He blinked and looked around. He was no longer among the white flames. Red fire burned around him, ordinary and lifeless.

"What happened?" he heard one of the Mobeds whisper in amazement. "For a moment, the fire... the fire turned a color I had never seen before."

"It's a dream, Master," another Mobed replied. "Your eyes have deceived you."

Arash's eyes quickly swept around the arena and fixed on Azar. His sister, Azar, stood among the flames, but the flames had not changed at all. The fire had not accepted her.

"Not chosen!"

The voice of the High Priest fell upon Arash like a hammer blow. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Arash directed his gaze to Lord Keyhan's seat. Anger and despair surged in the man's eyes. Azar emerged from among the flames with a pale face. Fear, shame, and disbelief could be seen in her gaze.

Her eyes searched for Arash, but the guards directed her in another direction - toward the seat of the rejected ones. Arash wanted to run toward her, but the voice of the High Priest stopped him.

"Arash, grandson of Lord Arvin from the House of Verethragna!"

Arash stepped toward the fire with trembling legs. All his calculations, all his thoughts were in disarray. Azar had not been chosen. Azar, who should have become at least a Kindled. Azar, his little sister, who now faced a dark fate.

"Go, boy, the fire awaits you," the Mobed beside the fire said in a calm voice. "Set aside fear and surrender your heart to the flame."

"I... I'm not afraid," Arash whispered, but he was lying. He was now more terrified than at any other time in his life.

Arash's mind was like a raging storm, but his body automatically moved toward the fire. When he entered the flames, he closed his eyes, not from concentration, but from despair.

For a moment, the fire swirled around him, as if it were deciding. Then, the flames turned gray-black.

"Ashborn!"

The incredulous voice of the High Priest echoed through the space. A commotion arose among the crowd. The grandson of Lord Arvin, an Ashborn? A great humiliation for the House of Verethragna.

Arash felt something heavy forming in his palm. He glanced at his hand and saw a small gray stone that had appeared in the center of his palm - a stone that could be a gem on a ring. A lifeless and dull stone, the sign of his Ashborn nature, his primary power stone.

Arash emerged from among the flames, but it was as if his insides had been emptied. His gaze fixed on Lord Keyhan, who had risen from his seat in anger and was now speaking with Lord Keyvan. From that distance, Arash could not hear their words, but Lord Keyhan's facial expression said everything. They had been cast out.

Arash was directed to the seat of the rejected ones, where Azar waited for him with tear-filled eyes. When he reached her, Azar threw herself into his arms.

"Arash, I... I wasn't chosen. How is it possible? Everyone said I would be chosen, I..."

Arash could not give an answer. His tongue was locked. His mind, which always worked like a precise calculating machine, was now blocked. He could only embrace his sister.

A group of guards approached them. One of them, a tall man with a thick beard, said in a cold tone: "The House of Verethragna has refused to accept you, and Lord Keyhan no longer accepts you under his patronage. Is there anyone who will take responsibility for you?"

Arash, with a voice that barely escaped his throat, asked: "And what happens if there is no one?"

The guard took a deep breath. "According to law, Ashborns are sent to the mines - where they can use their ability to work with ash and coal. And the unchosen ones..."

His gaze fixed on Azar, "The girl will be taken to the slave market tomorrow. She's of suitable age, probably for kitchen work or servitude in noble houses."

"You can't do this!" Arash shouted angrily. "We still have a patron, Lord Arvin... he... he will not abandon his descendants."

The guard sneered. "Lord Arvin has personally sent word that he will not accept you two. An Ashborn and a rejected one are considered great shame for his house."

"So there's no hope?" Azar asked with a trembling voice, her tears silently rolling down her cheeks.

"The law is the law. All those who are not chosen, if they have no patron, are considered slaves," the guard said, but for a moment, perhaps a sign of compassion could be seen in his eyes.

Arash felt something inside him break.

Like glass shattered by a blow. All his coldness and firmness collapsed. He was just a twelve-year-old boy whose last hopes had been destroyed, and his little sister, the only one he had in this world, was in danger.

"No!" he screamed, his voice trembling with anger and desperation.

"No one has the right to separate my sister from me! I'll take responsibility for her!"

The guard sneered. "And how do you plan to do that, Ashborn boy? You can't even protect yourself. Do you think you know what's happening outside these walls? Ashborns must work in the mines, that's it."

Arash firmly grasped Azar's hand. Tears had welled up in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. His brain was rapidly searching for an escape route, but for the first time in his life, he could find no way. Azar said with a trembling voice: "Arash, I'm scared."

And Arash, the boy who always tried to be strong and emotionless, felt his heart being squeezed with pain. He had to find a way. He had to protect his sister. But how? What chance did an Ashborn have in a world where people's worth was measured by the fire power within them?

The guards allowed them to spend the night in the outer courtyard of the fire temple. Tomorrow morning, Azar would be taken to the slave market and Arash would be sent to the southern mines - where Ashborns worked with ash and coal.

That night, under a starry sky, Arash and Azar sat together. The sound of music and celebration could be heard from inside the fire temple, where the chosen ones were rejoicing.

"Arash, what will happen tomorrow?" Azar asked with tear-filled eyes.

Arash embraced his sister. "I won't let them separate us. I'll find a way, I promise."

"I know this has happened before," Azar said in a quiet voice. "A boy named Kiarash from the lower district of the city never returned from the mines. They say conditions there are harsh."

Arash took his sister's small hands. "I will return, Azar, I promise you this. And I'll find you too, wherever you are."

"What if they sell me to distant lands? To the other side of the Black Sea? Where they say no one ever returns?"

Arash held his head in his hands. "I won't let this happen. There must be a way... there must be..."

But the reality was that he saw no way. In a society built on the foundation of fire power, he, an Ashborn, and his sister, an unchosen one, had no place.

Arash stared at the sky, at the stars that shone indifferently to human fate. Tomorrow, they would take Azar to the slave market. Tomorrow, he might lose his sister forever. Despair cast a shadow over his being like a black cloud. How could he save his sister? How could he take revenge on a world that had treated them so mercilessly? His mind searched for a way, but every path he considered led to a dead end. He was just a twelve-year-old boy, without power, without a supporter, without resources.

As the night passed midnight and his sister had fallen asleep in his arms, Arash stared into the darkness with open eyes. There had to be a way. There had to be.