Her eyes didn't blink.
Kai stood frozen. The doorway flickered behind her like a torn piece of reality trying to stitch itself back together. The alley around them had gone silent. No sirens. No footsteps. Even the city seemed to hold its breath.
"You've got the wrong guy," Kai said. His voice sounded weaker than he wanted.
"I don't," she replied.
Her accent was hard to place. Old, but not British. Sharp vowels, soft consonants, like a hymn half-forgotten. Her clothes weren't from this century either—long black coat laced with red threads, tall boots, silver clasps shaped like wings. She didn't walk so much as glide.
"Prometheus was a myth," he said, backing away.
Her expression didn't change. "So was fire."
He stopped. "What do you want from me?"
"I'm here to wake you up."
"I'm already awake."
"Not yet. But you will be."
Kai's heartbeat was getting louder. Not faster—louder. Like drums in his chest. He wasn't sure if it was fear or something else. Something deeper.
"Your name?" he asked.
"Ilia."
She stepped forward. The crack behind her sealed shut with a faint snap, like a book closing. The heat in the air stayed. Not unbearable, but alive.
She tilted her head slightly. "You don't remember me?"
"Should I?"
"We met once, on the edge of the Divine Furnace. You told me not to follow you. I did anyway."
Kai's fingers curled. "I don't remember any of that."
"You will."
He didn't like how certain she sounded. Or how familiar.
"Why now?" he asked. "Why here?"
Ilia looked up. The clouds above New York twisted slowly, unnaturally. "Because the world is catching fire again. And you were the first to light the match."
They sat in an abandoned diner a few blocks from the alley. The lights flickered, same as everything else lately. Ilia said she had 'masked' them, whatever that meant. All Kai knew was that the cook didn't flinch when they walked through the door, and the cashier didn't seem to see them at all.
"So what exactly are you?" he asked. "A goddess?"
"No."
"A sorceress?"
"No."
He sighed. "You're really making this easy."
Ilia sipped her tea—which she hadn't paid for. "I'm a guardian of forgotten things. I serve the old pacts. I carried your sword when your hands were broken. I stitched your flames when the gods tried to rip them from you."
Kai blinked. "That's... a lot."
"It was."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so assuming you're telling the truth, what do you want from me?"
Ilia looked at him with something that almost resembled pity. "I want you to remember who you are. Because soon, remembering won't be enough. You'll have to become him again."
"No."
She paused. "No?"
"I'm not him," Kai said, standing. "I'm not some god. I'm just a guy. I live in a one-bedroom apartment. I go to school. I eat cereal. I don't want this."
Ilia's eyes darkened. Not with anger—something else. Resignation.
"You didn't want it then either," she said softly. "But you still lit the flame."
Before he could argue, the windows shattered.
The air outside screamed.
Something enormous hit the pavement. Kai ducked as glass rained down. Ilia was already moving—one hand out, drawing symbols in the air with glowing red lines.
Outside, a creature twisted through the street. Long, skeletal limbs made of fused concrete and metal. A face like melted asphalt. It roared, and the sound made Kai's bones vibrate.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"
"A woken husk," Ilia replied, stepping into the road. "A spiritless echo animated by corrupted essence."
"English, please!"
"It's a spiritual mutant," she shouted back. "And it smells your fire."
Great.
The thing turned toward him, its eyes flickering like dying traffic lights. It charged.
Kai threw up his hands—and the world exploded.
Flames erupted from his palms. Wild. Chaotic. Orange edged in blue. The husk slammed into them, screeched, and reeled back as if burned by sunlight. Kai stumbled, breath caught in his throat.
Ilia's voice rang out. "Anchor it! Focus!"
"I don't know how!"
"Yes you do."
He closed his eyes. Focused. Saw the chains. The forge. The mountain. Himself—only not as Kai, but as something older, eyes blazing with fury and purpose.
He reached.
And fire answered.
Twin blades erupted from his forearms—flames made solid. He moved without thinking. Slashed through the husk's limbs as if he'd trained for centuries.
It collapsed, screaming into cinders.
Then silence.
Kai stood in the middle of the street, chest heaving, hands trembling. The blades vanished.
Ilia approached. "See?"
He fell to his knees.
Kai didn't remember how long he stayed on his knees. It might've been seconds. Minutes. Maybe longer. The air still buzzed with leftover heat, curling steam rising from the scorched pavement like ghosts trying to take shape.
Ilia stood beside him but said nothing. She didn't help him up. She didn't offer sympathy. Just stood. Watching.
"I almost killed that thing," Kai muttered, voice raw. "I killed that thing."
Ilia crouched down to meet his eyes. "No. You survived it."
"That's... not better."
"It is. You'll understand why soon."
His legs finally obeyed. He stood, shaky but upright. "How do I control this? I didn't mean to burn everything down."
"You will learn. But not from books, and not from hiding."
"So what then?"
She turned to the side street. A thin stream of people had started to gather, murmuring, phones raised, some filming, others running. Sirens howled again—not from emergency vehicles, but from the sky.
A low rumble split the air.
"Time to leave," Ilia said.
"Where?"
"To someone who can help you remember. Someone who's been waiting longer than I have."
Kai narrowed his eyes. "Who?"
She smiled faintly. "An old friend. Or enemy. Depends on the decade."
They boarded the subway near West 34th. The station was empty. Too empty.
Even in chaos, New York didn't go silent. But here, in this moment, not even a rat scurried. Not even the flickering lights dared hum.
Kai sat across from Ilia in a rusted car as the train screeched to life. "This old friend of mine... what is he?"
Ilia didn't look at him. "Something between man and myth. He remembers the wars you started. The ones you tried to stop."
Kai stared out the window as the tunnel blurred past.
Flashes of light flickered across the glass.
In them, he thought he saw shapes. Faces. Once, he swore he saw chains wrapping the station supports like vines, pulsing with molten color.
"You're seeing traces," Ilia said.
"Traces?"
"Echoes. Spiritual residue. The world is waking up, but it's doing so violently. That's why you're needed."
Kai folded his arms. "I'm not ready."
"No one is."
The train screeched to a stop before its scheduled station. Ilia stood. "Come."
Kai followed.
They stepped out into an abandoned terminal, older than it should've been. Stone arches. Weathered symbols carved into every wall. The place smelled like burnt incense and ash.
A man waited.
He was tall. Towering, even. Dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, with long locs tied behind his head. His coat looked like something between a preacher's robe and military gear. His eyes were closed.
Kai felt his lungs tighten the second they entered.
The man opened his eyes.
Golden. Unblinking.
"I remember you," the man said. "Even if you don't."
Kai took a cautious step forward. "You're the 'friend'?"
The man chuckled. "Once. I was also your executioner."
Kai stopped dead.
Ilia placed a hand on his shoulder. "His name is Daemon. He was once called the Binder of Flame. He trained you when no one else dared to."
"And then he betrayed me?" Kai asked.
"No," Daemon said, stepping forward. "You betrayed us. You gave fire to the mortals. You broke the pact. I had to stop you."
Kai's fists clenched. "Then why am I here?"
"Because this time, I don't want to stop you. This time, I want to help you finish what you started."
The underground temple turned out to be a lot more than stone and shadows. Beneath the main chamber was a hidden arena—a place for training, summoning, anchoring spiritual power.
Daemon watched as Kai struggled to form even a flicker of fire.
"You're not reaching," he said.
"I'm trying."
"No. You're forcing. There's a difference."
Kai grunted as another flame sputtered and died in his palm.
Ilia sat cross-legged nearby, watching silently.
Kai turned to her. "This isn't working."
"You're still thinking like a human," she said. "Prometheus didn't ask for fire. He was fire."
Kai's jaw clenched. "Then maybe I'm not him anymore."
"Then we all die," Daemon said flatly.
That shut him up.
Hours passed.
Training, they called it. But Kai called it hell. Daemon didn't go easy. He made him run, spar, and meditate in sweltering heat until his bones ached.
But slowly—painfully—Kai began to control it. The flames. The heat. The memories.
They returned in fragments.
A chained mountain.
A divine council.
A woman's voice screaming his name as the blade fell.
He woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat.
Ilia stood in the doorway. "You remembered."
"Pieces."
"It will come."
"Was I a monster?"
Ilia didn't answer immediately. "You were a rebel. And rebels are always called monsters by the ones they scare."
He turned his face to the wall. "I don't want to be a god. Not again."
Ilia whispered, "You don't have a choice."
Three days later, they emerged from the tunnels.
New York had changed.
Flames flickered in alleyways. Trees whispered in languages no human should understand. A billboard blinked out as a mutated bird slammed into it mid-flight.
And in Times Square, a message had been burned into the side of a building:
"THE FLAME HAS RETURNED."
Kai stared.
Ilia didn't speak.
Daemon only muttered: "It begins."