The knock on Richard's door came just before dawn.
Not a guard's knock.
Not a servant's.
Three quiet taps. Rhythmically spaced.
Richard was already awake.
He opened the door to find Maria, wrapped in a dark traveling cloak, her face pale and her eyes fierce. She pushed past him without a word, shutting the door behind her.
"Someone followed me from the courtyard," she said. "I doubled back three times."
Richard blinked. "Why would anyone—?"
"Because you're glowing in your sleep, Richard." She turned to face him fully now. "And because you've stopped talking to me."
His throat tightened. "I didn't mean—"
"I know what you're going to say," she cut in. "You're scared. So am I. But shutting me out won't change what's waking up inside you."
He lowered his gaze.
"The others are whispering," she added. "The guards. The stablehands. Even the palace staff. Some are calling you a vessel. Others say you're cursed."
Richard scoffed. "Let them talk."
Maria stepped closer. "I don't care what they say. But I need to know the truth. What happened in the chapel?"
His eyes snapped to hers.
So she did know.
---
The Weight of Secrets
Richard sat down at the edge of his bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath him. Maria didn't move — just stood there, arms crossed, waiting.
"I met with someone," he admitted. "A group. They call themselves the Lumen Dissent. They claim the royal family has been using people like me for generations."
Maria didn't react — not immediately.
Then she exhaled. "I've heard that name before."
Richard looked up. "From where?"
"My mother," she said. "Years ago. Before she died, she used to whisper things at night — warnings. She said the gods never left… they were buried. And one day, their flames would rise again. And with them, everything would burn."
A cold silence settled between them.
Richard broke it. "They told me I had a brother."
Maria closed her eyes.
"So it's true," she said softly.
"You knew?"
"I didn't know," she whispered. "I suspected. Your father… he used to disappear for days when your mother was sick. Always came back worse. Drinking more. Less words. I asked him once if there was something before you. He said, 'There was someone once. But the gods took him.'"
---
The Lesson of the Flame
Later that morning, Richard stood in the eastern courtyard, facing Master Harwen — one of the palace's oldest trainers. A war veteran turned instructor, Harwen had eyes like sharpened glass and scars down his arms that no one dared ask about.
Today, he was not smiling.
"Again," Harwen barked.
Richard raised his blade.
Harwen lunged.
Steel clashed. Sparks flew.
For a moment, it felt like a dance — a cruel one. Richard parried, spun, ducked, but he was losing ground. Harwen was faster. Smarter.
Desperate, Richard called on the flame.
It surged inside his chest like a second heartbeat. His blade glowed faintly — not golden, not yet, but warm.
He moved differently then. Lighter. Quicker.
He countered Harwen's blow and landed a strike on the old man's shoulder.
Harwen stepped back.
Silence fell.
Then he laughed — not unkindly.
"There it is," he said, nodding. "The power. I wondered when you'd let it out."
Richard lowered his blade, breathing hard.
"Don't hide it," Harwen warned. "Don't fear it. The worst thing a warrior can do is lie to his own strength."
But even as Harwen walked away, Richard felt it — the eyes on him. Hidden. Watching. Measuring.
And somewhere above, behind the high tower windows, Prince Lucas stood in silence, arms folded.
---
Blood on the Scroll
That night, Richard visited the library again — not to read, but to search.
He snuck past the head archivist's quarters and made his way down to the restricted chamber Elias had shown him. The rune-circle had been wiped away. But the shelves were untouched.
He scanned until he found it: The Line of Lightbearers.
It was thick, bound in gray leather, and sealed with a red wax symbol — a burning hand.
He cracked it open.
The pages smelled of old fire and ink.
One name stood out, etched in red: Marcus Hale.
There was no portrait.
Just a single sentence beneath the entry:
> "Marked by the sovereign flame. Destroyed during ascension trial. Body unrecovered."
Richard touched the words.
For a second, the ink pulsed beneath his fingers.
And he heard it—faint, like an echo through stone:
> "You'll burn, too."
He snapped the book shut, his hand trembling.
---
The Dream Returns
That night, the dream came again.
But this time, the fire was silent.
Richard stood at the edge of a burning bridge. On the other side was Marcus — older than Richard, with sharp features, darker hair, and eyes that flickered gold.
They didn't speak.
They just stared.
And slowly, Marcus raised his hand.
The world cracked.
The fire screamed.
And Richard awoke choking, the scent of ash in his lungs and sweat dripping down his neck.
Shadows in the Hall
Richard walked the palace corridors like a man in someone else's life.
Servants gave him wider space than before.
Guards stopped talking when he approached.
And when he entered the training yard that morning, even Carly — usually cocky and unbothered — gave him a cautious glance.
"You okay?" she asked under her breath as they stretched.
"I'm fine," Richard lied.
She studied him, eyes sharp. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't," he said, cracking a bitter smile. "Turns out being the possible reincarnation of a fire god makes rest kind of tricky."
Carly raised a brow. "That a joke?"
"Yeah." He paused. "Kind of."
---
The Prince's Summons
By midday, a royal courier approached him in the dining hall. Wordlessly, the man handed Richard a folded scroll sealed in deep blue wax — the sigil of House Theron.
The prince's family.
Lucas had summoned him.
Not to the training hall.
To the solar — a chamber reserved for political dealings and, more ominously, interrogations.
Richard's gut twisted.
---
The Solar
The room smelled like cedarwood and expensive ink. High arched windows spilled sunlight across the marble floor. Prince Lucas stood at the far end, hands behind his back, flanked by two unfamiliar figures in silver robes.
Clerics. Not warriors.
"Richard," Lucas said warmly. Too warmly. "Come. Sit."
He obeyed, careful not to show the unease churning in his chest.
Lucas poured them both tea. Not wine. Not water.
Tea.
Old trick, Richard thought. Tea soothes the mind. Makes people drop their guard.
"You've been progressing faster than expected," Lucas said. "Very few recruits can summon light without training. Even fewer manage it twice in a single week."
Richard swallowed. "Is that… a problem?"
Lucas smiled. "No. Not at all. It's a blessing."
One of the clerics stepped forward. A woman, pale with gray eyes like frost.
"We'd like to perform a resonance test," she said. "Nothing painful. Just a reading. To ensure the flame within you is stable."
Richard's jaw tensed.
"And if it's not?"
The other cleric — a man with thin lips and ink-stained fingers — answered:
"Then we help you control it. For your sake… and the kingdom's."
---
The Test
Richard sat in the center of a runic circle as the clerics placed relics around him — gemstones, feathered charms, bowls of sacred oil.
They hummed softly, ancient tones that made his skin crawl.
The prince watched from a distance, hands still calmly clasped.
The resonance began.
Light pulsed outward from the circle.
At first, it felt like warmth.
Then it turned to heat.
Then pressure.
Then—fear.
Richard gasped as visions flashed behind his eyes — flames tearing through stone, screams, a boy's hand reaching for him through the fire.
Marcus.
He saw Marcus, alive — restrained in chains, shouting something.
He tried to listen.
But the heat ripped through him like a wave of molten glass.
"Stop!" Richard cried.
The light snapped off.
The room dimmed.
Silence.
Then the female cleric whispered, almost in awe:
> "His flame isn't stable. It's evolving."
---
Aftermath
Lucas dismissed the clerics.
They left without a word, though not without a final glance at Richard that made him feel like livestock being measured.
The prince offered him water. Richard refused.
Lucas finally sat beside him.
"Tell me what you saw."
Richard hesitated.
Then: "My brother."
Lucas didn't flinch. "So you know."
"You lied to me."
"I didn't lie," Lucas said calmly. "I protected you. Until you were ready."
"And now?"
"Now I need you to understand," Lucas said, voice steady, low. "Marcus wasn't a failure. He was a warning."
Richard's blood turned to ice.
"He lost control," Lucas continued. "He tried to burn down the crown tower. We never found his body."
Richard stood up. "You used him. Like you're trying to use me."
Lucas didn't rise.
"You think I don't care, Richard? You think I haven't lost people to this power? You think I want to repeat the past?"
"You're doing it already," Richard snapped.
Lucas's eyes narrowed, just slightly.
"You're tired. You're scared. That's natural. But be careful. Rage and grief… they are easy doors for the flame to enter through."
---
The Choice Approaches
That night, Richard met Maria behind the chapel ruins.
She was already waiting, torchlight dancing across her freckled face.
He didn't speak.
He just held out the small stone disc Elias had given him — the token.
She looked at it.
Then at him.
"You're going to break it?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "Not yet. But the moment's coming."
She reached out and gently pushed the disc back into his palm. "Then hold onto it until you're sure."
They sat in silence after that, side by side on a fallen column, watching the stars spin slowly above the city.
Somewhere beyond the palace walls, something stirred in the dark.
And the fire inside Richard burned just a little brighter.
End of Chapter 4