Kajin's boots crunched on leaf litter as he emerged from the clearing, every tendon taut with anticipation. The undergrowth here was thick—ferns unfurled like green fans, vines twisted around ancient trunks—but the promise of power drove him forward. He followed the sound of water until he stood on the bank of a wider, sunlit stream.
The current danced over smooth stones, sending silver ripples across its surface. Birds flitted overhead; shafts of light pierced the canopy in golden shafts. It was almost peaceful—too peaceful for a man whose neck still felt like it might snap with the slightest misstep.
He crouched, dipping hands into the water. The cold bit at his skin, an electric shock that made him gasp. He brought a handful to his face, splashing it across his sweat-slicked forehead and throat. The relief was immediate but fleeting—his chest still felt aflame, as if an ember glowed just beneath his ribs.
He stared down at his palms, letting the water drip away. Fingers splayed wide, he willed the heat inside him to surface. He pictured the midday sun, hung high and blazing bright; he summoned its warmth from memory. The hum in his mind grew louder—like a song trapped in his skull.
A tremor rocked his forearm. A trickle of golden light seeped between coiled tendons, pooling in his palm like molten metal. His breath caught. The light swirled, spiraling upward in a miniature vortex of warmth.
Kajin's hand shook. He stared, dumbstruck, as the glow solidified into a sphere no larger than a marble. It hovered above his palm, casting dancing reflections in his eyes. The air around it shimmered, fragrant with the scent of ozone and sun-warmed stone.
Heat licked his skin—but it was gentle, invigorating, nothing like the burn of his neck. The sphere pulsed once, then stabilized. Kajin felt a swell of something long buried—pride, wonder, the thrill of creation.
He lowered his hand, watching the orb drift lazily above the water's surface. It betrayed no danger—only the promise of power he had never known. His heart thundered: this was the spark the system demanded.
Tentative excitement surged through him. He remembered Earth lessons: in the scrum, focus kept the pack together; in the line, precision landed the try. Now, focus meant control of flame, of the very essence of the sun.
He flexed his fingers, and the sphere dipped toward the water, trailing molten gold. With a flick of his wrist, he guided it back, drawing it to rest once more in his palm. It responded instantly, bobbing like a captive sun.
Kajin inhaled, tasting dust and excitement. He felt alive in a way no Earth victory had ever matched. His pulse synced with the gentle heartbeat of his first Sunfire sphere.
Then, as if sensing its maker's need for reassurance, the sphere vanished in a soft pop—no explosion, just a soft chime of brilliance fading into nothingness. Silence returned, broken only by the stream's song.
Kajin sank to one knee on the bank, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He pressed a hand to the spot where the sphere had hovered, marveling at the emptiness. Then he looked up, toward the canopy, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
The world felt different now. He was no longer just a stranded athlete—he was a wielder of flame, a breaker of boundaries. The mission pulsed before his vision: "Establish Your Flame."
He had done it. The System would mark his first victory.
Steadying himself, Kajin rose to his feet. His boots left prints in the damp soil as he turned away from the stream, toward the looming jungle depths. There was more to learn—more to master. But for the first time, the fire inside him matched the fire in the sky.
With a final glance at the empty bank, he stepped forward, the thrill of power crackling through his veins—and the promise of Ilios guiding each stride.