The Temple of Aerath clung to the Virean Cliffs like a parasite, sucking silence and sorrow from the stone. Its halls were long and narrow, carved with the prayers of dead saints. The air always smelled of ash and incense, as if the place had once burned and no one had bothered to put the fire out.
Kael moved through the temple like a ghost. Not unseen—no, he was too dangerous to be ignored—but tolerated. A relic of prophecy. A creature contained.
They taught him to kneel, so he stood.
They taught him to whisper, so he spoke in thunder.
They called him Kael, which in the Old Tongue meant "Sky's Grief." He wondered if they named him that before or after the first monk died trying to bind his power.
Seventeen now. Too old to be called a boy. Too dangerous to be called a man.
He sat before the Eternal Ember, a fire that had burned since before the written word. It pulsed with a rhythm only he seemed to hear—a slow, deep thrum, like the heart of a buried beast.
Kael listened. And smiled.
His skin itched. Not from heat, but from restraint. The chains inside him strained. Power coiled in his gut like a serpent, hot and patient.
He had learned to wear stillness like armor. To smile when the monks watched. To bow when commanded. But he never stopped waiting.
Then came the knock.
Brother Thamiel stood in the doorway, soaked in rain, eyes hard.
"It's time."
Kael rose without a word.
They led him to the Binding Chamber, where silver chains hung from the walls and the air buzzed with holy fear. Seven monks encircled him, faces drawn, lips moving in ancient cadence.
He stepped into the center.
Thamiel raised the blade etched with celestial wards. "You know what this is."
Kael nodded. "Your mistake."
The blade pierced his chest.
Runes flared. Pain spiked. Chains surged to life, wrapping him in burning steel.
He laughed.
The fire answered.
An explosion of heat and force obliterated the chamber. The monks became ash mid-prayer. The ceiling cracked. And Kael rose, suspended in a column of golden flame, wings unfurling from his back like a god remembering his form.
He looked down at Thamiel, who crawled toward the exit, one eye seared shut.
Kael landed.
"You called me prophecy," he said, voice layered with flame. "But I am no one's promise. I am the storm that ends the sky."
Then he turned, and walked away.
The temple burned.