The sun filtered softly through the canopy, bathing the valley in golden warmth. Leaves rustled gently in the breeze, and wildflowers stretched lazily toward the sky. In the heart of the valley nestled between quiet hills, a humble village lay hidden from the world–its wooden cottages humble, yet full of soul. Peace thrived here. The world had forgotten them, and for a time, they had forgotten the world.
A boy's laughter rang through the morning air.
Leon sprinted across the meadow barefoot, his arms stretched wide like wings. Fireflies–strange for daylight–danced around him as if drawn to his energy. He chased them, stumbled, rolled through the grass, and popped up with a grin that could melt frost.
From the wooden fence nearby, Kael leaned his arms atop the rails, watching his son. A quiet smile touched his lips–the kind only a man who had once known war but now knew peace could wear.
Beneath a flowering tree, Liora sat on a blanket, weaving a garland of river lilies. Her voice, soft and haunting, carried through the wind as she humbled an old Spirit Clan melody, one older than fire and stone.
"He's gotten faster," Kael murmured.
"He's always been fast," Liora replied without looking up.
"You just never stop worrying."
Kael grunted.
"I call it parenting."
"I call it obsessing," she teased, finally lifting her gaze to him.
They shared a look–the kind of look that held stories, scars, and an eternity's worth of trust.
Leon tumbled toward them, panting.
"Mama! Mama! Tell me about the first flame again!"
Kael raised a brow.
"Already? You just learned to keep your fingers from catching fire yesterday"
"I didn't burn anything!" Leon puffed his chest.
"Except your sleeve"
Kael glared playfully.
"That was my favorite shirt"
"It was ugly," Liora added.
Kael placed a hand on his chest.
"Betrayed. Twice in one breath."
Leon plopped onto Liora's lap, looking up with expectant eyes.
She brushed a curl from his forehead and began, her voice drifting like wind through tall grass.
"The first flame was not born to destroy, but to guide. It danced with the wind, whispered to the stars, and lit the path through the void. It lived in balance, until the hands of men sought to chain it."
Leon blinked slowly.
"Will my fire guide too?"
Liora hesitated.
Kael stepped closer, crouching beside them.
"That depends, little light. Fire follows its wielder. If your heart is strong, it will shine. If it falters…it will consume."
Liora's eyes flickered with something deeper–a ripple of memory, of prophecy.
She pressed a kiss to Leon's head.
"Your heart is strong," she whispered.
"Stronger than you know."
In the distance, wind stirred the tall trees. Birds took flight suddenly, though no predator stirred. Liora glanced up, her humming stopped.
Kael noticed it too. Years of battle left instinct sharp. Something…shifted.
"The cloaked man. Watching." She murmured.
Kael's jaw clenched.
"Same as you did...the night he was born?"
She nodded slowly.
"He spoke in riddles, like smoke. I still don't understand their meaning. Only that he's meant for something greater. And something…dark draws near."
Kael wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.
"Let it come," he said.
"We've already chosen our peace. And I will burn the world before I let it take him."
From across the field, Leon shouted,
"Look Papa! I made a fire circle"
Small flames danced in a ring, harmless and beautiful.
Kael smiled.
"You made that?"
Leon grinned.
"You said to breathe in, then push out like a lion."
"That does sound like me"
They laughed. Life was peaceful.
But above the clouds, past realms mortals could not reach, something stirred. And in the shadows of trees, the watcher waited. For soon…the storm would come.
A fortified Sun clan outpost at the edge of the scorched barrens. The skies burn red-orange, stained by the ever-churning smoke from torches and furnaces.
The clang of steel echoed across the obsidian plans.
Inside a massive war tent, black banners bearing the Sun Clan's sigil rippled. Within, Rhys stood shirtless before an open brazier. His back bore the sigils of battle–old scars, some deliberate, carved in painful ceremony. His eyes, however, were distant, as if chasing a vision at the edge of the horizon.
He stood before a war table littered with scrolls, sun-forged daggers, and miniature markers.
Then came his High Commander, Ravik.
"The warriors are ready, my lord. Fifty Shadows. Ten Flame Hounds. They await your word"
Rhys turned slowly, his dark hair slicked back with sweat and blood from ritual preparation.
"Good. I want silence when we move. No home. No banners. We strike like dusk falling over the valley." he said
Ravik saluted.
"And the Oracle, she–"
"Send her in" rhys said interrupting
Ravik hesitated only for a second. Then the tent flaps parted, and a figure in crimson veils and ash-stained feet stepped in, her eyes glazed with firelight–the Flame-seer.
She walked barefoot to the brazier and scattered powder over the flames. A sudden gust of heat whooshed upward, twisting into spirals, forming the shape of a tree–its branches split into three: sun, moon, spirit.
"He walks in the shadow now. But the child walks in dreams" she said.
Rhys stepped closer.
"The child…is he near?"
"Born of fire and spirit... .hidden in a place where peace dares to grow. He knows your face, but not your name" she whispers.
Rhys fists clenched
"Then he'll learn it through fear."
The flame flickered–and within it, Rhys saw a boy, silver-blue hair swept by the wind, standing in a peaceful valley…and next to him–
A face like his own
Not a reflection. A man.
Kael?
He flinched.
"No…not him…" he said to himself.
The image vanished.
The seer turned to him, her voice a warning.
"Do not mistake fate's mirror for weakness. Light casts shadows, but even shadows remember the warmth."
"I do not need warmth. I was forged in the cold, "Rhys said coldly.
He stormed out of the tent. His soldiers' rows of elite Sun Clan warriors–snapped to attention.
He mounted a beast of burden, its armor carved with flame and bone. As the army surged behind him, dust rising in sheets, he looked toward the horizon.
"Even now…you haunt the edges of fire, brother"
"But I will be the storm that burns your shadow from the earth."
And in the distance, unseen by all, the first low growl of thunder rolled through the skies.
The cottage rested quietly in the embrace of the valley night, its stone walls faintly aglow from the fireplace within. Crickets chirped beyond the windows, and the nearby stream whispered softly beneath the silver.
Inside, the air was warm with the scent of herbs and simmering stew.
Liora stood by the hearth, gently stirring a pot. Her silver-blue hair shimmered in the firelight, cascading over her shoulder like moonlight over water. She hummed softly–an old Spirit Clan lullaby–while Kael sat by the window, sharpening his blade with slow, careful strokes.
Leon, curled up in a cushioned chair, watched them both with quiet contentment, his golden eyes half-lidded from sleep.
"Mama," he mumbled
"Why does your stew always smell like a dream?"
Liora chuckled gently.
"Because, my little light, it's made with love. And a pinch of garlic"
Kael smirked, looking over his shoulder.
"That's not true. I helped"
"You chopped the carrots and nearly lost a finger," Liora teased without turning.
"Helping indeed"
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"They were…aggressive carrots."
Leon giggled, his head resting back. The warmth, the laughter–it was everything he knew of peace.
"Can we go hunting tomorrow?" he asked, his voice muffled by sleep.
Kael nodded.
"If you wake up before sunrise, I'll teach you to track without sound"
Liora turned with a wooden spoon in her hand, pointing at Kael like a scepter.
"And you better not come back with another fox pup like last time. We are not starting a forest nursery."
Kael placed a hand over his chest in mock offense.
"That fox was wounded! Leon named him Flare!"
"Flare ate my socks," Liora deadpanned.
Leon laughed harder, his eyes finally closing as he let the warmth of home wrap around him. The laughter faded into soft murmurs. The fire crackled. Outside, the moon glowed fuller than ever.
Then….
Something changed.
Darkness crept beneath his closed lids–not of the cottage, but of somewhere else. Cold. Hollow. Echoing.
In his dream, Leon stood in the middle of an empty field, the grass frozen and silver under the moon. Everything was still. Silent. Until…a figure appeared on the horizon. A man–tall, armored, cloaked in firelight.
Leon stepped back, instinct prickling. The figure moved with purpose, boots thudding with a rhythm too sharp to be natural. His hair was black, straight–tied back like a warrior's and the closer he drew, the more his face became clear.
His features looked like Kael's. Almost.
But it wasn't his father. The man's eyes were golden, yes–but not warm like Kael's. They were hard. Cold. Sharp. Like blades dipped in flame.
The man stopped, scanning the valley– Leon's home, calculating menace.
Suddenly, the man looked directly at Leon. Though it was a dream, the boy felt it– the weight, the fire, the fury.
"Who…?" Leon whispered.
The dream shattered.
Rhys shot awake, breath ragged, eyes wide. Sweat beaded his brow.
His chest heaved as he sat upright in the forest tent, the red canopy of dawn barely creeping through the trees. The sound of embers crackled faintly near him.
He looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly.
"That boy…" he murmured
"He saw me"
A chill passed through him, but he clenched his jaw. He stood and exited the tent, where his troops were already preparing the next march.
He said nothing as his warhorse was brought forward. As he mounted, Ravik approached.
"My lord, the scouts say we're close. A few more hours"
Rhys didn't respond right away. He looked toward the east–where the hidden valley lay. Where Kael lived. Where the boy was.
"Let's not keep my brother waiting," he said, and spurred the horse forward, flames in his wake.