The sun was barely rising when the bell tower in the Academy square began to toll—three low, hollow chimes that echoed across the city of Lyros.
Ashen stood at the window of his dormitory, freshly returned from the Ember Trials, watching the awakening city. The flame within him felt different now. Sharper. Tamed—but not weakened. And yet, beneath that new calm, a storm had begun to brew.
Behind him, the door creaked open. It was Renna, her white robes slightly wrinkled, dark circles under her eyes.
"You're back," she said softly.
Ashen nodded. "Kael said I passed."
Renna stepped closer, eyes searching him. "You look… different."
Ashen gave a half-smile. "I feel different."
She paused, then added, "And there are rumors."
Ashen's smile faded. "Rumors?"
Renna nodded. "About someone surviving all three Ember Trials. About golden fire. About a boy who walked through illusion, pressure, and rage without breaking."
He turned back to the window. "They're just rumors."
"No," she said. "They're warnings. The nobles are whispering. Some of the instructors too. They're asking who you really are."
Ashen didn't reply.
Because he didn't know the answer either.
---
Down in the lower quarters of Lyros, where the cobbled streets turned to dirt and stone, a cloaked man walked quietly through an alley. His face hidden, his steps silent. He stopped outside a crumbling house with no door, then stepped inside.
A group of six waited within—men and women, old and young, all bearing the mark of the crescent eye on their gloves.
"The boy passed," the cloaked man said.
One of the older men leaned forward. "Are you sure it's him?"
"I watched him through the scrying crystal. The Last Flame answered him. It chose him."
Silence fell.
Then a woman with red tattoos on her neck whispered, "Then he's the one."
Another hissed, "He's a threat."
"No," said the cloaked man. "He's an opportunity."
---
Back at the Academy, Ashen made his way toward the Archive Tower—a massive structure built from obsidian and etched with runes. Inside were thousands of years of scrolls, records, and secrets.
Kael had given him permission to search the forbidden floors. Ashen wanted to learn more about the flame. About the Gauntlet. About why he could wield it.
And maybe, just maybe… who the Flame King had been.
He found Renna already inside, thumbing through a large tome with a cracked spine. She looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"You're early."
"Couldn't sleep."
Renna gestured to a thick scroll beside her. "Start here. It mentions something called the Cradle of Fire. A place where the First Flame was sealed long ago."
Ashen sat beside her, his eyes scanning the old script.
The words were ancient, but simple enough:
> "In the age before kingdoms, the flame fell from the sky. Those who touched it either died… or became gods."
Ashen's breath caught.
Another passage read:
> "Only one survived with soul intact. He was known as the Ascendant. But to guard the flame, he vanished. Only his weapon remained—a gauntlet forged from the sun."
Ashen looked at his arm.
The Gauntlet of Flame.
"Is this… his?" he whispered.
Renna's voice was barely a breath. "If it is… then you're holding something that no mortal has touched in a thousand years."
Ashen leaned back, the weight of that truth settling like stone in his chest.
---
Later that night, Ashen sat atop the eastern wall of the Academy, legs dangling over the edge, eyes on the stars.
The flame inside him pulsed—not violently, but like a heartbeat. A presence. A reminder.
He didn't notice Kael approaching until the older man sat beside him, arms crossed, gaze distant.
"You've drawn attention," Kael said without preamble.
Ashen sighed. "Renna told me."
"Not just nobles. Not just the Academy." Kael's voice turned sharp. "Others. Groups that want to control the old powers. Groups that think you're the reincarnation of the Ascendant. Or worse—the Flame King reborn."
Ashen was silent for a long time. Then he asked, "And what do you think?"
Kael stared up at the night sky.
"I think you're you. And that's already dangerous enough."
Ashen's hand clenched. "I didn't ask for this."
"No one ever does," Kael said. "But when the flame chooses… it doesn't ask permission."
---
Far beyond the city of Lyros, in the frozen wastes of the North, a man with silver hair and armor of shadow knelt before a crystal altar. Black fire burned behind him.
A messenger entered the chamber.
"My lord," the messenger said. "The Flame has been awakened."
The man stood slowly, eyes glowing faintly with violet light.
"Then the game begins."