Heat. Smoke. Screams.
Darian jolted awake, the smell of burning flesh still clinging to his senses.
His heart pounded like a war drum, breath ragged as though he had been drowning. Cold sweat drenched his back. For a moment, he was trapped in the memory—his father's body collapsing, blood pooling beneath the general's fallen sword, his mother's scream drowned beneath the roar of fire.
Then, silence.
He sat up on the straw-stuffed cot in a dimly lit room. Wooden beams creaked above, and a soft orange glow filtered through a nearby window—sunrise. Not fire.
A feverish warmth pulsed against his chest.
The pendant.
Darian clutched it, feeling the faint heat ebbing away. The phoenix etched into its surface had glowed in his nightmare—no, his vision. Something had spoken to him. Something beyond this world.
"You cannot outrun the weight of your blood."
The voice had been neither male nor female. Just… vast. Cosmic.
Darian exhaled shakily. He lay back down, feeling the stiffness in his limbs. Fever. Delirium. Or something else?
He had collapsed outside the slums of Elarin, bloodied and unconscious, Mira crying beside him and Rian trying to stop the bleeding with ragged cloth. And then… someone had come.
A man.
Cloaked in shadows.
Darian remembered only flashes — a cane, a merchant's robe, the glint of a ring, and a soft but commanding voice.
When he woke again, he was here. Safe.
The door creaked open. Darian sat up quickly, body tensed — but relaxed when he saw the figure.
An older man entered, gray-streaked beard trimmed with precision, eyes sharp yet not unkind. He wore simple merchant garb but carried himself with quiet authority.
Behind him, Rian peeked in, eyes wide. Mira was fast asleep on a pile of folded cloth.
"Good. You're awake," the man said.
Darian narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The man stepped forward and offered a light bow. "Ravi. I was a friend of your father's. One of the few still loyal."
Darian's throat tightened. "Then why didn't you help him?"
Ravi did not flinch. "Because the moment I moved, your siblings would have died. They were being watched."
Darian looked down, shame mingling with anger.
Ravi continued, "But I had ears in the slums. When my servant told me the Surya heir and his siblings had fled, carrying the pendant, I came."
He reached into his robe and pulled out a folded letter.
"Your father left this with me. He told me to give it to you if the worst came to pass."
Hands trembling, Darian unfolded it.
Darian, my son. If you are reading this, then the heavens have judged me before my time. Trust no one. The rot runs deeper than caste or crown. But you… you carry more than my name. You carry the Eye. It will awaken in pain, and with it, the truth will blind you. Be strong. Protect Rian and Mira. The Eye sees karma… but it demands a price.
Darian stared.
"The Eye?"
Ravi nodded solemnly. "You've inherited more than a title. The Eye of Karma is not a gift—it's a burden. A weapon. And a curse."
Darian touched the phoenix pendant. The heat had faded, but something deep within hummed.
Later that evening, Ravi offered a simple stew. Darian ate slowly, his mind spinning.
Mira clung to his arm, the trauma of the past days etched into her young face. Rian, ever curious, poked at the old books Ravi kept stacked on the shelves.
The house was modest but clean, tucked into the merchant quarter. Outside, Elarin's night buzzed—distant drums, shouted bargains, and the faint clash of blades in far-off alleys.
Darian turned to Ravi. "What now?"
Ravi folded his hands. "You're a beggar to the world now. The Surya name is ashes. But ashes can birth fire again."
He stood and walked to the window, looking out at the slums. "Karma is the only law left. Power flows to those who understand it. That pendant… that Eye… it makes you dangerous to the wrong people. And invaluable to the right ones."
Darian stared.
"Then teach me."
Ravi raised an eyebrow. "You trust me that easily?"
"No," Darian said. "But I have no choice."
Ravi smiled faintly.
"Then let's build something new. Together."
That night, as the siblings lay huddled in their shared room, Darian stared at the ceiling.
"Darian?" Mira whispered.
He turned. "Hmm?"
"I had a bad dream."
He reached over and took her hand.
"Me too."
She sniffled. "Are we safe now?"
He didn't answer immediately. Then: "We're safer than we were."
Rian mumbled, "If I had a sword, I'd protect you."
Darian chuckled softly. "One day, you will. And I'll be proud of you."
Mira nestled closer. Within moments, she was asleep. Rian followed.
Darian lay awake, clutching the phoenix pendant.
His eyes burned—not from tears, but from something deeper. The Eye had opened once. The vision had nearly broken him.
He couldn't afford to let it happen again.
But he knew it would.
He had seen the battlefield. The corpses. The giant eye in the sky. And that masked figure whose voice still echoed:
"All debts are paid—whether in blood or in fire."
Darian closed his eyes.
"Then let it be fire."