They remembered the day by the sky.
What should've been a bright afternoon turned into a second dawn. A golden orb rose above the Aerwyn courtyard, small but impossibly bright, searing the eyes of those who dared look. It hovered above Kael's outstretched palms, trembling as if straining against its own existence.
For a moment, the world stood still.
Then came the heat.
The sun detonated. A wave of fire surged outward, uncontrolled, indiscriminate. Marble melted. The drake sigils cracked and crumbled. Walls that had stood for centuries were reduced to soot and ember. Kael's siblings, caught in the initial blast, never had time to scream. His mother shielded her youngest with her body, burning away in an instant.
When Kael opened his eyes, he stood alone in the ruins, smoke rising from his skin.
And then, from the ashes, came a figure.
His father, barely alive—skin blackened, hair scorched away, eyes sunken like smoldering coals. Alric staggered forward, flames still clinging to what remained of his cloak.
"You…" the Flame Tyrant rasped, falling to one knee. "You did this."
Kael tried to speak, but no words came.
His father raised a shaking finger, pointing at Kael's chest. "The past will find you, boy. You carry it like a brand. There's no escaping it."
Then he collapsed.
When the Arcane Enforcers arrived hours later, Kael did not resist. He sat alone in the center of the wreckage, silent, scorched, broken. His hands were stained with more than soot.