The sky is burning.
Scarlet clouds swirl like tongues of fire above a ruined city. The air is thick with ash, choking his lungs with every breath. The ground trembles beneath his bare feet as he runs, heart hammering, shadows flickering at the edges of his vision.
He doesn't know where he is.
He doesn't know what he's running from.
But he knows he must run.
Then, he sees it.
A figure stands against the burning sky—unmoving. Solemn. The world bends around it, light rippling in waves, its features obscured in an unnatural haze. There is no face. No voice.
Yet, when it lifts a hand, something inside him clenches—not in fear, but in something deeper. An ache. A familiarity he cannot place.
Then, the voice.
Deep. Cracked. Ancient.
"Find the truth."
A blinding surge of light erupts. Heat crashes over him.
The world vanishes.
Khai jolted awake, gasping.
For a moment, the scent of ash clung to his nostrils, thick and real. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. The phantom heat of the flames still tingled against his skin. Then—reality.
Wooden walls. Sunlight filtering through the window. The faint scent of herbs drifting from below.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
He sat up slowly, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, his fingers grazing the familiar tie that kept it in place. He had stopped calling them dreams long ago. Dreams faded after waking. These lingered. Grew stronger.
And he had no idea why.
The scent of warm bread curled through the air, pulling him back to the present. His mother was cooking. His father was likely sharpening his arrows.
Khai exhaled and pushed himself out of bed. No point in thinking about it.
The Leafblood home sat on the outskirts of Solaran, where the last traces of the city's stone streets gave way to untamed trees and winding dirt paths. Their house was small but sturdy, nestled against the forest's edge, where the scent of pine mixed with woodsmoke.
Near the hearth, his mother, Merial, stirred a steaming herbal infusion, her golden-brown hair tied back in a loose braid. Across the room, Nadrak, his father, sat inspecting an arrow, turning it between his calloused fingers with a critical eye.
"You woke up late." Nadrak muttered without looking up.
"I didn't sleep well."
Merial glanced at him, sharp-eyed. She didn't speak right away, just lifted her cup of tea and took a slow sip, watching him over the rim.
"Another dream?"
Khai hesitated. Then shook his head. "Nothing important."
Her brow arched slightly, but she didn't press him.
He sat at the table, tearing a piece of warm bread, the heat seeping into his fingers. Silence filled the room, save for the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional creak of wood as the wind shifted outside.
Then, Merial spoke. "You should go to the market later. I need some spices for dinner."
Khai nodded absently, his mind still drifting.
Nadrak finally looked up from his arrow, his sharp blue eyes assessing him. "If you want, we can take a walk first." His voice was gruff, casual—but Khai recognized the unspoken meaning beneath it.
A distraction.
"…Alright."
The streets of Solaran pulsed with life. The Pure Heart Festival was only days away, and the city thrummed with restless energy. Merchants from across the kingdom lined the main roads, their stalls overflowing with spices, fabrics, and trinkets. The air smelled of roasted nuts and spiced meats, mingling with the sweet tang of mulled wine.
Acrobats tumbled through the streets, fire-breathers sending bursts of flame into the sky, drawing laughter and applause.
Khai walked beside his father, who occasionally stopped to inspect hunting tools or exchange words with fellow hunters.
"How's your training?" Nadrak asked suddenly.
Khai shrugged. "Fine."
"Doesn't seem like it."
Khai sighed. His father always saw through him. "I just slept badly."
Nadrak made a low sound in his throat, neither agreement nor dismissal. "Dreams won't put food on the table," he muttered. "If they bother you, work harder. A tired body sleeps better."
Khai didn't reply.
They passed through the bustling crowd, weaving between traders and performers. Then—
Laughter. Sharp, mocking.
Khai's steps slowed.
A few feet away, near the stone fountain, a group of boys had gathered in a loose half-circle. Their stances were casual, but there was a cruelty in the way they loomed over someone smaller.
A silver-haired boy stood at the center, pressed against the fountain's marble edge. His blue eyes flickered, scanning his tormentors. He wasn't cowering—but there was tension in his shoulders, his fingers curled at his sides.
One of the boys sneered. "What's wrong? Lunari don't like standing in the sun?"
The silver-haired boy said nothing.
Khai exhaled slowly, a familiar bitterness settling in his chest.
Beside him, Nadrak exhaled through his nose but didn't move. Watching.
Khai's hands clenched.
"Hold on a second." he said, stepping forward.