"A spark can light a candle… or raze a city."
— Ash Guard Instructor Rael
---
Renzo stood over the unconscious body.
His hand still smoked. His breath trembled.
The heat hadn't left.
His right palm glowed faintly red. Embers drifted from his fingertips like slow, curious insects — alive with a rhythm only the flame understood.
What the hell just happened?
The man at his feet — broad, older, once blazing with power — now lay collapsed and cooling. His flame had vanished the moment Renzo's had ignited.
But how?
No training. No control. He was just a kid from Cavite. A nobody. A utility cleaner with a broken phone and a sick sister.
His knees nearly gave.
He looked toward the alley's open mouth. Smoke curled at the edges of cracked concrete. Beyond, neon signs flickered. Tail lights blinked red through the haze.
People had gathered.
Eyes wide.
Phones raised.
Recording. Whispering.
No.
They saw everything.
His chest seized.
He ran.
---
Fifteen Minutes Later
The alley lay quiet again. The heat had faded, but the scars remained — a blackened wall, shattered glass, scorched pavement.
A man stepped into the space.
Tall. Black coat. Boots crunching softly across ash and stone. He scanned the destruction with professional stillness, then knelt, pressing a bare hand to the scorched ground.
Still warm.
"…Red. First ignition," he murmured.
Behind him, a second figure approached — a woman in her thirties, half-shaved hair, a faint sigil glowing at her throat. The mark pulsed softly: Ash Guard rank.
"No registry. No Dominion link," she said. "Raw flare. No trigger. No permit. No teacher."
The man didn't respond immediately.
He stood. A lone ember rose past his shoulder, spiraling into the night.
"Another unlisted Awakener," he said at last. "But this one…"
He paused.
"He burned clean."
---
12:12 AM – Renzo's Home
The small apartment was silent.
Renzo sat on the floor, his back against a battered couch. A towel was wrapped tight around his right hand — no longer glowing, but still burning beneath the skin.
Across from him, his sister Aya slept curled on the sofa. Her breathing was shallow but steady, her asthma meds tucked against her chest. She'd slept through the explosion — through the fire and the fear.
She always did.
Renzo stared at her.
Still safe. Still here.
He exhaled, long and shaky.
Then glanced down at his hand.
The skin looked normal again. No burns. No bruises. But the warmth remained. A whisper beneath his veins. The fire hadn't left. It was waiting.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
He hesitated. Then answered.
"…Hello?"
"Renzo Guevara?" The voice was low. Measured.
"Who is this?"
"You lit tonight. You know what that means."
Renzo swallowed hard. "I didn't ask for this."
"You don't get to choose. The flame chose you."
A long pause.
Then:
> "You have seven days to report to the Ignis Dominion…
Or the Ash Guard will come for you."
---
Ignis Dominion HQ — Ashen Spire
At the heart of the world, in a fortress above the clouds, stood the Ashen Spire — the command tower of the Ignis Dominion.
There, alone in the Hall of Origins, the Grand Flamekeeper Ishar Vael moved silently between floating sigils of ancient fire. They hovered mid-air like constellations — symbols of bloodlines, power, and flame resonance.
He stopped at one.
A rare icon pulsed at the far edge of the chart. Blackened, yet glowing from within.
Void.
Ishar narrowed his eyes.
"He's lit," he whispered.
A masked figure stepped from the shadows behind him — a Seeker.
"Another unlisted?"
Ishar didn't answer immediately.
He studied the void-marked sigil with a reverence almost bordering on fear.
"No," he said.
"Not just another."
He looked out toward the world below.
"He ignited without corruption. No casualties. No chaos."
He touched the floating flame.
"That's not randomness. That's design."
"The flame has chosen," he said again.
"And it chose early."
---
Cavite — 3:21 PM
Renzo sat on the edge of a concrete rooftop, legs dangling over the ledge. Below, the world carried on — traffic, smoke, laughter, the hum of ordinary life.
But he wasn't the same.
He turned his hand in the light. No fire. No sign. But he felt it still — like a second heartbeat beneath the skin.
What now? he wondered.
A shift in the wind made him tense. Then —
"You really thought we wouldn't find you?"
He turned fast.
A woman stood a few feet behind him. Black-and-silver coat. Calm gaze. No flame visible — but the pressure she radiated was unmistakable.
She wasn't angry.
She was impressed.
"You're coming with me," she said. "You've got a lot to learn before you burn something you can't take back."
Renzo rose cautiously. "Ash Guard?"
She smirked. "Close enough."
Then held out a hand.
> "I'm your first teacher.
Welcome to the fire, Renzo Guevara."