Three years later.
Morning light slid through the carved stone lattice of the Ashvathar estate, breaking into thin slivers of gold that danced across the nursery floor.
Aether lamps dimmed softly as dawn took over, surrendering their glow to daylight.
Arav Ashvath sat cross-legged on a thick cushion, a small wooden flame toy resting in his hands.
His mother had carved it herself—smooth, warm, and shaped with quiet affection. Everything in House Ashvathar carried the touch of fire: ember-streaked curtains, flame-etched murals, and a gentle warmth woven into the very walls.
Above him, the lantern flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then it pulsed—in perfect rhythm with his heartbeat.
Arav's fingers froze.
A sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes, sudden and violent. Images slammed into him—fragmented, breathless flashes:
Rain.
A narrow alley.
A trembling boy.
A knife.
Blood.
Cold pavement.
Silence.
His breath hitched. The wooden toy slipped from his hand and thudded softly onto the floor.
For a moment, the nursery blurred away. He wasn't in a warm estate room—he was back on that rain-soaked street, his body going numb as water mixed with blood.
The pain rose—then broke like a wave.
The wooden door slid open.
"Arav?"
His mother's voice was the gentlest warmth he knew. Lady Sharanya Ashvathar stepped inside, her fire-hued robes glowing faintly as sunlight caught their threads. Her aura radiated ember-heat… yet beneath it shimmered a subtle lunar calm, soft enough to steady breath.
She picked up the toy and knelt beside him.
"You dropped this, little flame."
Her brows furrowed. "Are you alright?"
Arav blinked, forcing air into his lungs. His past life and this one overlapped like echoes—jarring, incomplete, overwhelming.
"I… I'm okay," he whispered.
Sharanya brushed her thumb along his cheek.
"You think too deeply for your age."
If only you knew, Arav thought.
Something stirred inside him then—a rumble in the dark corner of his mind.
A voice he had heard once before.
A voice from the void.
[Seal condition met.]
[Cognitive development: sufficient.]
[Primordial Sign-In System activating.]
Golden text unfolded behind his vision like blooming light.
[Welcome, Host.]
Panels arranged themselves neatly:
Name: Arav Ashvath
Race: Human — Astraeon Variant
Age: 3
Bloodline: Ashvathar Flame Root (Noble – Mid Grade)
Physique: Infernal Pulse (Ancient Grade)
Affinity: Fire (Active), Time Fragment (Sealed)
State: Minor Aether Distortions Detected
System: Stable
Arav inhaled slowly.
So it hadn't been a dream.
The sign-in system, the strange power—everything was real.
Sharanya lifted him gently into her arms.
"Come along. Your father's already outside training the warriors. If he knows you're awake, he'll carry you out himself before you even have breakfast."
As they stepped into the corridor, the wall torches glowed with steady flames—normal flame.
Not like the lantern in the nursery.
Outside, the estate courtyard opened into a wide expanse of polished stone. Through the archway, Arav saw dozens of warriors moving in synchronized formations. Their aether-charged strikes traced arcs of red-gold light through the air.
At the center stood his father.
Lord Aaryan Ashvathar radiated a quiet, controlled power. Flames curled lazily around him, bending to the rhythm of his breath. His golden eyes followed every warrior with razor focus.
"Again!" Aaryan barked.
"If your flame trembles, so does your will!"
The warriors roared in unison and struck the training dummies, heat rippling across the courtyard.
Arav gazed at him, feeling a strange tug—admiration, familiarity, and something deeper he couldn't name.
Sharanya noticed.
"He's always been like that," she murmured, voice fond. "The flames listened to him before he could speak properly."
Arav exhaled a soft breath, something like amusement warming his chest.
Strict on the outside.
Soft underneath.
No one told him this—he simply sensed it. He saw the tiny shifts: the way Aaryan's shoulders eased when he saw them, the faint warmth hiding behind stern eyes. His father's gentleness was something he tried very hard to bury.
As if sensing their presence, Aaryan turned.
For a brief moment, the commander's expression softened—barely, but unmistakably.
"You're awake," he said.
"He woke earlier," Sharanya replied. "He was thinking."
"Of course he was," Aaryan muttered, clearing his throat. "He gets that from you."
Sharanya raised an eyebrow.
"From me?"
Aaryan looked away immediately.
Arav almost smiled.
A warmth pulsed behind his heart.
[Daily Sign-In available.]
He focused inward.
Sign in.
[Daily Sign-In… Successful.]
[Reward: Ember-Thread Breathing Technique — Comprehension +20%.]
Heat curled gently through his chest as breathing patterns and aether routes mapped themselves into instinct.
Without realizing, he shifted into the beginning posture.
A nearby torch bent toward him—not from wind.
From him.
The air quivered.
Sharanya stiffened.
Arav froze.
[Reality Recoil — Stage 1 triggered.]
[Cause: Early aether activation + unstable time fragment.]
The flame snapped back to normal.
Aaryan frowned.
"The formation reacted strangely."
Sharanya forced a soft smile.
"Perhaps we need to recalibrate the torches."
But Arav felt Aaryan's gaze linger—deep, probing, instinctual.
Not suspicion.
Recognition.
After a moment, the lord exhaled and turned back to the warriors.
"Bring him to me later," he said. "It's time he learned the basics."
Sharanya kissed Arav's forehead.
"Don't worry, little flame. Your father only terrifies strangers."
A soft warmth filled his chest.
This family…
This world…
This chance…
He wouldn't throw it away.
And yet—even as he rested against his mother's shoulder—he sensed something else. A faint hum beneath reality. A pulse on
ly he seemed able to feel.
High above Astraeon, past the layered sky, something moved.
Watching.
Waiting.
Remembering.
The Origin Flame stirred beyond existence.
And Arav felt its gaze.