Fire That Remembers

The next morning, the skies above Mystic Falls wept softly—rain trailing like veins of silver across the ancient stone paths.

Cain stood alone at the edge of the volcanic training crater located deep within the Siegfried estate—an arena that had once been used by Levi Azaroth to temper the fire of gods.

Now, it would test his son.

The ground here pulsed with dormant flame. Obsidian pillars jutted from the earth like broken fangs, and in the center of the crater rested a dormant forge altar—a relic of a time when fire was worshipped and wielded with reverence. The air was thick with the scent of brimstone and something older… something alive.

Aildris stood at the far end, his crimson cloak fluttering despite the still air.

"You asked for real fire," he said, tossing a glowing ember into the altar.

The earth rumbled.

Flames erupted in a pillar of blood-red heat, licking the heavens.

"Then face it."

Cain stepped forward, his katana drawn and held in reverse grip. The air bent around him, Essence coursing through every pore. His shadow stretched unnaturally long—Hellfang's form partially flickering within it like a phantom guarding its master.

Aildris raised both hands. "This flame," he said, "is known as Solarbrand. Forged from Levi Azaroth's own essence. If you wish to wield true fire, Cain… then burn yourself anew."

Cain didn't hesitate.

He stepped into the fire.

Instantly, his skin sizzled—robes blackening, Essence flaring wildly to protect him. But Cain gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out. The flame clawed through his soul, whispering forgotten screams and ancient fury.

Then came the voice.

A memory—no, a presence.

> "You dare wield my legacy?"

Cain's knees buckled.

> "Fire is not warmth. It is hunger. It does not serve—it devours. If you would wield my hellfire, then prove yourself worthy to be consumed."

Cain gasped as his vision distorted. He stood now in a realm of molten skies and rivers of lava—his mind dragged into a plane forged by Levi's will.

In front of him stood a man cloaked in fire, with twin horns of obsidian curling from his temples, eyes like solar eclipses.

Levi Azaroth.

Cain knelt instinctively. "Father…"

Levi studied him. "You are no king yet. No tyrant. Just a scarred boy playing with blades."

Cain looked up, expression resolute. "And still… I rise."

Levi's lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Then rise through my fire."

Cain shot forward, katana flashing with a fusion of crimson lightning and darkness. Levi responded with a single snap of his fingers—an infernal wave crashing into Cain's soul. Bones cracked. Flesh peeled. Yet Cain didn't fall. His blade moved again, cutting through flame, dancing with fury.

This was no duel. It was an inheritance trial.

Time lost meaning. Cain bled. He broke. But he endured.

And in that moment of final resistance, when the fire threatened to erase him, Cain whispered two words not in defiance, but in reverence—

"Devour me."

And the fire did.

It surged into him—not to destroy, but to rebirth. His veins glowed molten, his heart thumped like a volcanic forge, and his katana's blade turned obsidian black with a red-hot edge that pulsed like a heartbeat.

The illusion shattered.

Cain collapsed at the center of the crater, panting, eyes glowing faintly crimson.

Aildris stepped forward, a grin spreading across his face. "You saw him, didn't you?"

Cain nodded weakly. "Levi… was not kind."

"He never was," Aildris said. "But he respected strength. And he's given you a gift."

Cain looked down. His katana—Ashen Fang—now bore a new inscription along the edge: "Hell remembers."

Just then, a soft voice echoed across the crater.

"Fascinating…"

Both men turned sharply.

A tall figure in black professor robes stood at the edge of the crater, half-hidden beneath a silver umbrella. His face was pale, his hair short and dark, and his eyes—one blue, one crimson—glimmered with unsettling curiosity.

"I must say," the stranger said, stepping closer, "watching you survive that flame was… exhilarating."

Cain narrowed his eyes.

Aildris's expression turned cold. "You're not authorized to be here."

The man chuckled softly. "Authorization is a relative term in this world."

Cain's hand hovered near his katana. "Who are you?"

The stranger bowed slightly, his crimson eye shimmering.

"Professor Valen. Newly transferred from the outer division of Mystic Falls Academy. I teach Advanced Essentia Convergence… and specialize in rare affinities."

His gaze lingered on Cain with unnatural precision.

"Triple affinity, for example."

Cain's pulse slowed.

Aildris stepped forward sharply, fire gathering in his palm. "You shouldn't know that."

Valen smiled politely. "And yet, I do. Perhaps… we'll talk more, Mister Siegfried. Class begins soon."

With that, he turned and vanished into silver mist—no fluctuation of Essence, no spatial shift. Just gone.

Cain stood still, fists clenched.

Aildris exhaled slowly. "He's no professor."

Cain nodded once. "No… he's a scout."