The Royal Archives, hidden deep beneath the capital's Grand Citadel, were unlike any library Kaito had ever seen. Rows upon rows of ancient tomes, sealed scrolls, and dust-laden grimoires stretched into the shadows like the ribs of some great beast. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and history, of magic sealed long ago and secrets too dangerous to breathe aloud.
Torchlight flickered across the faces of Kaito, Isolde, and Eryndor as they moved through the maze of shelves. The silence was broken only by the whisper of turning pages and the occasional murmur of discovery.
"I've read about mana surges," Isolde said, sliding a scroll back into its casing. "But nothing like what you did. You didn't cast. You didn't chant. It was like the magic obeyed your will directly."
"More like it exploded out of me," Kaito replied grimly. "And the armored figure... he was wielding something darker. Older. Like anti-magic."
Eryndor's golden eyes gleamed in the dim light as he pulled down a black-bound tome from a locked shelf. "This might be what we're looking for."
He opened the heavy book with reverence. The title was written in a forgotten tongue, but the symbol on the first page chilled them all: a sun engulfed in flame, being consumed by shadows—The Mark of the First Flame.
Kaito leaned in. "What is that?"
Eryndor translated slowly. "It's a record of an ancient war… from before the kingdoms, before the Empire—when gods still walked the earth. It speaks of a 'First Flame,' a divine power said to be gifted to a chosen bearer once every millennium. A power to ignite the skies or raze the world in fire."
Isolde frowned. "You think that's what awakened inside Kaito?"
Eryndor nodded. "The signs match. The uncontrolled burst. The divine glow. The resilience to fatal wounds. If that flame is waking... it means the cycle is starting again."
Kaito swallowed hard. "And if it is… what happens to the one who carries it?"
Eryndor's silence said more than words could. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "They either ascend to godhood... or are consumed by the flame from within."
That night, within the outer villages of the Empire…
A quiet farming town near the western border lay bathed in the soft light of evening lanterns. Children played in the fields. Merchants packed their stalls. Life was simple—until the sky turned crimson.
Without warning, the clouds tore open like flesh, and from the rift poured a rain of black fire. Screams echoed as the flames did not burn like natural fire, but turned people to stone, their bodies frozen in agony.
From the rift descended a figure cloaked in robes of dark mist, his face hidden beneath a porcelain mask carved with an inhuman smile.
Behind him, dozens of shadowy silhouettes followed.
"The vessel has awakened," the masked man whispered, gazing east toward the heart of the Empire. "The First Flame returns. All must kneel... or be turned to ash."
Back in the capital
Kaito stood on the balcony of his chambers, the moonlight silvering his dark hair. The power that had saved him still stirred faintly in his core, like warm embers waiting to be stoked.
He felt the weight of everything pressing down—betrayal, hidden truths, and now this divine fire within him.
Isolde joined him, silent for a moment before speaking. "I had a vision."
Kaito turned, surprised. "A vision?"
She nodded, her voice troubled. "When the flame burst from you, I saw something. A shadow... seated on a throne made of corpses. And a sword of fire piercing the heavens."
Kaito's eyes narrowed. "Was the figure… me?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But it felt… inevitable."
He turned his gaze to the horizon, where stars blinked in the dark like watchful eyes. "Then we find a way to rewrite fate."