The palace never slept.
Even when the candles dimmed and the corridors emptied, whispers still moved, cloaked in footsteps too light for guards to hear.
Aaron awoke with a pressure in his chest—not fear, not pain… something else.
A wrongness.
He rose from bed, flame kindling faintly in his palm, and opened the door to the outer hall.
A man stood there.
Not a soldier. Not a servant.
A figure in red robes, face hidden, hands burning with crimson fire that twisted unnaturally — unlike Aaron's blue, this flame shrieked without sound.
> "Aaron Hotveil," the man hissed. "Your fire does not belong here."
Aaron stepped back slowly. "Neither does yours."
The man lunged.
---
🔥 Clash of Fires
Flame met flame.
But the heat was different.
Aaron's fire remembered — it moved with precision, emotion, memory. The assassin's fire devoured, empty and chaotic.
The corridor lit up in eerie colors. A painting on the wall ignited. The marble cracked.
Aaron dodged a blast, rolled under a burning table, and with one strike to the floor, sent blue flame rushing through the tiles, splitting upward beneath the assassin's feet.
The man screamed as memory seared into him.
> "Your fire… speaks…" he gasped.
Then he exploded in ash.
---
🕯️ After the Attack
Guards arrived too late.
But someone else came first.
A woman in Council robes — her mask hanging loosely in one hand. Her eyes were sharp, gray, and observant.
> "They sent one of the Red Flame cultists," she said.
Aaron looked at her. "And you just happened to be here?"
She ignored that.
> "You're not safe, even behind the Council's walls. Some want your fire silenced. Others… want to use it."
> "And you?" he asked.
She smiled faintly.
> "I want to see if you're more than fire."
---
🤝 The Offer
Later that night, she returned. Alone. In secret.
She brought a sealed envelope.
> "This is not from the Council. This is from me."
Aaron opened it.
Inside: a map. A name. A symbol — half Skyborn… half Eldemar.
> "I want to talk," she said. "But not here. Meet me at midnight. No guards. No questions."
> "Why should I trust you?" he asked.
> "You shouldn't," she replied. "But I saw how your fire moved tonight… and I believe you're not here to serve."
> "You're here to choose."