Kael sat cross-legged at the heart of a scorched glade, sweat beading on his brow as he struggled to control the storm of magic swirling inside him. The Ember Guard had brought them to an ancient training ground once used by the Pyrelords mages who had long mastered flame magic. Now, under their watchful eyes, Kael was to learn the cost of his gift.
"Again," barked Merek, standing nearby with arms folded.
Kael clenched his fist, calling to the shard. Heat flared in his veins. Fire leapt from his palm, but sputtered out, uncontrolled.
Merek shook his head. "You summon like a child. Flame is not rage, boy. It is will."
Lysara stood nearby, watching silently. Nyra leaned against a tree, arms crossed, clearly restraining herself from interfering.
Kael closed his eyes. He reached deeper, beyond the fire, into the shard itself. There, he saw flickers of memories not his own: warriors of fire, cities consumed, a woman crowned in flames.
He gasped. The magic surged. This time, he raised a wall of flame that curved, contained, and bent to his will. Merek's eyes widened slightly.
"Better," he said. "But you are not ready."
That night, around a roaring fire, Kael sat with the Ember Guard and heard stories of the Flame Crown the artifact worn by Queen Amara, ruler of the Ember Isles. It was she who had sent Merek to retrieve Kael. She believed the shard-bearers must unite.
"But why me?" Kael asked, staring at the flame dancing in his hand.
Merek looked grave. "Because your shard is not just power it is the key. The others follow the pull of yours. Without you, the others are blind."
Lysara stirred. "Then we must move. Malagar will not stop. And now, he knows Kael lives."
Nyra nodded. "And others will come some to help. Others to kill."
As the flames crackled, Kael stared into them and saw a vision: a city burning, a crown in his hand, and a voice whispering not all flames purify.
He clenched his fist around the shard. He would learn. He would master it or die trying.