"When the stars fell, everything changed."
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Kael Riven dreamed of fire again.
It began as it always did: the sky cracking open like glass, blue flames raining from the heavens, and towers crumbling into dust. But this time, the fire spoke. Not in words—never in words—but in emotion. Fury. Sorrow. Hunger.
When Kael jolted awake, gasping, his hands were glowing.
Faint lines—like ink drawn by lightning—glimmered across his skin, from his fingertips to his forearms. They pulsed gently in the dark of the attic he called home, as if the dream hadn't quite let him go.
He pulled the threadbare blanket tighter around himself and listened. Outside, the bells of Virelia tolled midnight—slow and heavy. But the usual drunken shouting in the alleys was absent. No carts creaked through the cobblestone lanes. The city was holding its breath.
Something was wrong.
Kael stumbled to the crooked window and looked up.
The sky was weeping fire.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of stars were streaking across the heavens, blue-white trails blazing behind them. One struck the old watchtower across the river, and even from this distance, Kael saw it collapse in silence, like a toy kicked over by a god.
Another hit closer—just beyond the palace walls.
And then… everything lit up.
The tower of the king—King Valorin, ruler of the empire for nearly forty years—erupted in a burst of white fire, so bright Kael could see the skeleton of his own hand through his skin. A roar followed, like mountains being torn apart.
The crown of Virelia was gone.
Kael's heart pounded. His skin felt too tight. The lines on his arms began to sear. He doubled over, teeth clenched, trying not to scream.
In the back of his mind, he heard a voice—not spoken, but felt.
"Awaken."
He collapsed on the floorboards, sweating and shaking. The glow faded. The pain subsided. But everything had changed.
Someone knocked on the trapdoor below.
Three quick raps. Then silence. Then two more.
Kael's blood froze. That knock wasn't random.
It was a code.
He opened the hatch, and Sera Thorne climbed up without waiting for permission. Her one green eye glinted in the dark, and her short hair was soaked with rain and ash.
"You saw it?" she asked.
"Saw it? I—"
"You felt it too, didn't you?"
He hesitated. Then nodded.
Sera swore under her breath and pulled a small satchel from her side. It jangled with coins and shattered glass. She tossed him a black cloak.
"They're rounding up the marked already," she said. "Starfall burned through half the city. The king's dead. Power's shifting. And you, Kael…" She looked down at his arms. "You're glowing like a bloody beacon."
"I didn't ask for this."
"Doesn't matter." Her voice softened. "You're not just some market orphan anymore. You're a thread in something big. Something old."
Kael's mouth went dry. "What am I?"
Sera looked out the window at the falling stars, her jaw tense.
"I think," she said, "you're what the gods forgot. And now the world's remembering."
From the street below came the heavy clink of armored boots.
Sera grabbed his wrist. "If you want to live, come now."
Kael hesitated for only a breath.
Then he followed her into the firelit night, away from the life he knew—toward prophecy, rebellion, and a past written in starfire.
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