The forest swallowed the sound of the world.
Yohan stumbled through the undergrowth, his breathing ragged, his body still trembling from the flare that had ripped through the Council Hall. Every step left faint scorch marks on the ground, little embers that hissed out in the damp fog.
He didn't know how far he'd run. Only that the ringing of the bells had finally faded behind him.
The moonlight broke in fragments through the trees, falling on him like shards of glass. He pressed a hand to his chest—the mark there was pulsing with gold light, fading and flaring like it couldn't decide if it wanted to live or die.
"Stop," he muttered to himself, gripping his wrist. "Stop."
But it wouldn't. The fire inside him thrashed like a living thing. It wasn't anger anymore—it was grief. It was fear.
And for the first time, Yohan wondered if Kael had been wrong. Maybe this power couldn't be controlled. Maybe it didn't want to be.
The forest whispered back at him.
The air here was strange—heavy with mist, yet alive with energy. The trees were marked with ancient runes that glowed faintly when he passed. He felt them watching him. Not with eyes, but with memory.
He fell to his knees beside a stream, the cold water stinging against his burned palms. His reflection stared back—eyes gold, skin faintly cracked like porcelain with light spilling through.
He looked like a monster.
"I didn't ask for this," he whispered again, voice shaking. "I didn't want—"
A sound cut him off—soft footsteps.
He turned sharply, flame flickering at his fingertips.
A figure stepped out of the fog—tall, wrapped in travel-worn robes of dark green. His hair silver, his expression calm but sharp as glass.
"You burn too loudly for someone trying to hide," the man said.
Yohan rose slowly, defensive. "Who are you?"
The man tilted his head slightly. "Someone who thought the First Flame had gone out centuries ago."
The air thickened. The stranger's eyes glowed faintly blue—water essence, ancient and steady.
"You're from the Academy," Yohan said quietly.
"Once," the man replied. "Before they started fearing what they were meant to protect."
He walked closer, unafraid of the heat pulsing from Yohan. "You don't even understand what you carry, boy."
Yohan's eyes narrowed. "Then tell me."
The man stopped just a few steps away. "The Flame inside you isn't just power. It's memory. It remembers every bearer before you—every time it was used, every life it burned through."
Yohan's stomach twisted. "Then why me?"
The man smiled faintly. "Because it always chooses the one who hates it most."
Lightning flashed above them, brief and silent.
Yohan's fists clenched. "What do you want from me?"
The man turned, stepping back into the mist. "To see whether you'll survive it."
Then he was gone.
The forest fell silent again, save for the hiss of Yohan's uneven breath.
He looked at the stream—at his reflection—and for a moment, it wasn't his face staring back. It was another's.
A face of fire and ruin, eyes like molten gold.
"You can't run from what you are."
Yohan gasped and staggered back. The reflection rippled and vanished.
But the voice stayed.