In the darkest silence, something stirs.
A spark hidden within shadow, a whisper against the void.
Not all who are lost are forgotten. Some awaken... burning.

Kael drifted in endless darkness. No ground beneath him, no sky above—only the hum of broken memories. 

Whispers danced at the edges of his mind, voices too faint to understand but too loud to ignore. 

Shapes moved in the void—familiar, yet distant.

From the swirling shadows, a figure stepped forward. His father. Calm, steady, reaching out with a hand that glowed softly.

"You were never meant to carry all this alone," the voice echoed.

Kael reached out—but just as their fingers brushed, darkness surged like a living tide, swallowing the vision whole.

He gasped awake.

The ruins around him were silent, save for the soft crackle of a dying fire. Worn stone walls loomed overhead—an ancient sanctuary, forgotten by the world. 

Beside him, Rin sat cross-legged, watching quietly.

"You saved me," Kael said, voice raw.

Rin shrugged. "You're not done yet."

The shadows that had attacked him... they weren't natural. Rin explained: something darker moved them, something far older. Forces whispered of only in trembling stories.

Kael clenched his fists. He hated feeling helpless. But something inside him had changed—grown more restless.

Far away, deep within a temple cloaked in endless night, a figure knelt before a throne shrouded in smoke. The Dark Handler, loyal and cruel, bowed his head low.

"He’s awakened," the Handler rasped. "The spark is real."

From the throne, a voice like grinding stone spoke:

"Then extinguish it... before it becomes a flame."

Back at the sanctuary, Rin urged Kael to focus—to harness the energy within him, not fear it. But every attempt ended the same: a surge of black fire, uncontrollable, cracking the ground beneath him.

"Power without control burns everything," Rin warned, steadying him after another collapse. "Including you."

On a distant ridge cloaked in mist, three silent figures watched: Riven, Kaen, and Thalos. Observers, warriors—perhaps something more.

"He’s unstable," Kaen muttered, arms crossed. "He’ll die before he becomes anything."

Thalos shook his head. "That’s why we wait."

Riven said nothing, his sharp eyes tracking Kael’s every move.

In a distant throne room fashioned from bone and sorrow, other dark presences whispered.

"He survived," one murmured. "The Shadowflame breathes again."

"If he grows too strong," another hissed, "we will burn the earth again."

Unaware of the gathering storm, Kael stood at the edge of a wasteland beneath a bruised sky. Alone, yet watched by the silent gaze of the stars.

A sudden flicker of light caught his eye.

From the gloom, Lux emerged—a tiny orb of shifting energy, pulsing with a heartbeat he could almost feel.

"You burn louder than you think, Kael," the spirit said, its voice both ancient and young. "And the world is watching."

Kael looked away, the weight of destiny pressing heavy on his shoulders.

Elsewhere, in a shining arena far above the ruined world, a new threat sharpened his blade.

Vael Arcron.

Silent. Unrelenting. Dangerous.

In one breath, he froze time—cutting down a rebellious challenger with cold, surgical strikes. Around him, the crowd trembled in awe and fear.

"Mercy," Vael said softly, "is for those who hesitate. I don't."

Back beneath the broken sky, Kael felt it. A ripple in the world. A warning in his bones.

Something was coming.

He wasn't ready.

But he would stand anyway.

Because sometimes, the smallest spark could defy even the darkest storm