"The world only bows to rank. But rank can't measure a heartbeat."
—Lyra Ashveil
The sky over Dareth was darker than usual.
Clouds hung low, thick and unmoving, as if the heavens themselves were mourning. But inside the city's stone prison, morning had arrived whether Kairo Vex wanted it or not.
Chains rattled as a guard banged on the bars.
"Wake up, boy."
Kairo didn't move. He lay flat on the cold floor, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling.
"You hear me?" the guard barked again, this time striking the bars with his baton.
"I'm awake," Kairo murmured. His voice was low, rough. He hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw fire—black fire, the terrified crowd, the burning mark on his chest.
The guard unlocked the cell and threw in a stale loaf of bread. "Eat up. You're due for testing again."
Kairo ignored the bread. His stomach turned at the thought of food.
Testing. That's all he'd been to them since the Rite—an experiment.
They hadn't killed him. Not yet.
Instead, they kept dragging him out day after day, poking him with magical needles, forcing him to touch enchanted crystals, trying to understand what had happened to the flame pillar.
But no matter how many times they examined him, his power stayed buried… dormant… silent.
He hated it.
He hated them.
And, most of all, he hated that he couldn't control whatever was growing inside of him.
Elsewhere in the City...
In the noble district, far from the cold and grime of the Outer Ring, Lyra Ashveil adjusted the silver clasp on her academy uniform and stepped into the sky-carriage.
It hovered above the marble road, its runes glowing blue beneath the frame.
"Lady Lyra," said her maidservant, handing her a set of scrolls. "Your schedule today includes elemental refinement, sword lecture, and spirit dance class."
Lyra nodded politely, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
She couldn't stop thinking about him.
The boy at the Rite.
The one who shattered the flame pillar.
The one with storm-colored eyes and a presence that clashed with everything they were taught about the Unranked.
The nobles had already spun their tale: "A cursed child from the slums broke the flame. He'll be executed soon."
But she had been there. She had seen it.
And she had seen him—the way he stood tall even as the guards dragged him away.
He wasn't weak.
He was something else.
And for some reason, she couldn't get him out of her mind.
The Prison Labs – That Afternoon
Kairo lay strapped to a cold metal table as a magitech device hovered over his chest.
Four robed scientists muttered around him. Their faces were blurred by enchanted masks, their voices emotionless.
"Still no elemental trace," one said.
"No spiritual residue either," said another.
"His mana flow is inconsistent. Spikes then drops. He's not reacting to amplification spells."
"Maybe it's just a one-time burst," a younger mage said. "A fluke."
"No," the lead scientist muttered, staring at the black mark on Kairo's chest. "This isn't a fluke. This is a seal."
He reached out, pressing two fingers to the spiral sigil.
The moment he touched it—
Kairo's body tensed.
The room darkened.
The hovering crystals around the lab blinked—then shattered.
The mage was blasted backward, slamming into the wall. The others scattered.
Kairo gasped. The bindings cracked around his arms.
And for a moment, he felt it again—
That sensation of infinite pressure, like the world was trying to contain something too big for it.
The feeling of a power that didn't obey rules.
Then it faded.
The lab lights returned. The sigil on his chest dulled.
The mages stared in horror.
"He's dangerous."
"We have to silence him."
"We should've executed him the day of the Rite."
Kairo spat blood onto the floor. "Then why didn't you?"
No one answered.
The Unlikely Visitor
Later that night, long after the guards changed shifts, Kairo sat in his cell, barely conscious, still shaking from the earlier surge.
He heard footsteps. Soft. Measured.
He sat up fast.
But instead of a guard or a mage—he saw her.
The girl from the Rite.
Silver-white hair. Violet eyes.
A shimmering academy cloak with the Ashveil sigil—a noble family crest.
"You," Kairo said hoarsely. "What are you doing here?"
She stepped closer, hands behind her back, gaze steady.
"I came to see if you were real."
Kairo narrowed his eyes. "You broke into a prison… to gawk at the 'Unranked freak'?"
"If I wanted to gawk, I would've come with a crowd," Lyra said coolly.
He almost smirked.
Almost.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"I want to know what you did. At the ceremony."
He shrugged, wincing. "If I knew, I'd be out of here."
"Liar," she said.
His eyes locked with hers.
"You didn't shatter the flame. You destroyed it," she continued, walking in a slow circle around his cell. "That's not an accident. That's not even magic. That's something else."
He said nothing.
"People are afraid of you," she went on. "They think you'll break the ranking system itself."
"Maybe I will."
That stopped her. For just a second.
Then she stepped closer, almost to the bars. "If you do… what happens to people like me?"
"What are you?" he asked.
"I'm a Rank A," she replied. "Heir to the Ashveil line. Future commander. Elite academy student. And completely... miserable."
That surprised him.
She crouched down, staring at him on his level.
"I've been ranked since birth. But they still treat me like a weapon, not a person."
"Welcome to the club," Kairo muttered.
They sat in silence for a moment, divided by steel bars and thousands of years of rank-based hatred.
Then Lyra stood. "They're going to move you tomorrow. Somewhere worse."
He looked up sharply.
"How do you know?"
"I overheard my father. He's on the High Council. They want to take you to the Null Core—the place where they lock up power that doesn't follow rules."
Kairo felt a chill ripple down his spine.
"And you're telling me this why?" he asked.
"Because I'm going to help you escape."