Far above the Citadel of the Flamebound, within the highest tower of the Solar Palace, the flames of prophecy burned.
A circle of imperial seers surrounded the Flame Basin—an ancient relic that flickered with golden fire untouched by wind. The basin pulsed once, then spiraled into a deep crimson hue.
"The path is set," one whispered.
"If the flame remains caged," said another, "it will die. But if allowed to walk its own path… it may yet ignite the heavens."
The head seer raised her voice.
"We see ruin in chains. But strength in choice. Let the Flamebound choose. Do not bind him, or he will turn to ash—and take the Empire with him."
Their words echoed through the chamber and into the heart of a man seated alone on a throne of solarsteel.
Emperor Kaerion Virellius.
His hair was long and white, flowing like molten silver down broad shoulders. His eyes, golden and ancient, held the weight of centuries. He wore no crown—only a circlet of blackened gold inscribed with the runes of the first emperors.
He listened in silence.
When the seers finished, he rose.
"A flame that is commanded burns its wielder. A flame that walks… may light the future."
He turned toward the far end of the chamber.
"Summon him."
The doors opened without a sound.
A tall figure entered, clad in quiet black. No crest. No cape. Just deep violet armor and eyes the color of dying embers.
He moved with silent confidence and bowed only slightly.
"Father."
Kaerion nodded. "Valen."
Valen Virellius, second son of the Emperor. A ghost in court, a shadow on the battlefield. Few knew him. Fewer saw him twice.
Kaerion stepped down from the throne.
"The Flamebound has awakened. We must not interfere with his ascent. But neither can we leave him exposed. Too many eyes are watching. Too many knives await."
Valen's voice was cold and sure. "You want me to guard him."
"Not openly," Kaerion said. "You will be his shadow. His unseen shield. The boy does not need a throne behind him—he needs a blade between him and death."
Valen bowed his head. "I accept."
Kaerion placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Then go. Watch him. Protect him. Intervene only if there is no other way. Let the flame grow."
Valen turned and vanished into the lightless corridor.
And Kaerion remained, alone no longer.
Later that night, in the lower levels of the palace, the Emperor summoned a secret tribunal of his most loyal shadow operatives. With chilling calm, he gave an order few emperors before him had dared:
"Eliminate all those outside this room who know the true name of the flame within Eryon Solaris. Scholars, scribes, seers not bound by oath—all of them. No questions. No delays. The Flamebound must rise untouched by fear or manipulation."
The agents bowed and disappeared into silence.
Only a handful would remain—trusted advisors, the seers, and the one who brought the boy to the capital.
Commander Serana Vael entered his private chamber shortly after.
"The boy's training nears completion. He's ready to return to the Academy. I've informed him to prepare his departure."
Kaerion nodded, slow and deliberate. "Good. The next chapter must begin where it all started. And from there… he will choose his future."
As Eryon prepared to leave the Citadel, unaware of the blood spilled to protect his path, Valen Virellius watched from a tower window, cloaked in the dusk.
A shadow bound not by duty—but by faith.
His silent vow: None shall touch the flame.