Part 1: The Storm Breaks
The screams came before the smoke.
Kofi awoke to the crackle of fire and the shouts of men. His eyes flew open, heart hammering. For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming — that the burning red light spilling through the cracks of the hut was another vision.
But then his mother screamed.
He bolted upright.
The door burst open as she rushed inside, her hands gripping his shoulders, her face wild with terror. "They're here!"
Kofi stumbled to his feet, the embers in his chest flaring without command. Outside, the world had become a nightmare. The village was burning — huts reduced to blackened ribs of wood, flames licking the air. Soldiers in red armor stalked between them, dragging villagers from their homes, striking down those who resisted.
The King's Hunters.
Kofi's breath caught as he saw one soldier seize Ayo, the boy from the yam fields, and smash his head into the ground. Another kicked an old woman's cane away and laughed as she fell into the dust.
His mother yanked his arm. "We have to run. Now."
He hesitated. "What about Baba?"
"He was taken… last night." Her voice broke. "They never brought him back."
Kofi's fists clenched. Rage burned behind his eyes, but he forced his legs to move.
They fled through the smoke, dodging shadows and stepping over the fallen. The village that had been his whole world just yesterday was gone — swallowed by chaos.
They reached the edge of the clearing when a soldier spotted them. "You! Stop!"
Kofi turned — too slow.
The soldier raised his whip.
Kofi flinched, shielding his mother.
And then — light.
It exploded from his palms, unbidden. A wave of heat burst outward, slamming into the soldier and throwing him back like a doll. He hit the ground hard, groaning.
Kofi stared at his hands, stunned.
His mother was speechless.
Then another shout rose — this time from the other soldiers.
"There's one with magic! The fire-born!"
"Get him!"
Kofi's chest lit up again — not with fire, but with fear.
He turned and ran.
---
Part 2: The Witch's Price
Mama Adjoa's hut lay beyond the yam fields, nestled under the twisted baobab tree. Kofi and his mother reached it just as the soldiers fanned out behind them, their shouts echoing.
The old woman stood waiting.
"You've come," she said calmly, as though the world weren't ending.
"They're after him," Kofi's mother cried. "He—he did something with the flame—he hurt one of them—"
"Of course he did." Mama Adjoa looked at Kofi. "You carry the ember now. It protects what you love."
Kofi was panting, confused and overwhelmed. "What do I do?"
"Stand."
"What?"
"Stand," she said again, and her voice cracked like thunder. "You want to save your village? You want to stop them from dragging your mother away? Then stand, child. Stand and burn."
The trees rustled. The soldiers were nearly there.
Kofi stepped into the center of the witch's yard, the baobab's roots curling around him like the fingers of giants.
He closed his eyes.
The ember inside him pulsed.
Then flared.
---
Part 3: Fire Without Ash
The soldiers came in a line, red-clad and arrogant. They saw only a boy.
"Step aside," the captain barked. "Or burn with him, old woman."
Mama Adjoa smiled.
"You misunderstand," she said. "You're already burning."
The captain opened his mouth — but the words never left.
Kofi raised his hand.
And the world caught fire.
Not the wildfire of destruction — but cleansing fire. It rushed from him in a halo of light, not hot but pure. It struck the first line of soldiers and tore through their armor like leaves in the wind. Screams filled the air as they fell back, weapons melting, eyes wide with fear.
The fire bent around his mother, around Mama Adjoa — only them.
When it was over, the survivors crawled away, too broken to fight.
Silence followed — stunned, absolute.
Kofi's legs gave out. He fell to his knees, panting, sweating, shaking.
Mama Adjoa knelt beside him.
"You are not ready for war," she whispered. "But war has found you."
---
Part 4: A Kingdom Stirred
Far away, deep in the stone halls of Obasi's mountain palace, the king stirred from sleep.
He sat upright in his bed of black furs, the gold rings on his fingers glowing strangely in the moonlight.
He felt it.
The fire.
His brows furrowed.
"Summon the Seer," he said.
A trembling servant ran to obey.
Moments later, the palace witch entered — draped in bones and silk, her eyes milky and blind. She bowed low.
"The fire has awakened," the king said.
She nodded. "The boy has been marked."
The king stood, muscles rippling under his robe. "Then the curse is weakening."
"Yes, my king."
He stepped to the window, looking out over the night.
"Send word to the Shadow Spears. I want the boy alive. And if not…"
He paused.
"Then let his ashes warn the rest."