The room was void, its walls swallowing sound and memory alike. A single spotlight hung from the ceiling, casting Kael's gaunt face in stark relief. His eyes, once vibrant gold, now held the weight of a thousand shuttered lives. Across the table sat Harold, the Supreme Commander of the A.N.Ts, his uniform crisp and unyielding. Neith, the child prodigy who captained the Intel Unit, perched on a stool, her legs swinging freely, a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation.
"Kael," Harold's voice sliced through the silence, "we need answers. Ledya is gone and you were found at
the scene. Aside from the creature that you fought, did you notice anyone else in proximity?"
Kael's throat tightened. He remembered the screams, the acrid smell of burning flesh, and the way the ground had trembled as he unleashed his power. "I don't know," he croaked. "It was sudden, and that monster called itself 'Ammit', it harboured a grudge against humans, it seemed. She took pleasure in the killing…"
Neith leaned forward, her eyes wide and unyielding. "And what about you? Have you heard of the words,
Dark Saints?"
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. "I have never heard of them."
"But if I understand correctly, Kael, which one of you destroyed Ledya, Ammit or you?"
"I remember fighting for my life and I lost my friend in the process, so yeah, I don't care anymore. She is
gone."
Neith's small hand reached across the table, her fingers brushing his. "Sometimes," she said softly, "the greatest sacrifices are made by those who never wanted to be heroes."
He met her gaze, saw the reflection of his own pain. "What do you want from me?"
"To be a weapon for the A.N.Ts," she said jokingly.
The joke passed Kael's face as he was too depressed to even giggle. The pain reflected in Neith's eyes wasn't her own. When humanity was brought into being, a single bloodline was born with a special curse –there is a bloodline that gives birth to a girl, and generation after generation, that girl gets named Neith.
Neith inherits memories of the Neiths before her, she is a walking library of knowledge, the youngest
captain of the Intel Unit, is known as Neith the Goddess of Knowledge, she who has lived a thousand lives and remembers the face of the god that created humanity, Creatrix. Only the top few know of her history, her case is beyond SSS-class classification.
The cafeteria hummed with the clatter of trays and murmur of hungry soldiers. Mikaela sat alone at a
corner table, her cerulean eyes fixed on the faded photograph cradled in her hands. The girl in the picture –Mickey –was a stranger, yet something tugged at her heart, an inexplicable connection that whispered of forgotten memories.
"Who are you?" Mikaela wondered, tracing the edges of Kael's face. The boy's fiery hair covered his
forehead, and his eyes held secrets Mikaela longed to unravel. But the cafeteria was no place for such
musings, not when the continent was under duress from the Dark Saints.
Her reverie shattered as Noelle V. Silverstone strode in, his crimson cloak billowing like a storm cloud.
The commander of the seventh nation and king of Forgemire –a man of power and ambition. His eyes,
sharp as tempered steel, locked onto Mikaela, and she straightened, the photograph slipping from her
fingers.
"Mikaela," Noelle's voice cut through the din, "do you know this boy?"
She blinked, her mind racing. Kael –the name echoed like a half remembered dream. "No," she replied, her voice small. "I have never met him."
Noelle's gaze bore into her, assessing, calculating. "Kael," he mused, "the flamebearer. Raw magic,
untamed and wild. He razed Ledya to the ground, yet saved it from the Dark Saints and their demon. A
paradox, wouldn't you say?"
Mikaela's pulse quickened. "Why are you telling me this?"
His lips curved, a predator scenting weakness. "Because," Noelle leaned closer, "Kael is a weapon. A furnace of destruction waiting to be forged. His flames consume cities, and yet he lacks control. Imagine what he could become with proper training, with purpose."
Mikaela's breath hitched. "Purpose?"
"Power," Noelle corrected. His eyes flared with hunger, pupils dilating like a predator's. "The seventh
needs him. Our enemies will tremble at the thought of his unbridled fire. We could reshape the world,
Mikaela. Forge it anew."
She glanced at the photograph, at Kael's enigmatic smile. "And if he refuses?"
Noelle's expression darkened. "Then we will break him," he murmured. "Or bend him until he burns for
us."
Mikaela's heart raced. She saw the flames dancing in Noelle's eyes –the same flames that consumed
cities, that whispered of destiny and ruin. She wondered if Kael felt the same pull, the same hunger for power.
And in that dim cafeteria, Mikaela made her choice. She would find Kael, unravel the mystery of their
connection, and perhaps –just perhaps –forge a different fate. But as Noelle turned away, his lust for
power etched across his face, she knew that the flames would consume them all, one way or another.
And maybe her ice might cool down those flames.
The white room was a sterile void, its walls closing in on Kael like a vise. Four days of isolation, of
memories clawing at his sanity, had left him hollow. His beloved childhood friend, gone –swallowed by
the chaos of war. Loneliness gnawed at him, a relentless ache that echoed through the silence.
And then, the door swung open, and Noelle stepped in. The commander of the seventh, a man who wore
power like second skin. His eyes –icy blue, calculating –fixed on Kael, dissecting him.
"Kael," Noelle's voice was honeyed, a serpent's whisper. "You are at the crossroads. The A.N.Ts offer you a cage –a lab, experiments, a life dissected. Or…" He leaned closer, "the seventh. A different path. Purpose. Power."
Kael's heart stuttered. Purpose? Power? He's never asked for either. But the ache in his chest, the
memory of Ledya's burning ruins, pushed him toward Noelle's words.
"What do you want from me?" Kael's vice was raw, like the flames that consumed cities. Noelle circled him, predator scenting prey. "The Dark Saints," he murmured, "they took from you. Your friend. Your innocence. They are the architects of your loss."
Kael's fist clenched and the golden flames in his eyes turned blue, reflecting his cold heart. "And what do you propose?"
Noelle's smile was a blade. "Avenge her," he said. "Become a weapon. The seventh will hone your flames, temper them. You will burn for us, not against us."
Kael's mind spun. The choice –loneliness or power –loomed before him. He remembered Mickey, her
eyes mirroring his grief. He remembered the way she'd laughed, the warmth of her hand in his.
The room blurred –the stark walls, Noelle's face, the weight of destiny. Kael's voice trembled. "I'll join
you," he whispered. "For her. But know this, I will burn for myself, not your cause."
Noelle's eyes flared. "Agreed," he said. "Welcome to the seventh, Kael. We will forge you into something
more than a boy with flames. We will make you live up to your nickname –they call you the
Flamebringer"
And Kael stepped out of the white room, the ache in his chest shifted. Loneliness remained, but now it
was edged with purpose –a fire waiting to consume the world.