Kael stood on the edge of a crumbling cliff, the Ashwilds stretching out beneath him like a sea of shattered glass and forgotten ruin. The blue flame flickered faintly at his fingertips, a wild, untamed ember in his grasp.
He had learned much—his blood was no mere curse. It was Hel's flame, the fire of gods and legends, burning atoms themselves. But power alone wasn't enough.
The knife's will had tested him. The fire inside him was fierce, but raw and untrained. His mind raced with memories of the Elders' cold faces, the chains of exile, and the bitter taste of betrayal.
I am not strong enough to face them yet.
Not strong enough to take back what was stolen.
Kael clenched his fist. The flames burst forth, scorching the air with their icy heat.
"I need more," he whispered. "More strength, more control. I will train until this fire bends to my will."
With the sun setting behind the shattered horizon, Kael made a vow—not just to survive, but to rise.
His path would be forged in pain, sweat, and endless fire.
Revenge would come.
And when it did, House Kito would burn.