath the outskirts of the village.
Ashen had led him here.
The rocks felt warm.
Symbols traced into the stone pulsed faintly.
"This… this is your den," Kael said slowly. "Before me?"
Ashen said nothing — but the look in his eyes told Kael enough.
This was where Emberfang — Ashen — had once hunted, healed, waited.
Kael touched one of the marks.
It flared.
In that moment, Kael saw through Ashen's eyes.
Felt his fear once.
Felt his loyalty.
And his hunger to protect Kael's bloodline — even before the boy was born.
Village — Later That Night
Lyra was interrogating nobles.
By interrogating, we mean: bothering them endlessly while trying to sell embroidered "Kael vs Nobility" handkerchiefs.
"Did you know he fought with limiters on? You're practically watching a sword god on vacation!"
"Little lady—"
"Oh no. I'm not little. I'm Lyra Ardyn. Saleswitch. Chaosmage. Sister of the Wolfborn."
"That's not a real title."
"Not yet. But give it a week."
Closing Scene — Storm on the Horizon
Kael sat on the roof again.
Ashen beside him, tail gently flicking.
"They know now," Kael said.
"Not the truth," Ashen finally replied.
Kael froze.
His eyes widened.
Ashen didn't speak again.
But the smile on Kael's face?
It was slow. Proud. Fierce.
"Took you long enough," he whispered.
Below them, storm clouds gathered far in the east — and the wind carried whispers of wings.
But that story… that dragon… was for another day.