The First Flame Walker

Morning came late.

A thick mist blanketed the forest, clinging to the trees like old breath that refused to leave. Even the birds were hesitant, chirping in cautious bursts as if testing the safety of the day.

Kael was already awake, his back resting against the roots of the guardian tree near the gate. His eyes were bloodshot, but not from sleep. Sleep didn't come easy anymore. Not since the fire. Not since the man in flame and shadow whispered truth into his bones.

Across the clearing, Elira stirred. She sat up slowly, rubbing her face with the back of her hand and blinking at the grey sky.

"You didn't rest again," she said, her voice hoarse.

Kael didn't respond immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the pulsing arch, still faintly humming, like a dying heartbeat too stubborn to quit.

"No," he finally said. "Didn't want to."

Elira stood, stretching her limbs. "Because of what he said?"

"Because of how he said it."

---

They ate quickly — roots, dried meat, and river apples. Nothing warm. No time for fire. Kael said it would draw attention, and Elira didn't argue. There was something in the air lately that didn't like heat.

They left the clearing without speaking again.

Not because there was nothing to say.

Because there was too much.

---

They walked east. Toward the abandoned watchtower — an old ruin Kael remembered reading about in his past life, a remnant from before the fracture of the realms. The Flame Walkers had used it once, long before Kael's time as a monarch. It was where they trained, where they chose their vessels, where they named the first of the Oathbound.

He hoped to find records there. Writings. Proof that the fire inside him wasn't madness — that it had purpose. Pattern.

Elira followed without hesitation.

She always did.

---

By midday, they arrived.

The tower was half-swallowed by the earth — collapsed on one side, scorched black from what looked like old magic warfare. Weeds had claimed its base, but the stone still carried symbols older than either of them could read.

Kael ran his hand along the arch at the entrance.

"These weren't meant to keep people out," he murmured.

Elira peered over his shoulder. "Then what?"

"To keep something in."

---

The first floor was silent. Dust hung in the air, thick and stubborn. There were old tables, split down the middle by rot, and shards of mirror glass lining the walls. One mirror still worked, though its surface shimmered like it was remembering something it shouldn't.

Kael approached it carefully.

In the reflection, he wasn't alone.

He turned fast — but Elira was still at the entrance. And no one else was there.

When he looked back at the mirror, it was just him.

Except…

His eyes.

In the reflection, they were burning.

---

"I think this place is awakening something," he said.

Elira had her blade drawn, scanning the room. "Or remembering someone."

They descended into the lower chambers, where the air was cold and tight. The hall narrowed until it opened into a small circular chamber — old stone benches lined the edge, and at the center, a pedestal.

And on the pedestal: a gauntlet.

Bronze, worn with time, but still glowing faintly at the knuckles. Heat pulsed from it. Not burning — alive.

Kael stepped closer.

"It's… waiting."

Elira reached out. "Kael—"

But he was already moving.

---

The moment his fingers brushed the gauntlet, the room lit with flame.

Not destructive. Not wild.

Controlled.

Ancient.

It swirled around Kael's arm like a cloak, lifting him slightly from the floor. Symbols flared around the walls — symbols Elira couldn't read, but Kael felt.

Not words. Not magic.

A memory.

Not his.

Yet it lived inside him.

He gasped as heat poured into his chest — not pain, but weight. Purpose. Rage, honed into precision. He fell to one knee, clutching the gauntlet as it sealed to his hand like it had always been meant for him.

And then a voice spoke — not aloud, but inside his skull.

> "Flame Walker.

Bearer of the First Light.

The stars burned you once. Now you burn back."

---

Elira rushed to him as the flame dimmed. Kael's eyes were wide, his breath shallow, but he was alive. Changed.

The gauntlet gleamed against his forearm, fitted perfectly, like it had waited for him.

He looked up at her slowly. "I know what I have to do."

Elira knelt beside him. "What did you see?"

Kael stared at the pedestal, then the ceiling, as if he could still hear the fire whispering.

"There are more like me. Other vessels. Other keys." His voice was steadier than it had been in days. "Whoever took my family… they're collecting the remnants. Killing or corrupting them."

Elira's mouth tightened. "And you're next."

Kael didn't flinch. "No. I'm the one they missed."

---

As they climbed back into the forest light, the air had changed again. The mist had lifted, but the clouds were thick and pressing.

Thunder rolled on the horizon.

Kael didn't seem to notice. He stood at the edge of the stone path and held up the gauntlet, staring into its glow.

"They called me the Fallen Star," he said softly. "But they forgot what happens after a star falls."

Elira raised an eyebrow. "What happens?"

He met her eyes — and for a moment, he didn't look like a boy anymore.

"They rise again."