The low smog-choked skies of Ryndor pressed down like a tired hand on the twisting streets. The buildings' stone walls were shattered with the scars of a forgotten age, and narrow lanes wound between drooping buildings. The city was howling with a nasty wind that carried the smell of secrets, sweat, and soot.
Kael adjusted the fraying strap of his satchel as he trudged along the muddy path leading to the market square. His shoulders ached from a restless night spent under the wooden slats of a broken cart. It wasn't much of a shelter, but it kept most of the rain off his head. He clutched a small bundle of rags tighter to his chest. Inside, bread and a withered apple—yesterday's haul—sat untouched. He ignored the hunger that was gnawing at him. The food was better saved for when it was really needed.
A city guard marched by, his steel-plated boots splattering through the sludge, and immediately Kael dived behind a collapsing wall. Kael maintained a faint breath. He was one of the street rats that guards didn't particularly care for, unless they needed someone to blame for a lost coin purse.
Kael came out of hiding after a while, his eyes keen, as the guard vanished around the corner. He'd learned early in life that survival wasn't about having strength—it was about knowing when to be invisible.
"Kael! There you are!"
The voice startled him, breaking his careful focus. He spun, fists clenched, until he saw the familiar grin of Joren, his closest friend. Joren was always beaming. Thin as a reed but as fast as a fox, he ran towards the direction of Kael, mischief dancing in his keen dark blue eyes.
"Now what?" Kael, anticipating trouble, asked.
Joren's smile got bigger. He held up a silver chain that was hidden, its delicate links glinting in the dim morning light.
"Look what I got."
Kael groaned at him. "You didn't."
"I did," Joren said proudly. "Right off the merchant's counter. He didn't even notice a bit."
Kael snatched the chain from his hand, scowling. "You're going to get us both hanged one day, Joren."
"If we don't starve first." Joren shrugged.
They walked in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken truths between them. Survival wasn't easy in Ryndor, especially for orphans like them. The city had no place for the unwanted.
"You need to stop taking stupid risks," Kael muttered.
"You need to stop worrying so much," Joren shot back.
Kael gave him a quick look. He admired Joren's carefree attitude and his seemingly carefree way of dancing through life. However, Kael wasn't prepared to pay the price for being irresponsible. Never again.
A tiny alleyway led them, with the walls enclosing them like sharp teeth. The market clamor subsided to a whisper here. Long and cold, the shadows gathered at their feet like ink.
Kael felt a chill going down his back. The air grew heavy, pressing down with an almost physical weight.
"Do you sense that?" he said softly.
Joren scowled. "Feel what?"
Kael opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat.
The shadows shifted.
"You carry the flame," it whispered, "The Sovereign Core. It awakens."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
Kael's voice faltered as the mist shot forward, wrapping around Kael's wrist, cold as death, burning like fire. Pain pierced through him, sharp and searing, as if his blood had turned to molten steel.
The figure held up a gloved hand, and tendrils of black mist coiled around its fingers. Frost crept along the stone walls, crackling softly as it spread.
The alley smelled of sulfur and scorched stone, and when Kael looked up, the figure was gone. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air as smoke curled from his trembling fingers.
"Kael… what just happened?"
"I… I don't know," Kael whispered, staring at his hand, half-expecting it to be burned to ash, but his skin was whole, though a faint ember still flickered beneath the surface.
"The fire," remarked Joren. "You did it."
"I understand."
"You—"
"I know!"
They stood silently as the gravity of the situation set in. With his thoughts rushing more quickly than he could process them, Kael's chest heaved. The Sovereign Core. What was meant by it? What made the figure seem to know him?
"We must leave here," Joren said in a terrified whisper. "Now."
Kael gave a nod. Despite the weakness in his legs, he pushed himself to stand. Together, they moved swiftly without attracting notice as they blended back into the crowd.
The city was a hive of activity, with vendors haggling, kids yelling, and the aroma of roasting meat emanating from food stalls.
However, Kael was burdened by invisible eyes.
We're safe," Joren muttered, glancing over his shoulder. "No one saw."
Kael didn't answer. The fire in his chest hadn't totally dissipated. Now he sensed it, a deep, terrifying pulse, like a second heartbeat.
Then he heard it.
From the shadows came a clear, cold voice.
"Running won't save you, Kael. You can't run away from your destiny"
His breath caught.
Joren froze. "Who—who made that claim?"
Kael slowly turned.
Another figure, a man rather than the faceless phantom, stood at the end of the narrow lane. The crimson sigil, shaped like a jagged circle split by a scar, was etched on his armor, which gleamed black as night. His eyes were bright and filled with evil, like embers.
"Your fate was sealed long ago," the man said, his voice a deadly promise. "And now… it burns."
Kael felt it before it happened—a surge of power that tore through his chest, fire and ice colliding in a violent rush.
He gasped, staggered backward, pain searing his veins, fierce and relentless. Joren grabbed Kael's arm, his fingers digging into his skin.1
"Kael-"
The ground shook. Dark energy crackled in the air, twisting like a storm. The last thing he saw was the man's glowing eyes, before darkness engulfed him.