The execution square of Varynthia had never been this full.
Even during festivals, when lanterns filled the sky and wine flowed like rivers, the capital had never gathered with such suffocating anticipation.
But today was different.
Today, they would watch a boy burn.
Kael stood at the center of the stone platform, wrists bound in iron chains etched with holy runes. The metal bit into his skin, cold and heavy. His dark hair fell into his eyes, hiding the quiet storm within them.
Above him, the sky was a dull gray — the kind that felt unfinished. As if even the heavens refused to witness what was about to happen.
Around the platform, the citizens of Varynthia crowded shoulder to shoulder. Merchants. Nobles. Beggars. Knights in polished armor. All staring. All waiting.
"Demon child…"
"Fraud…"
"Blasphemer…"
The whispers crawled across the square like insects.
Kael exhaled slowly.
He had grown used to whispers.
In Varynthia, fire was sacred.
Not common flame — not the kind used to cook bread or light lanterns.
The sacred fire.
Primordial Flame.
Only the royal bloodline could wield it. That was the law written in every temple wall and carved into every child's memory.
And the royal bloodline had been exterminated seventeen years ago.
Every last heir slaughtered in a single night of betrayal.
Or so the kingdom believed.
Kael was born in the Ash District — the poorest corner of the capital, where soot permanently stained the air and hope rarely survived past childhood.
Three nights ago, during a violent clash between district gangs, Kael had done the impossible.
He had summoned fire.
Not ordinary fire.
It had spiraled from his palm in a violent burst, scorching the cobblestones black.
Witnesses claimed the flame burned darker than crimson.
The High Temple called it heresy.
The Royal Guard called it treason.
And so here he stood.
The High Priest stepped onto the platform, golden robes trailing behind him. His eyes were sharp and calculating.
"Kael of the Ash District," he announced, voice echoing across the square. "You are accused of falsely claiming royal fire."
"I never claimed anything," Kael replied quietly.
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
The priest's lips tightened. "Witnesses saw flame bend to your will."
"It wasn't bending," Kael muttered.
It was screaming.
The High Priest raised his staff. The ruby at its crown glowed faintly.
"In a kingdom protected by divine fire, false flame is corruption."
He pointed at Kael.
"And corruption must be cleansed."
The crowd roared in approval.
Two soldiers approached. One carried a jar of oil. The other held a lit torch.
The oil poured over Kael's head, soaking into his torn clothes. The sharp scent filled his lungs.
For the first time, fear cracked through him.
He didn't want to die.
The torch lowered.
"Let the flames judge him."
The fire touched his shoulder and spread instantly, swallowing his body in orange light.
Gasps erupted.
Kael clenched his teeth, waiting for pain.
But none came.
The flames grew stronger, rising higher around him.
Yet his skin did not blister.
His clothes did not burn.
Instead, something inside him awakened.
A heat — not on his skin, but within his chest.
The orange flames flickered violently.
Then they darkened.
Crimson shifted to deep violet.
Violet collapsed into black.
A shockwave exploded outward. Soldiers were thrown back. The chains binding Kael melted into liquid metal.
Silence consumed the square.
Where ordinary fire had burned now stood a pillar of black flame.
And at its center stood Kael.
Unharmed.
Alive.
Dark embers spiraled around his hands.
"I didn't mean to…" he whispered.
Behind him, shadows stretched unnaturally long.
Then they rose.
A massive silhouette formed — wings crafted from void-like fire, spreading wide enough to eclipse the execution platform.
The crowd screamed.
The High Priest stumbled backward.
"That flame… It cannot be…"
The black fire pulsed.
A voice echoed inside Kael's mind.
You are not meant to burn.
His chest tightened.
You are meant to devour.
The pillar of flame shot upward into the sky, tearing apart the gray clouds.
Temple bells began ringing wildly across the capital.
One brave guard charged forward, sword raised high.
"For the Temple!"
The blade swung down.
Kael lifted his hand instinctively.
A thin arc of black flame flickered into existence and touched the steel.
The sword dissolved.
Not shattered.
Dissolved — as if erased from existence.
The guard fell back in terror.
The High Priest's voice trembled.
"That is Devourer Flame…"
The forbidden name spread through the square like poison.
The sacred runes carved into the execution platform dimmed and turned to ash beneath Kael's feet.
"Seize him!" the High Priest shouted desperately.
But none of the soldiers moved.
Then suddenly—
A spear of golden fire shot across the square and struck the ground before Kael.
Light exploded outward, forcing him back.
When the smoke cleared, a man clad in silver armor stood before him. A crimson cape flowed behind him, and in his hand burned a blade of radiant golden flame.
The Flame Knight.
Protector of the Temple.
His eyes glowed like molten gold as he studied Kael.
"You have awakened something that should have remained buried," the knight said calmly.
"I didn't ask for this," Kael replied.
"No one ever does."
The knight raised his burning blade.
Golden light pushed back against the black flames.
Opposites clashed once more after centuries of silence.
"If you surrender," the knight continued, "the Temple may yet contain the corruption."
Kael felt the ember inside him pulse harder.
Contain.
Not save.
Not understand.
"I won't be caged," Kael said.
The knight moved.
Their flames collided.
Gold and black exploded upon impact, shattering stone and sending fire spiraling into the sky.
Golden flame tried to purify.
Black flame tried to consume.
For a moment, time itself seemed to hesitate.
Then the golden blade began to crack.
The Flame Knight's eyes widened.
The black fire was not merely resisting.
It was devouring.
A massive pillar of darkness erupted from Kael's body, splitting the execution square in two.
Smoke swallowed everything.
When the dust settled—
Kael was gone.
Only faint black embers drifted toward the outer walls of Varynthia.
The Flame Knight stood among the ruins, breathing heavily.
"This changes everything," he murmured.
Far beyond the kingdom's borders, a sealed altar cracked.
And in the darkness, something ancient opened its eyes.
"The Ashborn has awakened."