Solinaris.
A city of red stone and endless pillars of flame. The streets were filled with the smell of smoke and iron, as the empire readied another wave of warriors for the front. Fire danced on the walls as the bells rang out—signaling that a new march was about to begin.
On the stairs of the family house of the Dalis, stood Minato, tall, with a young face, but already in a war uniform. Flames flickered in his eyes, as if the fire itself bowed to his determination.
Arden, a boy of ten, stood a few paces behind, clutching a wooden toy shaped like a small katana. He did not understand war, but he understood parting—and that feeling burned more than any flame.
Their mother, Selene Dalis, placed a hand gently on Minato's face, her voice shaking but her eyes proud:
"Take care, son. And return… not as a warrior—but as a man."
Minato smiled. "I'll be back, mother. And when I do, I want Arden to already know how to breathe fire."
Selene laughed softly, her tears shining in the torchlight. "He's already breathing, Minato. He just doesn't know how deep yet."
Then Eugene Dalis, their father, appeared—a tall, strong warrior, his armor gleaming and his gaze as sharp as a blade. His voice, deep and calm, cut off any emotion:
"Enough words. War waits for no one. Minato, your duty is clear—time of empire, time of family, and honor of the flame. Remember—only those who burn for Pyra deserve to live in her light."
Minato stiffened, pounding his fist against his chest and bowing deeply, "Yes father. Honor above all else."
Eugene's gaze then landed on Arden. There was no warmth in his eyes—only inquiry.
"And you, boy," he said coldly, "stop looking at the world through fear. If you want to survive, you must learn that fire doesn't warm—fire consumes. Learn that."
Arden nodded quietly and Minato turned and crouched in front of him.
"Listen to your father, kid," he said with a smile. "But don't forget your mother's words. Learn to burn…but not burn."
Minato then hands him a black stone amulet in the shape of a fox—the symbol of their warrior family.
"When the going gets tough — remember this day. One day, you'll be my heir."
Arden just nodded.
His green eyes reflected in his brother's armor as Minato strode through the gate, along with hundreds of young warriors.
The wind blew ash and flames from the walls.
The mother knelt down, tears streaming down her face.
The father was silent.
And Arden just looked at the smoke rising to the sky… and whispered to himself:
"One day… I will catch up with you all."
And then the fire ignited in his palms for the first time.
Western Front — The border between the Empire of Pyra and the Republic of Terradorn.
A wide valley under dark clouds. The ground was heavy, dense, soaked in the mud and blood of previous battles. In the distance could be seen the stone forts of Terradorn—hard as the mountain itself, impregnable to most.
But not for those who carry the flame.
Minato Dalis, then only fifteen years old, stood among the warriors. His armor was too large, his hands trembled slightly, but there was a spark in his eyes that even fear could not extinguish. On his back hung a young, still uncooled katana from Solinaris—a gift from his father, Eugene.
From the top of the hill, Captain Kael Thorne, commander of the entire squad, spoke briefly and without emotion:
"The Terradorn Republic has been defending this valley for three months now. Today, they are no longer defending it. Today, flames are consuming the land."
The soldiers shouted the war cry of the Pyra Empire, and Minato felt his heart pound—not out of fear, but out of a desire to prove himself.
He looked at his hand. Tiny flames entwined around his fingers, as if asking him: Are you ready?
The captain lowered his hand: "FORWARD!"
Then the world exploded.
Terradorn warriors sprang from the ground, coated in mud and dust, their weapons encrusted with stone and steel. The earth shook, rocks cracked, and spears flew.
But then came the flames.Minato lunged forward, using a technique Eugene had only shown him once—"Flame Bow"—a move as fast as the wind, but with the power of an explosion. His katana glowed a bright red, and with the first swing it cut through the wall of earth that the enemy earthbender had erected.
The sound of the impact was like thunder—the earth split open and flames burst forth.
Minato felt the heat burning his face, but he didn't stop.
Through the thick smoke, the Pyre soldiers advanced, and he—the boy—was in front of them all.
"This is no longer a practice," he told himself, gripping his sword.
"This is war."
The enemy earth master, an elderly warrior with stone armor, emerged from the crowd.
"Child! Come home before the mountain swallows you!" he shouted.
Minato just smiled — a warm flame burning in his eyes.
"A mountain cannot swallow fire," he said quietly.
He swung.
The flames spread like a phoenix wing.
The rock was melting, the earth was cracking, and Minato felt for the first time how his element not only destroys—but also protects.
His comrades retreated behind him, while he—the kid with the katana—held the line alone for several minutes.
When the battle was over, the valley was ablaze.
Hundreds of bodies, smoke, and silence.
Captain Kael came over, laid a hand on his shoulder.
"How old are you, boy?" he asked.
"Fifteen, sir," replied Minato, quietly, looking down at his still smoking sword.
The captain laughed—for the first time that night.
"Fifteen, and you've already set fire to half the valley. Remember this, Minato Dalis—if war doesn't break you… you will change it."
The wind blew the ashes, and the young warrior looked up at the sky above the front—knowing, deep down, that one day, somewhere on the other side of the world, that same fire would collide with his brother.
Scene 3: "Meeting in the Ashes"
The night after the battle.
The Pyra Empire camp was quiet. Only the crackling of the campfire and the occasional sob of the wounded broke the silence. The air smelled of smoke and metal, and the torchlight cast long shadows across the tent canvas.Minato Dalis walked slowly through the ranks of wounded soldiers. He still had blood on his hands—someone else's and his own. His katana was wrapped in a cloth, but he still felt its weight, as if it carried all the fire of the world within it.
As he passed by the doctor's tent, he heard a calm but firm voice:
"Don't move! I told you the wound on your hand wasn't just a scratch!"
He turned to see a girl in the white and red robes of the Pyre Medical Unit. Her hair was black as coal, and her eyes were warm—but also determined.
She knelt beside the wounded man, carefully bandaging his arm.
When she noticed Minato, she looked up.
"You're one of the new ones, aren't you?" she asked, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
"Yes," he answered quietly. "Maybe too new."
She smiled slightly, but there was a shadow of fatigue in her eyes.
"Then you're one of those who still ask why we're fighting."
Minato sat down on a nearby crate, looking at the flames flickering in the night.
"Today I saw earth swallowing people...and fire burning them. I'm not sure which is worse."
The girl came over and sat across from him.
"You know… when you see war for the first time, you lose a piece of yourself," she said quietly. "But sometimes, in those ashes, you find something else."
"And you?" he asked. "What did you find in the ashes?"
She paused. She looked into the fire.
"The courage not to give up."
Minato smiled for the first time that night—barely.
"What's your name?"
"She didn't."
"Minato."
She nodded her head.
"I know. Everyone's talking about the boy who set the valley on fire."
He shook his head. "Don't listen to the stories. There are no heroes here, only survivors."
"Maybe," she said quietly, "but sometimes, even survivors can be a light to others."Her words hung in the air as the night grew quieter.
The flames crackled, and for the first time since the start of the war, Minato felt that his flames were fighting not only to destroy—but also to protect.
That night, under the starry sky of the Western Front, something that would last a lifetime began — and would end in her cry many years later.
Three days after the battle.
The Western Front was slowly recovering.
The camp smelled of burnt wood and medicinal herbs. The ruins of villages that had been swallowed up by the war still smoldered on the horizon.
Minato was sitting by the tent, his arm bandaged, trying to sharpen his katana. His gaze was blank—the blade slid under his arm, but his thoughts were far away, lost in the sights he couldn't forget.
Then Nija appeared.
In her hands she carried a basket with bandages and herbal tinctures. When she saw him, she stopped.
"Trying to sharpen the sword again?" she asked, with a slight smile. "Do you know you've been grinding it so hard it's about to wear off?"
Minato smiled, but his gaze did not waver.
"If the blade dulls… one becomes vulnerable."
Nia sat down next to him, quietly, without a word. For a moment they both just looked off into the distance—at a cloud of dust being carried by the wind over the scorched earth.
"I heard," she said after a few moments, "that you saved ten soldiers in the first fight. And that you faced three of the Terradorn alone."
Minato shook his head.
"It's not courage. It's… the fear of losing someone else."
"You know," she said quietly, "many would say that's a real strength."
He looked at her.
"You… are not like the others."
Nija laughs, but her gaze remains calm, insightful.
"Of course not. Everyone here wears armor of steel, I wear armor of words and wounds."
She paused, then looked him straight in the eye.
"But you are not like the others, Minato Dalis. In your eyes, what others have extinguished long ago, still burns."He looked down, and the fire in the bucket next to them reflected in his face.
"Maybe…but I don't know how much longer it will burn."
Nija then reached out and touched his bandage.
"As long as you have someone to burn for," she whispered, "you'll never be ashes."
Minato looked at her hand, then at her—and at that moment, the war stopped for a moment.
Only wind, silence and two young people who, in the ashes of a burning world, found the first spark of something that will follow them until their last breath.