---

The sun dipped low behind the towering peaks of Mount Ignis, casting a golden glow over the village nestled on its slopes. This was Emberstead, a place where fire magic flowed in the veins of its people, a village built from flame-forged stone and warmed by the eternal embers burning beneath the mountain.

Here, among warriors and artisans who shaped fire like clay, lived Nero, a young man with a destiny unknowingly set in motion years before his birth.

Standing atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the village, Nero clenched his fists, watching the flickering embers dance between his fingers. His flames were wild, unpredictable—a gift of power unlike any other.

"Not good enough."

Behind him, a deep, commanding voice interrupted his thoughts. Aizen, the Lord of Flames, stepped forward, his arms crossed. His weathered face bore scars of ancient battles, and his presence alone made the very air feel hotter.

"Your fire lacks discipline, Nero." Aizen's molten gold eyes met his. "Raw power is nothing without control."

Nero exhaled sharply. "I know, Master. I just… I feel like I'm not improving fast enough."

Aizen nodded, studying him. "You're impatient. That's both your greatest strength and your biggest weakness." He held out his palm, and a flame ignited—perfectly still despite the wind. Controlled. Precise.

"Fire is not just destruction, Nero. It is creation. It is life. You cannot let it control you, or it will consume everything you love."

At those words, Nero's gaze darkened.

He knew that all too well.

---

The Shadows of the Past

Nero had lived in Emberstead all his life, raised by the village elder after his parents died in a fire—a fire no one understood, except Aizen. He had been too young to remember, but the villagers often whispered when they saw him.

"The cursed boy."

"The one with the unnatural flames."

"He was chosen, but at what cost?"

He never knew why his flames were different, why they surged with unnatural intensity when he was angry or afraid. Not until Aizen took him in, training him in the ways of flame magic.

"You were given my power," Aizen had told him once. "Because the world will need you when the time comes."

Nero never questioned his master, but deep down, he feared the weight of that responsibility.

---

The Friends Who Ground Him

A sudden voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Oi, Nero! Stop brooding and come eat before I do!"

Nagel, his closest friend, stood at the bottom of the rock formation, grinning. A burly young man with ash-colored hair, he wasn't gifted with powerful magic, but he made up for it with raw strength and a stubborn will.

Beside him, Angel, Nero's longtime companion and the only person who could match his flames with her own. Her dark crimson hair shimmered in the firelight, and her golden eyes burned with mischief. "If you don't hurry, I'll tell the whole village you lost to Master Aizen again today."

Nero groaned. "You wouldn't."

She smirked. "Try me."

Despite himself, he smiled. No matter how overwhelming his training felt, Angel and Nagel were always there to remind him that life was more than just power and responsibility.

Together, they made their way down to the village square, where the scent of roasted meat and spiced ember-fruit filled the air. Tonight was a celebration—the Festival of Flames, a night where fire magic illuminated the sky in dazzling displays.

The villagers gathered in the open plaza, their flames shaping into dragons, phoenixes, and glowing serpents that danced through the night. Children laughed as they chased embers through the air, and the elders sat in circles, telling stories of warriors long past.

Nero sat with his friends, enjoying the warmth of the celebration. For a moment, he let himself forget about training, about the looming feeling of something greater waiting for him.

Until the sky burned with unnatural fire.

---

A Warning in the Flames

The laughter faded. A deep hush fell over the village as the night sky darkened—not with clouds, but with black fire.

Aizen was already standing, his stance rigid. "No…" he whispered.

From the swirling black flames, a voice echoed. A voice like distant screams, like fire choking the air.

"Nero…"

The villagers backed away as a dark figure formed within the flames—a projection, a warning. His form was tall and wreathed in violet fire, his face obscured by a mask of obsidian.

Nachogi.

The name sent a shudder through the village. Parents pulled their children close. Warriors instinctively reached for their weapons.

Aizen stepped forward, his flames igniting. "Nachogi. You dare send your shadow here?"

The dark figure chuckled. "You look old, Aizen. Weak. It's pathetic."

Aizen did not react, but his fists clenched. "What do you want?"

The violet flames flared higher. "You already know the answer. The power you gave away. The power that should be mine."

Nero felt his body tense. He's talking about me.

Nachogi turned his masked face toward him. Though no eyes could be seen, Nero felt their weight, pressing against him like a fire that burned without heat.

"The child of fire… You burn so brightly. But will you still shine when I take everything from you?"

Nero's flames flared to life. "I won't let you hurt my people!"

A laugh, deep and mocking. "Then try to stop me."

With that, the shadow vanished, and the flames dissipated into the wind, leaving only silence behind.

Aizen turned to the crowd. "Everyone, go inside. Now."

The villagers obeyed without question. Only Nero, Angel, and Nagel remained.

Aizen turned to his pupil. "It has begun."

Nero swallowed hard. He knew this moment would come. But he wasn't ready.

"Ready or not," he told himself, "I have to fight."

And as the festival lights dimmed, a storm of fire began to rise.

---

End of Chapter 1

This is just the beginning of Nero's journey! What do you think? Ready for Chapter 2, where Nero begins his training for the war to come?