The winds howled through the night, carrying with them the scent of smoke and destruction. The peaceful town nestled in the rolling hills of St. Catherine, Jamaica had been ripped apart. Flames engulfed Zayne's home, casting an eerie orange glow across the land. At only four years old, Zayne couldn't understand the weight of the tragedy unfolding before him. All he could do was stare, frozen in fear, as his world burned.

"Mom… Dad…" Zayne whispered, his voice small, swallowed by the roar of the inferno. His hands trembled as he clutched the hem of his small shirt, staring at the cottage that once held the warmth of family. The heat from the flames singed the air around him, but he didn't move. He couldn't move.

Through the fire, Zayne saw them. Figures. Shadows. Dark and indistinct, as if they were part of the night itself. But one of them stepped forward, tall and imposing. Their face was hidden beneath a hood, but the aura of darkness surrounding them was unmistakable.

Zayne's mother's voice echoed in his memory, "Stay inside, Zayne. Don't come out, no matter what." But it was too late.

Zayne's heart raced. He was just a child, but his instincts told him something was horribly wrong. The figure approached, its steps soundless, like a predator closing in on its prey. Zayne could only watch in terror as the figure reached out, a hand glowing with dark magic, as though it could snuff out the light around him.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded, and the figure recoiled, as a second form appeared—his father, standing tall with a sword in hand.

"Get away from my son!" Zayne's father roared, his voice thick with fury.

The hooded figure only smiled, the cruel expression hidden beneath the darkness. "You think you can protect him? The prophecy is already set in motion."

"Not while I'm still breathing," his father growled, brandishing his sword.

A flash of magic exploded from the figure's outstretched hand, but Zayne's father parried it, sending the dark energy scattering into the night. The two figures clashed in a blur of light and shadow. Zayne's mother screamed from inside the house, her voice full of panic. "No! Not like this!"

The ground shook as the battle raged on, but Zayne couldn't look away. He wanted to help, to scream, to do something. But his small legs couldn't move, and his hands wouldn't stop trembling.

A sudden blast of magic sent Zayne's father flying through the air, his sword clattering to the ground. Zayne's heart shattered as he watched his father crumple to the earth.

"Dad!" Zayne screamed, but his voice was drowned out by the cacophony of destruction.

The hooded figure turned towards him. Their gaze felt cold, suffocating, like they were seeing right into Zayne's very soul. "You'll remember this night, little one. The bloodline ends here."

Then, a blinding flash of light.

The next thing Zayne knew, he was lying on the cold, wet ground. The last thing he saw was his father's limp body, and the last thing he heard was his mother's voice, calling out his name in desperation.

Zayne gasped, sitting up in his bed. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, his skin drenched in sweat. The memories were as vivid as ever—too real to ignore. His hands shook as he wiped the tears from his eyes, the memories of that night haunting him. He hadn't realized how long it had been since the nightmares had started again.

He reached for the wooden sword hanging by his bed. The one his father had given him. Zayne had kept it as a reminder, a symbol of the legacy he would carry.

"Grandma," he murmured, his voice breaking.

Downstairs, the soft sound of an old woman humming floated through the air. Grandma Mira, Zayne's only family left, was up early as always, preparing breakfast. She was a strong, weathered woman, her silver hair tied into a neat bun. She had seen much in her time, but Zayne's loss had been her greatest sorrow.

"Zayne, child, you're up early again," she said, her voice gentle but firm as she entered the room.

Zayne didn't answer right away. He stared at the sword in his hands, his fingers gripping the worn wood.

"You were having the dreams again, weren't you?" Grandma Mira asked softly, sitting down beside him on the bed. Her warm, wrinkled hand rested on his shoulder, comforting in its simplicity.

"I can't stop thinking about them, Grandma," Zayne confessed, his voice strained. "About that night… about what happened to Mom and Dad."

"I know, child. I know," Grandma Mira said, her voice laced with both sorrow and pride. "They were good people. Brave. But the world, as you know, is cruel. And there's nothing that can bring them back." She paused, her eyes softening. "But you have to move forward, Zayne. For them. For yourself. You're not just their son, you're part of a greater story. A story you're meant to finish."

Zayne looked up at her, his eyes clouded with doubt. "What if I can't? What if I'm not strong enough?"

Grandma Mira smiled faintly, brushing her fingers through his hair. "You are stronger than you realize. And you've always had the fire inside you. I can see it in your eyes."

Zayne looked down at the sword in his hands. The fire inside him… Was it enough? Would it ever be enough to avenge his parents? Or would the mystery of their deaths remain unsolved forever?

The decision weighed heavily on him, but in that moment, he knew what he had to do. He couldn't stay here forever, lost in the past. He had to move forward. The letter from Mystic Heights Academy had been his invitation. An invitation to learn, to train, and to uncover the truth.

"Grandma, I'm leaving," Zayne said, his voice firm with resolve.

Grandma Mira's eyes softened, but she didn't argue. She had known this day would come. "I'll be here when you return, child. But remember—Mystic Heights is more than just a school. It's a place of great power. Use that power wisely."

"I will," Zayne promised. He stood up, gripping the sword tightly in his hand, the weight of his destiny heavy on his shoulders.

The journey ahead would be long, and the path uncertain. But Zayne knew one thing for sure: Mystic Heights would be where everything changed. Where he would find the answers he sought. And where the fire inside him would burn brighter than ever.

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