The sky bled red as Kael and Serenya crested the final ridge overlooking the Emberlow Basin.
Nestled between jagged cliffs and petrified trees, the village below flickered with torchlight and fragile hope. Small, circular homes of stone and clay clustered tightly around a shattered wellspring — once a flame altar, now just broken obsidian and soot.
Smoke curled from the chimneys.
But it wasn't cooking fires.
"That's too much," Serenya said grimly. "Something's burning down there."
Kael stepped forward, the ember in his chest already pulsing with warning.
"We should help."
Serenya grabbed his shoulder.
"We assess first. Not every fire is worth running into."
Kael turned to her, eyes flaring gold for a moment.
"And what if someone thought that about us?"
For the first time, she hesitated.
Then nodded.
They moved.
They descended quickly, ducking between stone arches and scorched trees. As they neared the edge of the village, the source of the smoke became clear.
A barn had been torched — still crackling with unnatural flame. Villagers screamed, some hurling buckets, others dragging wounded children from the edge of the blaze.
But it wasn't an accident.
Above them, circling in lazy arcs, flew draconic creatures with metallic wings — not true dragons, but something twisted. Constructs shaped like beasts, breathing not fire but shrapnel and molten oil.
One of them dove.
Kael saw a child frozen in place, eyes wide, too terrified to run.
He didn't think.
He leapt.
The ember flared.
And for the first time, Kael moved faster than the flame.
He tackled the child to the ground just as the construct screamed overhead, carving a molten gouge in the dirt where they had been.
The villagers stared.
Serenya moved in behind him, slicing one of the winged machines from the sky with a fluid, explosive motion. Her blade — singing with crimson energy — cleaved through the core with a shriek of metal and soul.
More were coming.
Kael helped the child up. The boy stared at him, wide-eyed.
"You're glowing," the boy whispered.
Kael looked down. His arms were lit with cracks of emberlight — like veins made of fire.
Another construct dove.
Kael reached out instinctively.
The flame answered.
A wave of dark crimson fire erupted from his hands, not wild and chaotic this time — but curved, shaped like wings of smoke and light. It engulfed the construct mid-air and incinerated it in a spiral of ash.
Gasps rippled through the villagers.
Some cheered.
Others looked afraid.
"He's Flamebound…" someone murmured.
"God-touched…" whispered another.
Kael turned toward the villagers.
"I'm here to help."
Silence.
Then — slowly — an elder stepped forward, bent and worn, but with clear eyes.
"Help us rebuild, then. And we'll feed you. Shelter you."
Kael nodded.
Serenya raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
They stayed.
That night, Kael helped repair what he could. His hands blistered, but the ember soothed the pain. Children followed him as he walked, wide-eyed, whispering stories they'd heard of fire-gods and warriors of the old flame.
Kael didn't correct them.
Serenya stood apart, watching from a rooftop, her eyes unreadable.
Later, Kael joined her.
"You're quiet," he said.
"You're reckless," she replied. "But effective."
She turned to him.
"The way you moved… you're adapting to the flame."
He shrugged. "Or it's adapting to me."
A faint smirk.
"That's worse."
She stood.
"Rest. We leave at dawn. There's something further east you need to see."
Kael tilted his head.
"What?"
She looked into the darkness.
"A place the gods tried to erase. And Ravon tried to bury."
As Kael turned to leave, he glanced back at the village.
They'd survived. Because of him.
Not a god.
Not a hero.
Just a boy learning how to burn.
And for the first time… that felt like enough.