The scream shattered the palace silence like glass.
It ripped through stone corridors that had known centuries of order, cutting through the calm with a rawness so sudden that Kael Vireth stopped mid-step, his hand still resting on the cool marble balustrade.
For one terrible heartbeat, he wondered if he had imagined it.
Then came another scream—closer this time—followed by the unmistakable clash of steel.
Kael's breath hitched. The late hour pressed against him, thick and uneasy. The palace of Aurelion was never loud at night. It slept with dignity, guarded by ritual and routine. Even the guards spoke softly after dusk, as though afraid to wake the ghosts of old kings.
But this—
This was chaos.
Kael turned and ran.
His boots struck the polished floor as he took the eastern stair two steps at a time, cloak snapping behind him. Torchlight flickered wildly, shadows leaping along the walls like living things. Servants burst from side corridors, pale-faced and shaking, clutching at one another as they fled in the opposite direction.
"Fire—" someone cried.
"The council hall—Gods preserve us—"
Kael's heart thundered harder with every word.
The council hall.
His father had been there.
The air grew hotter as Kael descended, the warmth thick and suffocating, pressing against his skin as if the palace itself were feverish. Smoke crept along the ceiling, curling like a warning.
"No," Kael whispered, breaking into a full sprint.
He skidded to a halt at the foot of the stairs.
Flames roared at the far end of the corridor, pouring out through the open doors of the council hall. Banners bearing the sigil of House Vireth—golden crown crowned by a rising flame—burned fiercely, their embroidered threads blackening and curling into ash.
Bodies lay scattered across the marble floor.
Guards.
Men Kael knew. Men who had trained him since childhood, who had sworn oaths to his bloodline.
One of them moved weakly, blood bubbling at his lips.
Kael dropped to his knees beside him. "What happened?"
The guard's eyes struggled to focus. "Magic," he rasped. "From nowhere. The council—"
His body went still.
Kael swallowed hard and rose, dread clawing up his spine.
Inside the hall, the world had ended.
The long council table was split in half, blackened as though struck by lightning. Marble tiles were cracked and glowing faintly red beneath layers of ash. Lords and nobles lay sprawled where they had fallen, robes burned, rings melted into flesh.
The smell of charred stone and blood made Kael gag.
"Father?" His voice echoed, thin and fragile.
No answer came.
At the far end of the chamber, the throne stood.
Or rather—what remained of it.
The ancient seat of Aurelion, carved from starstone and veined with gold, was fractured straight down the middle. Smoke curled from its heart, rising like a wounded breath.
Kael staggered forward, legs weak.
"Father," he whispered again.
A slow clap echoed through the hall.
Kael spun around.
A man stood near the shattered dais, cloaked in black, untouched by fire or smoke. He was tall, composed, his posture relaxed—as if he were merely a guest observing the aftermath of a performance.
"You should not have come back," the man said mildly.
Kael's blood roared in his ears. "Where is the king?"
The stranger tilted his head, studying Kael with open curiosity.
"He begged," he said calmly. "As most men do, in the end."
The words struck like a blade.
Something inside Kael snapped.
Grief and fury collided, tearing through him in a violent surge. He didn't remember calling on the power—only the heat, sudden and overwhelming, erupting from deep within his chest.
Fire burst from his hands.
It screamed across the hall, a wild, uncontrolled inferno that shattered stone and sent debris flying. The force slammed the stranger into the far wall with bone-crushing power.
Kael cried out as the flames scorched his own skin, pain ripping through his arms. He dropped to one knee, gasping, staring at his blistered palms in horror.
What have I done?
The stranger stood.
Unharmed.
Ash drifted from his cloak as he brushed it away, eyes glowing faintly gold in the firelight.
"Well," he murmured, impressed. "So the rumors were true after all."
Kael forced himself upright, heart pounding. "What did you do to him?"
The man smiled—slow, satisfied. "I freed the kingdom from weak blood."
Footsteps thundered in the corridor behind Kael. Guards. Survivors. Witnesses.
The stranger's gaze flicked toward the sound.
"Run, Prince Kael," he said softly. "The crown is ashes now."
Smoke surged upward, swallowing him whole.
Kael lunged forward, but the space where the man had stood was empty—only curling shadows and heat remained.
The ceiling groaned.
Stone cracked.
Fire climbed higher, devouring what little remained of the hall.
A hand grabbed Kael's arm. "My prince, we must go!"
He allowed himself to be pulled away as the chamber collapsed inward, flames roaring triumphantly behind them.
By dawn, the palace would lie in ruins.
By dawn, the kingdom would name him traitor.
Kael did not remember leaving the palace.
He remembered running—through smoke-filled corridors, down hidden passages, out into the cold night air where the city lay spread below like a sea of lights and ignorance.
He remembered the horns.
The alarm bells.
The shouting.
He remembered someone pressing a cloak into his hands and shoving him toward the outer gate.
And then—
Silence.
He collapsed in an alley, chest heaving, hands shaking violently. Fire pulsed beneath his skin, restless and furious, responding to his emotions as though it were alive.
Magic.
Forbidden. Feared.
A curse carried by his bloodline and hidden for generations.
His father had sworn it would never awaken.
Kael laughed, broken and hysterical.
"So much for promises."
Above the rooftops, smoke rose into the night sky, a dark crown over the city of Aurelion.
The palace burned.
And somewhere within its ashes, the truth was already being buried.
By morning, the kingdom would need a villain.
Kael Vireth would wear the name like a death sentence.
And the fire inside him would never sleep again.