The echoes of his awakening spread faster than fire in the wind.
Raen sat at the edge of his bed, his fingers tracing the invisible marks that now lay beneath his skin. The flames had claimed him. They had melded with his very soul, weaving their ancient magic into his bones.
At three years old, Raen had unlocked a power not even the greatest of mages could comprehend. And yet, despite the raw strength that surged through him, his path forward was uncertain.
He could feel them.
The eyes. Watching.
Queen Arellia had summoned him to the throne room that afternoon, her face colder than the marble beneath her feet. She tried to hide it, but her unease was palpable—Raen could taste it in the air. His rebirth, the flame within him, had shaken her in ways she wasn't willing to admit.
"You've been a quiet child, Raen," she said, voice smooth but edged with a touch of hesitation. "Too quiet."
Raen looked at her—his mother—and saw the lies in her eyes. The politics. The strategy.
He had never been a fool.
"I am not a child to be ignored," he answered softly, but his tone carried weight far beyond his age.
A flash of something passed over her face—a flicker of recognition. Was it fear? Regret? Raen couldn't tell, but it was enough to make her pause.
Later that night, in the palace gardens, Raen's mind raced. His senses were heightened, his connection to the flame growing stronger with every breath. But it wasn't the magic he feared. It was the secrets buried deep in the foundation of Elyndor that troubled him. The palace held too many whispers—whispers of a kingdom built on lies.
A soft rustle of movement behind him pulled him from his thoughts.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Raen turned to see Lord Therion, standing at the edge of the garden, his dark eyes glinting like two onyx stones.
"I'm not hiding," Raen said, voice steady. "I've never hidden."
Therion smiled—a thin, knowing smile. "You think the flames have answered you, little prince. But you have yet to learn who calls the fire."
Raen stood, his small frame tall in the moonlight, despite his age. "I know who you are."
Therion raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
Raen's eyes narrowed. "You're not here for me. You're here because you know what I could become."
Therion's smile faltered for just a moment. "And what is it you think you will become?"
Raen's hand curled into a fist, the flame within him flickering in response to the tension in the air.
"The king who takes back what is mine."
For a long moment, Therion didn't speak. He didn't need to. His eyes told Raen everything.
The game had begun.
As the night stretched on, Raen felt the world closing in around him. He was no longer just a prince—no longer a child. The flames had awakened a power that would tear through the palace, and all the falsehoods held within it, if he chose.
And yet, there was something else. Something more sinister.
"There is a greater darkness stirring," the voice whispered, "One you must face before the throne is yours."
Raen clenched his teeth.
He wasn't ready. Not yet. But soon.
At the edges of the kingdom, the winds shifted. Deep in the mountain caves, a beast woke—its slumber disturbed by the awakening of the flame. Its eyes glowed with ancient hunger, and its mind twisted with a single thought:
"The one who will challenge the throne has risen."