Chapter 2
Cryoak was supposed to be safe.
Blaze had grown up in this city, walked its streets, memorized every alleyway, every shortcut. The scent of fresh bread from the bakery, the laughter of children in the square, the merchants calling out their wares—these were the sounds of home.
But in a single breath, it all turned to ash.
The first explosion shattered the morning peace.
Blaze barely had time to turn before a second blast tore through the marketplace, the force of it sending carts and people flying. A massive fireball swallowed entire buildings, their wooden frames collapsing in an instant.
Screams filled the streets.
Blaze's ears rang as he staggered back, his mind struggling to process what was happening.
Then, from the smoke, they appeared.
The Black Cloak Figures.
A group of five, their dark robes swirling in the heat, eyes hidden beneath deep hoods. Their presence was suffocating, like the very air bent to their will. And yet, their expressions weren't those of soldiers on a mission.
They were... amused.
"They're enjoying this."
Blaze's gut twisted.
He knew the rumors. They were hunting someone. A rogue mage. And he seem to have hid in the city . But instead of looking for him, instead of fighting him directly—
They set the whole city on fire.
"Hateful bastards."
His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to do something. To charge at them, to make them pay. But what could he do? He doesn't have the powers yet.
If he fought, he'd die.
So he turned.
And ran.
Not to escape—to save whoever he could.
Not all of Cryoak had shunned him. The baker who gave him extra bread when he trained too hard, the old man who nodded in quiet approval whenever Blaze passed by, the children who didn't care about rumors and just saw him as 'the strong one.'
Not all of them deserved to burn.
He sprinted through the streets, dodging collapsing debris, his skin stinging from the embers that rained like molten snow.
He searched.
House after house.
Street after street.
But no one was left to save.
The fires had already taken them.
Blaze ground his teeth, swallowing down the grief clawing at his throat.
Then—a whisper.
"P…please…"
Blaze whirled around.
A girl, no older than ten, lay beneath a fallen beam, her body bloodied, her breaths weak. But she wasn't looking at him.
She was pointing.
To a figure just a few feet away.
Her father.
Or what was left of him.
Blaze's stomach twisted. He had seen death before. But this… this was different.
She didn't see it.
She still thought he could be saved.
"Save… him…" she begged, her tiny fingers trembling.
Blaze opened his mouth—to say something, anything maybe reassure her that he will save him although that would be a lie but before he could
Her chest stopped rising.
Her hand fell limp.
Blaze stared.
A hollow numbness spread through his chest, slow and suffocating.
He had failed.
Again.
A sob built in his throat, but he shoved it down.
Because there was one more person left.
Father Arin.
Blaze ran, faster than before, his lungs burning, his vision blurred. He didn't care if the Black Cloaks saw him. Let them see. Let them try to stop him.
His home—his sanctuary—was barely standing when he arrived.
And beneath the wreckage—
Father Arin.
Blaze rushed to him, gripping the massive boulder pinning him down.
"Hold on—I'll get you out—"
He pushed.
Every muscle in his body screamed, but the boulder wouldn't move.
"Damn it!" His voice cracked. He had to move it. He had to save him.
Then, a weak chuckle.
"Blaze…"
Blaze froze.
Father Arin smiled—weak, pained, but gentle.
"You're strong, Blaze… but strength isn't just muscle."
Blaze's hands shook.
His chest ached.
"I can do it," he whispered, voice breaking. "I just—"
Father Arin's fingers brushed against his.
"Don't give up… Find your own path…"
His eyes closed.
His hand fell away.
And Blaze was alone.
The breath left his lungs.
A hollow sound—something between a gasp and a choked sob—escaped him as he reached for Father Arin's hand, gripping it as if that alone could pull him back.
But there was no warmth.
Just cold.
Just silence.
Blaze clenched his teeth, tears burning his eyes, his heart splitting apart at the seams.
Then—
A shadow fell over him.
Blaze's head snapped up.
A figure stood before him, his brown cloak scorched and torn, blood trickling down his face. His eyes—deep, sorrowful—met Blaze's.
"I… didn't think they were this inhumane," he whispered, his voice heavy with regret.
Blaze's body trembled.
His grief twisted into something darker.
Anger.
The brown-cloaked figure knelt, pressing a small chest into Blaze's shaking hands.
"Run."
Blaze didn't move.
"Run, boy."
The city burned.
The sky glowed red.
And the laughter of the Black Cloaks echoed through the ruins.
Blaze's hands curled around the chest.
Then—
He ran.
The world blurred around him—burning ruins, collapsing buildings and the stench of the dead. His legs ached, his lungs heaved, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
The Black Cloaks were still here.
Still hunting.
He had to survive.
"I'll get stronger."
"I'll make them pay." He thought.
Then—
A figure stepped into his path.
Blaze skidded to a stop, his heart slamming against his ribs.
The man wore the same flowing black robe as the others, his hood concealing his features. But Blaze could feel the smirk behind it.
The Black Cloak's gaze fell to the chest in Blaze's hands.
"You're quite the stubborn one," he mused. Then, chuckling, he raised a hand.
Fire bloomed in his palm, swirling with unnatural intensity.
Blaze's grip on the chest tightened.
His face paled—not from fear, but from rage.
He wasn't ready. He wasn't strong enough. Not yet.
But one day—
One day, he would be.
For now, he had to survive.