Flamebound: Rise of the Cursed Prince

For the rest of the day, Aaron moved through the Pierce estate like a shadow slipping through forgotten halls. Tasks came and went—polishing candelabras until they gleamed, dusting the eastern mirror gallery, re-shelving ancient tomes in the minor library—but his mind never left the Red Salon, nor the cryptic words Frankfurt had left ringing in his skull:

> "You will."

They echoed like a riddle whispered through stone carved by time.

Kain, as always, drifted in and out like mist—always just beyond Aaron's grasp whenever questions rose. And Frankfurt had locked himself away in his study after the emissary's visit, shutting out all interruptions.

Left alone, Aaron felt an irresistible pull drawing him once again toward the western wing.

The corridors there were colder. The walls seemed to close in tighter. The air tasted different—thicker, almost alive.

He passed the same faded tapestries, the same empty halls, until he stood once more before the blue door at the end of the western hallway—the one Kain had warned him never to open.

It seemed unremarkable—aged wood painted deep, somber blue, with brass handles shaped like serpents coiled in eternal dance. Yet as Aaron's fingers hovered near the handle, a strange current thrummed beneath his skin, as if his heartbeat had moved into his fingertips.

He reached out.

The air grew heavy, the world holding its breath like the moment before a storm breaks.

Then a voice hissed behind him.

"I said, don't open that door."

Aaron spun around.

Kain stood there, a ghost in gray, his uniform spotless as if untouched by dust or time.

Aaron stepped back, breath quickening. "I was just—"

"You weren't," Kain interrupted sharply. "That door is sealed for a reason. It does not lead where you think."

"What's inside?" Aaron asked, his pulse hammering.

Kain's gaze darkened, narrowing. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Kain took a slow step forward. "Do you know what a Lineborn is, Aaron?"

The word struck deep, stirring something ancient in Aaron's bones.

"No…"

"They are descendants of the old blood. Born not of love or chance, but forged by ancient forces. The Court calls them myths. The temples call them cursed. But they exist. And when awakened, they change everything."

Aaron's voice dropped. "And you think I'm one of them?"

"I don't think," Kain said flatly. "I know."

Silence settled like a shroud.

Aaron turned slowly back toward the blue door, but Kain raised a hand.

"If you open it, you won't just find knowledge. You'll find memory—the kind that doesn't ask permission to return."

Aaron's throat tightened. "Whose memory?"

But Kain was already fading into the shadows. "Rest tonight, servant. You'll need it."

---

That night, the dreams came roaring back—this time, alive and vivid.

He saw blue flames erupting from his palms, twisting upward into domes of stars. Masked figures chanting beneath a black sun. A woman with sky-colored eyes like his own, standing atop a tower, arms raised, screaming into the wind.

Worst of all, the Hotveil family crest burned in reverse—as if erased from time itself.

He woke gasping, sheets soaked with sweat, the air around freezing despite closed windows. A faint hum filled the silence—a wordless song.

It came from the hallway.

From the blue door.

---

Without thought, Aaron rose and slipped quietly from his bed.

The door shimmered under the pale moonlight spilling through the skylight above. The humming grew louder—no longer just a sound, but memory and emotion calling him home.

He reached out and touched the brass handle.

It was warm. Alive.

The moment skin met metal—

Flash.

He was no longer in the hallway.

He stood in a circular chamber of obsidian stone, glowing with floating glyphs. On the floor was a symbol—familiar yet alien—pulsing faint blue light. His feet stood at its center.

In front of him was a mirror.

Not a normal mirror.

In its glass, his reflection was older, eyes faintly glowing, draped in a cloak of midnight and stars.

The reflection's lips moved, and Aaron heard his own voice say:

> "You are the last Lineborn of the Sky Flame."

Then the vision shattered, and light vanished.

He collapsed back into the cold hallway, heart pounding, palms scorched where he'd touched the door.

---

Moments later, Kain appeared, visibly shaken.

"You opened it," he whispered.

Aaron looked up, breathless. "What am I?"

Kain helped him steady. "A mystery wrapped in prophecy, wrapped in mistake."

Aaron laughed bitterly. "That's not helpful."

"It wasn't meant to be."

Kain's gaze drifted toward the now-closed door.

"Tomorrow… you tell Lord Pierce everything you saw. No matter what. Understand?"

Aaron nodded, feeling the faint ember of fire flicker beneath his skin.