Sacred Flames

Maybe no one's told you yet.

There are four Sacred Flames in this world.

Ancient fires that outlived kings and toppled empires, burning long before maps had names.

They're not just relics, not some pretty artifacts for museums or the back rooms of palace collectors.

Each one is alive.

Magic humming at its core, and the power in them could break or bind an entire age.

A Sacred Flame is more than legend.

It's will made real.

To touch one is to feel storms coil at your fingertips, to coax broken flesh whole, to turn cities into black glass, or call down miracles with nothing but a whispered wish.

These aren't medals to pin on a coat, or tokens to trade away when the wind changes.

The Flames are the hearts of the Great Houses.

Veins of power threading through every bloodline, every story, every promise we still pretend to keep.

My House—Keahi—guards one of these flames.

Ours, they say, burns hotter and longer than all the rest. Every rival House has their pride, their claims, their old grudges, but even they admit our fire runs deep.

It's not a gift, though.

No one "gives" the Sacred Flame. It chooses.

By blood, by marrow, by the stubbornness it finds in the bones of the next heir.

You don't inherit a Sacred Flame like you inherit jewelry or a family crest.

You earn it—if it thinks you're worth the risk.

What does that mean?

It means carrying more than your own weight.

To inherit the flame is to shoulder centuries of expectation, to feel every ancestor's breath on your neck, measuring you against legends and warning you not to fail.

The world hungers for what we carry.

There is always another House, another heir, another challenger dreaming they can steal what burns inside us.

But fire taken by force never lasts.

Only those born to it shaped by its hunger, hardened by its heat can command what a Sacred Flame offers.

Everyone else? They burn out fast, devoured by their own ambition, scattered to ash and forgotten before the wind's even changed.

I am Sydney Keahi.

Fire isn't just in my blood; it's the evidence that I exist, the price I pay, and the promise I made to myself when I first saw the old flame roaring in the dark.

I'll make sure the world remembers whose hands shaped the fire.

And if anyone thinks they can take it from me, they'll learn one way or another.

What it means to be burned by a Keahi.

The words echo behind my eyes as the present snaps back into focus.

I'm sitting in the third row of the Academy's frostbitten classroom.

Sunlight flickering off spellglass and the faint scent of wet wool in the air.

The tension is thick enough to taste: some students watch Katsu with awe after Wildglow, others with suspicion—like they can't decide if he's a hero or something more dangerous.

He looks half-lost, battered and closed off, but still standing. I catch myself almost smiling at the absurdity of it all. Let them whisper. Let them wonder. I'm not shrinking from anyone today.

My hand moves across the page, but my mind's elsewhere—half in the old fire.

Half in the room, watching the people who've seen too much and trust too little.

I promised myself I'd move forward.

Not let old wounds fester. The world doesn't stop for anyone stuck in yesterday's shadow.

Class ends.

People scatter in clusters, voices low.

Katsu lingers awkwardly, uncertain, then finally sits next to me. I shove him lightly, half-joking, half-serious.

"We're fine, genius. Don't make it weird."

The words crack the last of the ice between us, and for a second there's laughter.

Small, startled, but real.

We're survivors, not just classmates.

There's something new in the air.

Tougher, messier. Better.

The afternoon blurs: familiar halls, cliques reforming, the ache of gossip and rivalry.

But under it all, I can feel the flame.

Steady, watching. It's mine. It always will be.

I watch Katsu for a moment.

His eyes scanning the room like he's looking for a threat only he can see.

…

KATSU NORI

LEVEL: 28

CONDITION: STABLE

VIT: 235+20 / ATK: 44+3

MAG: 163+22 / AGI: 79+4

MAGIC TOOLS: None

"Resonant Ember"

TITLES:

"Summoner of the Leviathan" ⟩⟩ + ⟨⟨

"Demon of Velthra" ⟩⟩ + ⟨⟨

"Savior of the Black Frost" ⟩⟩ ++ ⟨⟨

MAGIC:

Expert Fire Control

Expert Water Control

Basic Ancient Magic

…

Sydney's at ease again.

Good.

She wears it like a mask, but I know better. There's something in her.

Wild, sharp.

A kind of hunger that's more curse than gift.

That girl is dangerous.

She has an aura that crawls under my skin, and I can't decide if I respect it or fear it.

…Why am I only being told this now?

Do I have to spell everything out for you?

You do, especially when you insist on calling me your king.

…You know I love you, right?

Why are you like this?

Why—

"Hey! Katsu!"

Kairos.

I can hear.

He blinked, pulled out of the spiral of thoughts.

Down the corridor, Kairos stood waiting, one hand raised, the other resting on the hilt of his blade.

Beside him was a woman Katsu didn't recognize.

Tall, wrapped in a slate-blue cloak, posture all straight lines and calculation.

Unfamiliar, but not unimportant.

Katsu approached, shoulders tensing out of old habit. Kairos offered a curt nod.

"Katsu. There's someone you need to meet."

The woman's eyes flicked over him, unreadable and sharp as cut glass.

She said nothing, but her presence filled the space between them, heavy with intent.

Kairos continued,

"This is Rira. She's been brought in from Soryuun for... consultation."

Rira extended a hand, her grip cool, precise.

"So. You're the one everyone keeps talking about."

Katsu almost laughed. "I guess that's me."

She studied him for a moment, then spoke low enough for only him to hear.

"You're going to want to listen closely. Things are about to change here whether you're ready or not."

A chill worked its way down his spine, the kind that felt a lot like prophecy.

Kairos glanced between them.

Then nodded down the hall.

"Let's walk. We have news, and you won't want to hear it standing still."