Duskwatch Forest was unnaturally still.
It had always been eerie, but tonight, it felt… aware. As if the trees themselves leaned in to listen. Shadows slithered under roots, and cold wind brushed against dead leaves like whispered secrets.
In the center of a hollow clearing, Aeron Vale lay unconscious. Steam rose faintly from his skin. His chest moved in shallow, ragged breaths. The air around him flickered — not with light, but with a strange void, a kind of anti-flame that devoured warmth instead of giving it.
It was unlike any magic the world had seen in generations.
And someone had seen it.
From behind the gnarled trunk of a dying tree, a tall figure stepped into the clearing. Cloaked in a long coat of dark leather, his face was hidden behind a metallic mask—plain, featureless, except for two glowing red eyes.
He moved silently, the forest seemingly parting before him. Kneeling beside Aeron, he extended a gloved hand over the boy's chest. Wisps of black flame rose to meet it, drawn like smoke toward a magnet.
The man didn't flinch.
Instead, he whispered.
"So it wasn't a rumor. The Forbidden Ember survives… in a child."
He stood up slowly.
"I expected a vessel. Not a boy who doesn't know how to hold it."
He glanced over his shoulder. In the distance, faint torchlight flickered through the woods — patrols, perhaps, or villagers searching for Aeron.
Time was short.
He leaned closer and spoke one final sentence, a whisper that danced in the black flame:
"Let's see if you burn… or break."
Then he vanished into the trees, like a shadow melting into deeper darkness.
The sun rose pale and quiet over Eldenrock. For most villagers, it was just another morning. For others, it was the aftermath of a ceremony — filled with pride, gifts, and celebration.
But for Eira Vale, it was agony.
She had waited all night for her son to return. When he hadn't, she knew. She felt it deep in her bones, the way a mother feels the storm before it comes.
Now she stood at the edge of the village square, pleading with the guards.
"You don't understand," she said, her voice sharp with worry. "He would never run away. Not without saying something."
One of the guards sighed. "Lady Eira, with respect, your son's… condition is not unheard of. Some children take their shame hard. He likely just needs time."
"Shame?" Her eyes flared. "He is fifteen. He's a child."
"A child who returned from the Stone empty-handed," another guard muttered.
She turned away from them, fists trembling. Her eyes drifted toward the forest.
He's in there, she thought. I know it. And something is wrong.
Aeron's eyes snapped open.
He lay on cold earth. His skin tingled, his limbs were sore, and the taste of iron sat thick on his tongue. The memories came rushing back—his failure, the ceremony, the forest, and the voice.
And then… the fire.
He sat up slowly, breathing hard.
His hands—his hands looked normal. No smoke, no glow, nothing. Had it been a dream?
He looked around. The clearing was still. Quiet. But something felt off. As if something had touched the world here and left a scar too deep to see.
He stumbled to his feet and began walking.
When Aeron returned to Eldenrock at noon, people stared. Some with surprise, others with annoyance. No one greeted him.
Not even Kain, who stood leaning against the training post, arms crossed, looking away.
Only Lyra approached him.
She said nothing at first. Just studied him with her calm, unreadable violet eyes.
Then finally: "You were gone all night."
"I know," he replied, barely above a whisper.
"You look like you saw death."
He hesitated. "Maybe I did."
A pause.
Then she asked, almost too softly, "Did you feel it? Something… strange?"
Aeron froze.
"How do you know?"
"I didn't," she said. "Until you just confirmed it."
Before he could ask what she meant, a shout came from the far end of the village.
A boy — one of the younger flame trainees — ran into the square, panting.
"There's something near the riverbank! You have to see this!"
Half the village gathered near the shallow river that curved around Eldenrock. What they saw made even the elder guards go pale.
A tree had burned.
But not normally. It had black scorch marks, the bark curled inward like it had tried to escape the flame. The ground around it had melted into glass.
And at the base of the tree, someone had carved a symbol.
A circle of fire… split clean down the middle.
Elder Maelin arrived moments later. His face went cold.
"No," he muttered. "This… this is not natural flame."
Aeron stared at it, heart pounding.
The same symbol had appeared on his arms last night.
He turned away quickly—but Lyra saw it in his expression.
She had seen marks like those before.
And they always came before someone disappeared.