There are fires that burn wood.
Fires that boil water.
Fires that forge steel.
And then…
There are fires that remember.
🔹 A Path Hidden in Flame
After the duel, after the stares, the whispers, the awe and resentment I expected rest. Arkon offered none.
He summoned me that same evening. No words, no explanation, only a glowing sigil on my chamber wall that pulsed with his magical signature. When I touched it, I vanished and reappeared in the Archmage's sanctum.
The air was heavy soaked in power and silence.
"Come," he said. "We've wasted enough time."
He didn't walk to the door. He walked through the wall.
I followed and instead of stone, I passed through light. A corridor shaped itself as we walked, formed from ever-shifting symbols and runes etched in flame and mist. The deeper we went, the more unreal the world became.
Walls melted into stars. Floors pulsed beneath my feet. And above us… voices whispered in languages too old for understanding.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Beneath the breath of Zareth. A place where even time holds its breath."
The path ended before a door.
No, a veil.
It wasn't built. It existed. A swirling storm of flame, ink, and shadow. It breathed. It pulsed. It stared back.
"Touch it," Arkon said. "And face what was buried."
"What lies beyond?"
"Not what. Who."
🔹 The Pyra'Nahl Flame
I pressed my palm to the veil.
My mind exploded.
I wasn't in Zareth anymore.
I was falling spiraling through worlds, through lifetimes. Through blood and ash and screams and silence.
And then
I stood in a burning city.
Its towers were cracked and crumbling, its streets littered with broken weapons and scorched corpses. Dragons of molten rock shrieked above, diving through waves of silver fire and crimson lightning. The air smelled of war and death and memories.
In the center of it all stood a man.
He turned.
He was me.
Older. Wiser. Scarred.
He wore no crown, but kings kneeled at his feet. His cloak was smoke. His eyes were fire. And in his hand the First Flame, living and roaring like a sun waiting to explode.
"At last," he said. "You made it back."
"What… is this?"
"A memory," he said. "Yours. Mine. Ours. A truth sealed when you died… and reborn with your new name."
"Then who was I?"
"You were Kael of the Crimson Star last war-mage of the Pyra'Nahl Order. We were gods who burned too brightly. And we paid for it."
He pointed to the burning ruins.
"This is what I failed to protect. Because I hesitated. Because I trusted the wrong people. Because I thought mercy could change tyrants."
He walked toward me.
"Don't make the same mistake."
Suddenly, the flame in his hand surged and leapt into my chest.
I screamed.
My soul caught fire.
🔹 The Awakening
I collapsed.
When I woke, I was back in the hidden chamber. Gasping. Soaked in sweat. My hands trembled. The mana core in my chest felt… changed. Bigger. Wilder. Alive.
Arkon stood nearby, unmoving.
"You saw him," he said.
I nodded slowly. "He was me."
"Your former self was among the most feared mages to walk this continent. You carried the Pyra'Nahl Flame not just as a weapon, but as a living extension of your soul."
I tried to speak, but the pain flared again. My skin glowed faintly. Symbols crawled across my arms burning runes etched not with ink but with memory.
"What's happening to me?"
"The Flame is bonding with you," Arkon said. "It remembers you. But this time, it will test you harder. If you try to command it too soon, it will consume you."
I stumbled to my feet, unsteady.
"Then teach me," I said. "Train me. Let me master it."
Arkon gave the faintest hint of a smile.
"Then come. It's time you learn the rules of forbidden fire."
🔹 The Rules of Pyra'Nahl
We trained in the Chamber of Echoing Flame a secret sanctum carved beneath Zareth, where reality bent and fire obeyed only the strongest will.
The flame didn't answer to chants.
It answered to emotion.
But emotion came with risk.
Arkon taught me the Three Laws of the Pyra'Nahl:
Flame Given, Never Taken – The fire must be offered willingly. If you take it by force, it becomes cursed.
Flame Felt, Not Feared – If you fear your own fire, it will rebel. You must face it like a brother, not a slave.
Flame Bound, Never Shared – You cannot gift this fire. It is soul-tied. Sharing it weakens you and opens you to possession.
Each session tested me.
One day, I was told to conjure fire using joy—a near-impossible task, given my past.
Another day, I had to ignite flame by reliving the moment of my death on Earth the car crash, the heat, the scream I never finished.
Each time, the fire came faster. Sharper. Hungrier.
And it began to whisper.
Not in words, but in feeling.
Like it knew things I didn't.
Like it remembered more than I was ready to face.
🔹 Eyes in the Shadows
By the seventh day, I was walking the halls of Zareth again no longer stumbling like a new initiate. The fire moved under my skin like a second heartbeat.
But I wasn't alone.
As I crossed the Skybridge between Arkon's tower and the Inner Sanctum Library, I felt it.
A chill.
A pause in the wind.
A presence.
I turned.
She stood there.
A woman in silver-white armor with a cloak of enchanted feathers. Her hair was black as night, braided and bound in rings of glowing metal. Her eyes, icy blue glowed with runes of detection and judgment.
Above her brow shimmered a floating brand.
The Sigil of Inquisition.
"You've been hiding secrets, boy," she said. Her voice was sharp like a blade already halfway drawn. "I smell the old fire on you."
"Who are you?" I asked.
"High Inquisitor Laevra. Voice of the Circle. Flame-Watcher. And if you think this empire will tolerate another Pyra'Nahl rising from the ashes… you are mistaken."
"I don't want to destroy Zareth."
"Then control your fire before it chooses for you."
She vanished into light leaving the hallway cold and silent.
But her message stayed with me.
They knew.
And now… they were watching.
🔹 The World Trembles
That night, Arkon called me again.
Not for training.
But for truth.
He stood in his observatory, staring out at the skies beyond the barrier.
"The Circle is moving. They feel your flame awakening. Soon, they'll try to test you or eliminate you."
He summoned a floating map etched with glowing lines and cities.
"There's unrest in the south. Something ancient stirs in the ruins of the Pyra Vault. I want you to go."
"Me? Alone?"
"You won't be alone," he said. "But you'll be the weapon they never see coming."
He looked me in the eye.
"This world wronged you once. Now you have the power to shape it. But power demands choice."
"What choice?"
"Will you become a symbol of destruction… or rebirth?"
I didn't answer right away.
Because deep inside me, the Flame was whispering again.
And this time, I understood it.
It didn't want peace.
It wanted vengeance.