Flamebound: Rise of the Cursed Prince

The fog in Takoba tasted like soot—thick and bitter, clinging to the throat and skin.

As Aaron stepped onto the uneven cobblestones of his old city, memories clawed their way back—nights spent sleeping beneath broken balconies, days begging for stale bread and scraps. Now, with Kain silently shadowing him and a hidden dagger tucked beneath his coat, Aaron felt like a stranger walking through a life he once knew too well.

But Takoba had not changed.

The lamps still flickered weakly behind cracked glass. The gutters still carried more sorrow than rain. And the faces—hardened by poverty, suspicion, and silence—watched every newcomer like a threat.

Kain stopped near a collapsed fountain in the heart of a half-burned plaza.

"This is where the fire happened," he said quietly.

Aaron's eyes scanned the ground. Black scorch marks webbed the cobblestones like spider cracks. A fruit stand lay in ruins, and bricks from a nearby shop had melted into a grotesque mosaic—heat so unnatural it had fused stone itself.

"No ordinary flame did this," Aaron murmured.

"Correct," Kain replied. "And the scout said it came from a child. Couldn't have been more than ten years old."

Aaron's throat tightened. "Alone?"

Kain nodded. "Like you were."

---

They spent the next hour searching the area, questioning vendors, children, vagabonds. Most were too scared to speak—others simply pretended not to see.

As twilight deepened and the wind grew colder, Aaron noticed a movement between the shadows near a crumbling inn.

A child.

Small, dirty, hunched near the remains of a shattered doorframe, tracing shapes in the ash with a stick.

Aaron approached cautiously.

The child looked up.

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

Sky-colored eyes.

Not quite like Aaron's—faded, almost translucent, like clouds reflected in still water. And beneath the grime, a faint spark glimmered across the child's palm.

Aaron crouched down. "Hi."

The child stared silently.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Aaron said softly. "My name is Aaron. What's yours?"

No answer—but the ash drawing became clearer: a symbol Aaron recognized instantly.

The glyph from the chamber beyond the blue door.

He pointed gently. "You've seen this before?"

The child nodded once.

Kain appeared beside them. "We need to move. Now. Someone's watching."

Aaron spun around sharply. "Who?"

Kain's eyes flicked across rooftops and shadowed alleyways. "Don't know yet. But we're not the only ones who felt that flare."

Aaron looked back at the child. "Will you come with us?"

The child hesitated, then reached out and gripped Aaron's hand.

A jolt shot through him. Heat. Light. Recognition. As if a missing piece had finally found its place.

Aaron gasped, nearly losing his balance, but held the child close and rose.

"We're taking them back," he said to Kain.

Kain was already moving.

Behind them, silver blades flickered in the dark—then another.

Shadows poured into the plaza, silent and swift.

Figures cloaked in gray robes, marked with a thorned circle.

"Skyborn confirmed," one hissed. "Recover or eliminate."

Aaron turned, raising his body to shield the child.

Kain drew his blade.

"We've got company."