A Boy Among Wolves
The northern fortress ruins resounded with drunken snores, last night's fire embers burning low. Random barrels, bare bones, and scattered dice littered the ground like the remnants of a feast.
Renn stalked through the outer wall, knife held before him, his breath short with anxiety. His legs shook with every step. These were not villagers wielding shovels and hoes—they were killers, hardened from war and hunger. Should they catch him before he demonstrated his value, they would gut him for fun.
He wrapped his cloak closer and shoved on, eyes flicking. The camp reeked of sweat, blood, and smoke. Wolves' lair, through and through.
A voice broke the stillness.
"Well, well. What rat comes to fire's nest?"
Renn turned. A scarred outlaw stood over him, the same man who had once tried Lioran with sword. His mangled blade was missing, but his sneer was not.
"Lost your way, boy?" the man sneered. "Or arrive to join the pyre?"
Renn swallowed hard, his knuckles pale on his knife. "I came to follow. To serve him."
The outlaw laughed, a sound so loud that it awakened others. Heads lifted from cloaks, men emerged from the ground, and in an instant, a circle of Flamebound surrounded the shaking boy.
"Serve him?" another laughed. "A boy, not yet whiskered? Maybe he'll shine our boots before he stokes our fire."
The scarred man pushed Renn to the ground. "Flame consumes men, not pups."
But before a boot could kick, a roar ripped the air.
....
The Dragon's Shadow
Kyrris.
The dragon crashed down at the center of the camp, wings folded like storm cumulonimbus. Smoke curled from nostrils as golden eyes blazed on the circle of men. The earth itself shuddered.
And then Lioran emerged, cloak frayed, gray eyes blazing. His presence stilled them as death quenched flames.
"What is this?" he said, voice low, icy.
The outlaw with the scar pulled his head down hastily. "A trespasser, lord. A youth. We were just dealing with him."
Lioran's eyes now fell upon Renn, and Renn felt trapped by the warmth of the world.
"You shouldn't be here," Lioran said.
Renn swallowed hard, pushing his words through the lump in his throat. "I should. I did. Ashvale was ash because of betrayal, not you. And if no one else will stand with you, I will."
The whispers of the Flamebound once more rose up, but this time they contained something harder than derision—curiosity.
The scarred man snorted. "Then test him, lord. If he cannot live, he dies. If he can, maybe the fire claims him."
Lioran thought on Renn in silence, then nodded once. "So be it. Fire tests all."
....
The Trial of Sparks
They brought Renn out into the destroyed courtyard. The Flamebound formed a circle, voices catcalling, wagers cried out. Blades shone in the feeble morning sun.
Fight him!" the scarred outlaw growled, hurling a dull-edged knife at Renn's feet.
Renn's fingers wrapped around the hilt, though his heart pounded. A taller outlaw with arms like tree trunks moved forward, grinning.
"This'll be quick."
The man charged. Renn hardly got the blade up, steel ringing, his arms groaning under the impact. He staggered backward, almost falling. Laughter burst from the crowd.
"Too weak!"
"End it!
The outlaw swung once more, sword curving for Renn's flank. Instinct howled—Renn dodged, rolled, and hacked upward in a wild arc. The blow missed, but it pushed the man back a step. The laughter eased.
Renn gasped, sweat stinging his eyes. He could not compete with the man's power, but quickness—maybe quickness was his sole hope.
The duel raged, clumsy and brutal. Renn dodged blow after blow, his arms screaming from every block. His knife nicked the man's forearm once, drawing blood. The crowd hissed, leaning closer.
But strength wore speed down. A heavy kick sent Renn sprawling. His weapon clattered away. The outlaw raised his sword for the final strike.
"No!" Renn shouted, eyes wild. "I follow fire!"
At that moment, flame flared—not from him, but from the courtyard edge. Lioran lifted a hand, sparks wrapping around his palm. Kyrris spat smoke into the air.
The outlaw stood stock-still, blade shaking. There was silence.
Lioran's voice sliced like steel. "Enough."
He moved into the ring, scanning the crowd. "Fire does not test children with brute force. Fire tests hearts."
He held out a hand to Renn. "Do you fear flame?"
Renn gazed, chest rising and falling, then shook his head. "No. I fear only chains."
Lioran's mouth curved in the slightest smile. He faced the Flamebound. "Then listen: fire claims him. He is bound, as you are bound. He is Flamebound."
The men roared their approval. The scarred outlaw winced but lowered his head. Renn stood taller, his knees trembling, with pride swelling in his chest.
And for the first time, he didn't feel like a boy—but like a spark.
.....
Chains of the South
Deep in the south, the duke's forces pushed on. Miles of soldiers marched in columns, banners streaming, siege engines creaking.
Within his dark tent, Duke Rhaemond pored over the map laid across his table. Red stones indicated villages reduced to ash, blue stones indicated rivers, but at the heart, a lone golden token—Ashvale.
Out of ashes comes pride," Rhaemond said. "He believes a group of bandits makes him lord? He forgets—lords lead armies."
The Pure Flame priest frowns. "He does not forget. He remembers too much. He is no longer boy. He is echo. Echo of destruction."
Rhaemond's grin was wicked. "Then let the echo ring loudly. The louder it rings, the sweeter its silence when I silence it.
Kaelen stood at the tent wall, blade oiled, eyes icy. He did not say a word. But within, hunger gnawed deeper. Once, he had looked into Lioran's fire. He wanted to see it burn again—up close, in battle, where only will and steel decided truth.
...
Mira's Resolve
In ruins of Ashvale, Mira stood up from her prayers with shaking hands. The villagers argued interminably: curse or savior, lord or monster.
But Mira's heart had spoken.
She collected what little food was left, pulled on her shawl tight, and she looked north.
"My son is lost to me," she said in a hushed voice. "But I will not lose him to himself."
And so, even though sorrow pressed upon her like chains, she set her feet on the ash road.
....
The Flame's Oath
That night, the Flamebound sat around a mighty fire in the ruined fortress. Renn among them, his knife sharpened, his pride burning. The men no longer taunted—but struck his back with friendly blows, naming him "sparkling cub," already one of their brotherhood.
But the master of the night was Lioran. He stood atop a fallen pillar, fire encircling his hands, Kyrris shadowing behind him.
"You have drawn first blood," he exclaimed. "You have smashed the duke's wagons, killed his men. But fire is not content with sparks. Fire spreads. Fire consumes."
The men bellowed, their fists thudding on the ground.
Lioran's gray eyes ignited. "Another day we ride. Not as rats in shambles, not as beggars of leftovers. You are Flamebound. And fire will forge you a kingdom."
He drove his hand aloft, fire bursting into the air. Kyrris bellowed, the earth shaking under its claws.
The Flamebound knelt on one knee, shouting as one:
"Flamebound! Flamebound!"
And in their shout, Lioran heard something beyond loyalty. He heard empire.
...
Whisper in the Fire
Later, when the flames died and men slept, Lioran sat alone again. The ember within his chest burned hotter than ever before, pounding with hunger.
The flames in front of him writhed, contorted, and whispered once more.
Draven Azharel…
You arose from embers once. Arise again. Kingdoms yield, or kingdoms burn.
Visions ravaged him—crowns dissolving, thrones toppling, dragon wings obscuring the sun. His breathing was harsh, perspiration dripping.
And then he whispered, firm, unwavering:
"I will not kneel. I will not burn alone. The world will remember."
Kyrris leaned its head against him, its golden eyes fastening onto his. Together, they were flame given form.
.....
The Road Ahead
Morning broke cold and gray. Smoke still wisped from the burned wagons of the ambush.
But in the northern hills, men woke with fire burning in their hearts. They were no longer outlaws. They were Flamebound, and they followed behind a boy who was no longer a boy.
Renn strode among them now, shoulders braced, knife at his waist. Mira plodded north, destiny pushing her toward the tempest. The duke's soldiers closed in, metal ringing, priests praying.
And at the heart of it all, Lioran Vale—Draven Azharel remade—stepped forth, the spark within his breast burning brighter still.
The world had forgotten dragons.
The world had forgotten fire.
Now, it would bow.