Yohan couldn't sleep that night. The whispers from the chamber still clung to him like smoke.
He'd washed the blood from his wrists, but the faint marks of the sigils still glowed under his skin—thin red veins that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He sat by the dorm window, staring out at the endless stretch of mountains beyond the Academy walls. Clouds drifted low, their undersides glowing faintly orange from the forges below.
"Fractured Flame…" he muttered under his breath. "What does that even mean?"
A chill wind swept in, rattling the pages of a book left open on his desk. The candle beside it flickered, its flame bending toward him—almost like it was listening.
For a moment, everything felt still. Then, softly, from somewhere deep inside his mind, a voice answered:
"You already know."
Yohan froze. The air turned heavy, pressing against his chest. He looked around the room, but no one was there.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"A memory. Your first fire."
Suddenly, the candle flared bright, filling the room with blinding light. He stumbled back, covering his eyes.
When he looked again, the dorm was gone.
He was standing in a wasteland of glass and ash. The sky above burned crimson, lightning crawling through the clouds like veins.
The ground was cracked open, rivers of molten light flowing beneath his feet.
And there—across the ruins—stood a figure cloaked in black. His silhouette shimmered like heat haze.
Yohan tried to move closer, but the air itself resisted, pushing him back.
The figure spoke, his voice layered and distorted—as if a hundred echoes were speaking through one mouth.
"You are the ember that escaped the forge."
"The one who was never meant to burn again."
Yohan gritted his teeth. "Stop talking in riddles! Who are you?!"
"You are me."
The figure raised his hand, and Yohan felt his body seize up—his blood burning, his vision blurring.
Images flashed behind his eyes: towers falling, fire swallowing mountains, a boy crying out a name he couldn't remember.
He gasped and fell to his knees.
The voice softened.
"When they tore the world apart, they broke us to save it. But flames don't die… they wait."
The world around him began to crumble, the ash swirling into a storm.
"You will burn again, Yohan Vale. And this time… you will decide what survives."
He woke up with a violent gasp, drenched in sweat. The candle on his desk had gone out, but faint trails of smoke curled upward, forming strange symbols in the air.
He reached out to touch them, and they scattered—like embers in the wind.
Somewhere in the distance, the bells of the Academy tolled four times.
Yohan looked down at his hands—still faintly glowing with red cracks of light.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure if what woke him… was a dream or a warning.