The fire came before dawn. Without warning, without the sound of horns or cries of alarm. Only a flash of red in the distance, followed by a heavy rumble that shook the ground as if the belly of the earth itself were enraged. Lys woke to the sound, not from a dream, but from real screams outside his window. The morning air, usually cold and crisp, was now hot and heavy, carrying the sting of smoke. He scrambled to his feet, peered through the narrow crack of his window, and his gaze froze. From the eastern edge of the village, tongues of flame licked the sky, devouring rooftops one by one. The orange light danced across the thinning fog, turning the quiet dawn into a nightmare come to life.
In the street before his house, people ran in panic. Some carried small children, others dragged sacks of grain or whatever belongings they could save. Cries of fear mixed with shouted orders and desperate sobs. Lys rushed outside, kicking over a bucket of water by the door. The wind met him with blistering heat, carrying fine ash that drifted like snow. He spotted Old Taren at the end of the road, trying to fight the fire with a pail, but the effort was futile, the wall behind him was already collapsing.
"Master Taren!" Lys shouted, his voice nearly drowned by the roar of the flames.
Taren turned, his eyes bloodshot from the smoke. "Lys! Get out of here! They're coming from the north!" he yelled hoarsely. "It's not just fire, boy—it's soldiers! They're looking for something!"
Lys froze. "Soldiers? Who—"
Taren never finished. From the distance came the thunder of hooves steady, heavy, and relentless accompanied by the metallic ring of armor and sharp shouts. The quiet valley of Verdan had become a battlefield. Out of the fading mist emerged a line of horsemen clad in black and silver. Upon their chests gleamed the symbol of chained wings, the mark of the Order of Skybinders. Their eyes were hidden behind metal helms, and in their hands, long spears glinted with reflected firelight.
Lys stumbled backward. "No… they've really come."
Aetherion's voice echoed in his mind, calm yet firm. I warned you. They did not come to speak.
"Why are they attacking? I didn't do anything!" Lys whispered, though deep down he knew no answer could make sense of this.
Because you carry something they cannot understand, Aetherion replied. And mankind fears what it cannot understand.
A scream cut through the air. Across the road, the Maret family's house crumbled to the ground, its walls blown apart by a surge of magic. Black smoke rose high, blotting half the sky. Lys saw a small child stumble out from the ruins, crying for her mother, but before he could move, someone grabbed his arm from behind. It was Mira, the young woman from next door who often brought him bread each morning.
"Lys! Run west! They're burning everything!" she shouted, her face smeared with soot. "My father's in the fields—I have to find him!"
"Mira, no! It's too dangerous!" Lys tried to stop her, but she tore free and sprinted toward the smoke. She glanced back once, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "Meet me by the river if you make it out!" she yelled before vanishing into the chaos.
Lys stood frozen, his chest tight. He wanted to chase her, but soldiers were already pouring in from the other side. They hurled fire arrows onto rooftops, and within moments, half the village was ablaze. There was no time. He dashed back inside, grabbing the bag he had packed the night before food, water, a few clothes, and the small white crystal. He stared at it for a heartbeat, his pulse racing in sync with its faint, living glow.
Take me out of here, Lys.Aetherion's voice thundered through him, louder now, vibrating in his bones. I can help you escape.
"What should I do?"
Trust me.
Lys bit his lip and stepped outside, ducking beneath the falling sparks. The main road was impassable, blocked by collapsing homes and burning debris. He veered toward the granary, but even there two soldiers were searching the area. They spotted him, shouted something, and gave chase. Lys ran with everything he had, his heart pounding like a war drum. Arrows hissed through the air, one thudding into the ground beside his foot.
"You can't run forever!" one of the soldiers bellowed. "Surrender yourself!"
Lys didn't answer. He ran until he reached the small river at the valley's edge. The water was icy and swift, but there was no other choice. He leapt in. The shock stole his breath; the current slammed into him, spinning him around. He let it carry him away from the flames, from the screams, from everything. When he surfaced again, gasping for air, he looked back and his heart broke. Verdan, the only home he had ever known, was an inferno. Roofs collapsed, embers scattered into the sky, and the horizon glowed red and black. He caught sight of Taren's silhouette in the street, shielding others from the fire, until a blast of blue light struck nearby, throwing him aside. Lys wanted to scream, but his voice drowned in the rushing water.
Look well, Lys, Aetherion said softly. This is the face of a world that rejects the sky.
Lys closed his eyes, letting the current drag him. He felt cold, exhausted, and furious at everything at the world, at fate, at himself. He never wanted this. Never wanted to be the cause of it all. Yet beneath that storm of grief, something else stirred, something warm and alive, pulsing faintly within him. He couldn't tell if it belonged to Aetherion or to himself.
When the river finally calmed, he crawled ashore, collapsing onto the muddy ground. His breath came in ragged gasps, his whole body trembling but he was alive. In the distance, the glow of the burning village still painted the horizon, like a dying star clinging to the earth. He lay there, staring at the sky, and through the haze of smoke, saw a faint shimmer of blue light like the heavens themselves were mourning.
Hours later, the sound of footsteps drew near. Lys pushed himself up and hid behind a large stone. From between the trees emerged three dark figures. They weren't villagers their movements were too disciplined, their silhouettes too sharp. Lys crouched lower, barely breathing. One of them spoke, his voice clipped and authoritative.
"Target not found. But traces of light energy detected near the river," the man said, holding a metal rod that glowed faintly green at its tip. "The Order wants him alive."
Lys squeezed his eyes shut, his heartbeat hammering painfully. They were truly hunting him.
Stay still, Lys, Aetherion whispered. I can mask your presence for a moment, but you must remain calm.
He didn't move. The three men came closer, their boots crunching on the gravel. One stopped just behind the rock. Lys could hear his breathing through the visor. Sweat trickled down his palm as he gripped the handle of the small knife at his belt. Seconds stretched into eternity. Then a voice shouted from afar.
"Return to base! New orders from Captain Korr!"
The men turned and left. Lys waited until the sound of their steps faded completely before exhaling shakily. He looked westward, toward where sunlight began to filter through the forest canopy. His whole body trembled, but his eyes burned with something new resolve.
What will you do now? Aetherion asked.
"I don't know," Lys murmured. "But I can't keep running."
It isn't time to fight yet. The world still sleeps to what you are.
Lys sat in silence, watching the river smooth itself again. His reflection stared back, a young man whose eyes now glimmered faintly blue, reflecting light that wasn't his own. "I don't even know who I am anymore," he whispered.
You are two souls bound as one, Aetherion said calmly. Human, and light. That is why the world will chase you.
Lys stared at his hands, as if the answer might be carved there. Anger, fear, confusion all churned together. Yet beneath it, something steadier began to take shape. Responsibility. If this power truly lived within him, he had to learn to control it before more people suffered because of him.
The morning grew bright. Smoke from the valley thinned into pale threads, fading into the sky. From afar, birds took flight, leaving behind the ruins as if to erase them from memory. Lys rose slowly, tightening the strap of his bag. The Order wouldn't stop not until they had him.
He walked for hours through wet forest until he found a narrow trail leading west. It was overgrown, littered with fallen branches and thick leaves. Each step was heavy but sure. Aetherion stayed silent, giving him room to think. Every sound of the forest the rustle of wind, the trickle of water felt painfully vivid, like the world had become too real.
When the sun finally stood high above, Lys climbed a low hill. From there, he could see what remained of Verdan a faint smear of smoke on the horizon. The sight felt distant, unreal, like a memory already fading. He clenched his bag and bowed his head. "I'll come back someday," he whispered. "But not as the same person."
I will be with you, Aetherion replied, his tone gentle yet resolute. And when that day comes, the sky will open once more.
Lys said nothing. He looked toward the west toward the light and the drifting mist that marked the edge of the known world. There, his journey began anew. No longer the shepherd of Verdan, but the bearer of light the flame among the ruins.