The fire crackled softly in the heart of the cave. Shadows danced on the damp walls as Kael sat wrapped in a coarse wool cloak, a bowl of bitter herb broth resting untouched in his lap.
Across the small chamber, Elira stirred a pot, her movements precise and silent. She hadn't spoken since helping Kael to sit up. Outside, a blizzard howled against the stone like a beast scratching to get in.
Kael finally broke the silence.
"You said… Ardarion isn't dead. What is it?"
Elira didn't look at him.
"Ardarion was a kingdom of flame and blood. Born from rebellion. Destroyed by fear."
Kael frowned. "A myth. That's what the Virelian priests say."
That made Elira laugh—sharp and bitter.
"Of course they say that. Because the last time a Flameborn stood against their High Temple, he burned down three cities before they chained his soul."
She turned to him then, eyes glinting in the firelight.
"You are his heir. Not just by blood, Kael. By power."
Kael shook his head. "I don't want power. I didn't ask for this. I just want…" His voice cracked. "I just want my village back."
Elira knelt before him, her face inches from his.
"Wanting won't stop what's coming. The moment you touched the fire inside you, they marked you. The Inquisition will hunt you across the ends of the world."
Kael swallowed hard. He remembered Toren's burning body. The way his own skin had glowed. It hadn't been a dream.
"Then what do I do?"
Elira stood and walked to a stone alcove at the back of the chamber. She returned holding a small iron-bound book—its cover charred and marked with an ancient glyph: a flame curled like a serpent devouring its tail.
"You learn. You fight. Or you die."
She dropped the book in his lap. Dust rose from it, and Kael felt a strange pulse—like a heartbeat, not of flesh, but of flame.
"The Flamebound Codex," Elira said. "The last one in existence."
Kael opened the book. The pages were scorched but intact. Symbols twisted and danced across the parchment, rearranging themselves into words he could almost understand.
"It's… alive," he whispered.
Elira nodded.
"All true Flamebound tomes are. They feed on will, not ink."
Kael turned the first page. A single line burned itself into place:
"The fire is not a weapon. It is a memory, and it remembers everything."
For the next several days, Kael remained in the cave. The snowstorm outside never ceased, but it no longer mattered. Each day, Elira taught him to breathe with the flame, not against it. To feel it beneath his skin, in his lungs, in his blood.
"You must stop fearing it," she said. "Fear causes it to lash out. You saw that in the village."
Kael clenched his fists. He still saw Toren every time he closed his eyes.
"But if I don't fear it… will it obey?"
"No," Elira said with a wry smile. "It will recognize you. That's different."
By the fourth day, Kael could light a candle without touching it. By the seventh, he could heat his skin until frost melted from his sleeves.
But the Codex demanded more than tricks. Every night, he dreamt of fire—of towers crumbling, of soldiers screaming, of a woman in chains whispering his name.
"Who is she?" he asked Elira once, after a dream where the woman had reached for him through molten bars.
Elira's voice turned cold.
"My mother. High Priestess of Ardarion. Sacrificed to seal the Flamegate."
"Flamegate?"
Elira turned away.
"Another lesson. Another day."
On the tenth morning, Kael awoke to find Elira already packed.
"We're leaving," she said curtly.
Kael blinked. "Where? I'm not ready—"
"You'll never be ready," she said. "But they've found us."
A low rumble shook the cave. Not thunder. Not wind. Something else.
Kael stood, heart pounding.
"The Inquisition?"
"No." Elira's voice was tight. "Worse. A Seeker."
They emerged into the snow-blind world above. The cold stabbed through Kael's cloak like knives, but Elira moved like smoke, her cloak swirling around her as if the snow dared not touch her.
In the valley below, a figure approached—tall, wrapped in gray robes, face obscured by a porcelain mask etched with burning runes. The snow around him melted in his wake.
Kael's breath caught. He could feel the heat radiating from the figure even at a distance.
"That's no human," he said.
"No," Elira agreed. "He was once. Now he's a soul-forged hound of the High Temple. They send them after threats too dangerous to speak of."
Kael's pulse quickened. "What do we do?"
Elira unsheathed a dagger glowing with crimson fire.
"We stall. You run."
"I'm not leaving you!"
"You must!" she snapped. "You carry the Codex. The fire chooses you. Not me."
The Seeker was almost upon them now. The air crackled with pressure, like the moment before lightning strikes.
Kael stepped forward.
"Then teach me one last thing."
Elira paused. The snow flurried between them. Finally, she placed her hand over his heart.
"Say the words. Bind the flame."
Kael nodded, and together they whispered:
"By fire awakened, by blood unbroken—
I bind myself to the flame of Ardarion."
Heat surged through Kael's chest. The Codex on his back ignited—but did not burn. The pendant around his neck flared, and Kael felt the fire within him see the Seeker.
The masked figure raised a hand.
Kael raised his.
And for the first time, he didn't feel fear.
He felt flame.