Prologue: Fire Starter

The sun was high over Falkreath, bathing the town in warm light as traders and townsfolk bustled about their daily routines. Among them, a Redguard man named Falwon V’orrn guided his camel-drawn carriage through the winding streets, his sharp eyes scanning the familiar buildings.

For years, Falwon had made this journey—traveling from his home in Elinhir, Hammerfell, across the provinces, trading rare trinkets and mysterious goods. His usual route took him through Falkreath and Riften in Skyrim before heading down to Bruma and Chorrol in Cyrodiil. But this year was different.

This year, he had his son, Kinetrius, with him.

It was the boy’s first time outside of Hammerfell, and he was brimming with excitement. He had grown up on tales of his father’s adventures—stories of great cities, bustling markets, and lands filled with wonder. Now, at twelve cycles old, he was finally seeing it all for himself.

Falwon, ever the charismatic trader, had a knack for slipping past cultural barriers. He had friends in unlikely places, a reputation as a shrewd businessman, and a way of keeping his true dealings shrouded in secrecy.

They arrived in Falkreath just before midday, the carriage coming to a stop near a row of local shops.

Falwon pulled on the reins. “How are you enjoying Skyrim, son? Is it anything like the stories I’ve told you?”

Kinetrius wrinkled his nose as he scanned the sky. “Yeah, I guess… but you said there were dragons here. All I see are really big birds.”

Falwon chuckled as he climbed down, retrieving a bag of odd trinkets from the back. “There were dragons here, long ago.” He sighed, adjusting the weight of the bag over his shoulder. “But now? Just bones and burial sites. The locals might tell you different, but even most of them have forgotten.”

Kinetrius’s face lit up. “Can we see one? A real dragon grave? Pleeeease?”

Falwon smirked. “I’ll think about it… but only if you take care of Hermes while I’m gone.”

Hermes, their aging camel, stood motionless—his disinterested expression making it clear he had no intentions of misbehaving. Kinetrius, however, groaned. He loathed dealing with the stubborn animal, but if it meant seeing a dragon’s grave, he’d endure.

Falwon disappeared into town, already having spotted a familiar face, leaving Kinetrius alone with Hermes outside a lumber mill.

[An Hour Later]

When Falwon finally returned, there was a noticeable sway in his step—the telltale sign of one too many drinks.

“Kin!” he called, his words slightly slurred. “Come here, I want you to meet an old friend of mine.”

Kinetrius looked up to see his father accompanied by a burly Nord man.

“This is Bolund,” Falwon introduced. “A good friend of mine. He runs the Gray Pine Goods store and this lumber mill.”

Bolund crossed his arms and studied Kinetrius with an amused expression. “So, this is your boy, huh? Never thought I’d get to meet him. How old are you, lad?”

Kinetrius frowned. “Twelve cycles. And I’m not a lad.”

Bolund let out a booming laugh, shaking his head. “Apologies, Mr. V’orrn. Won’t make that mistake again.”

Falwon rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage him. He’s already too eager to grow up. As you can see, I’ve finally lost the battle of leaving him at home.”

“It was only a matter of time, I suppose.” Bolund smirked, still admiring Kin’s resemblance to his father.

The two men chatted for a while, catching up on business, before it was time to move on.

“Where to next?” Bolund asked as Falwon climbed back onto the carriage.

“Riften,” Falwon replied. “Then Cyrodiil.”

Bolund nodded. “Riften, huh? You watch yourself over there. I hear the Thieves Guild is getting out of control these days. They’d love to take a look at that sack of yours.”

Falwon smirked, flicking the reins. “No need to worry about that.”

“Oh, let me guess. Also good clients, huh?”

Falwon only laughed as the carriage rolled away.

With a final wave, Bolund retuned home, the noise of Falwon’s carriage fading slowly into the night.

[Riften—The Next Day]

By the time they reached Riften’s docks, the sun was just beginning to rise.

Kinetrius was determined not to stay in the carriage this time. Today, he was going to see a dragon’s grave, even if it meant rushing every single one of his father’s business deals.

But something was off.

His father, always confident, was now on edge. Kinetrius had noticed it the night before—the way Falwon kept glancing behind them on the road, as if they were being followed.

Now, even in the safety of the city, he seemed distracted.

“Hey, son,” Falwon said suddenly. “I need to go see a man about a horse.”

Kinetrius blinked. “Wait, seriously? Are we getting rid of Hermes?”

Falwon chuckled. “It’s just an expression.”

He gestured toward a Bosmer sailor standing by a ship anchored in the docks.

“I won’t be long this time, I promise. Just… stay here, alright? And don’t get kidnapped or anything.”

Kinetrius smirked. “No guarantees. I’m a pretty cute kid. Some lonely couple might snatch me up.”

Falwon barked out a laugh. “What if I told you they’d be doing me a favor?”

Kinetrius gasped in mock betrayal, watching as his father walked off to speak with the Bosmer man.

From a distance, Kinetrius couldn’t make out the words, but the weight of the conversation was clear. It felt tense—like an argument barely smoothed over. Whatever they’d agreed on, neither looked pleased about it.

When Falwon returned, his expression was grim.

“That was a friend of mine. His name is Eradros.”

Kinetrius barely cared about the name, but the weight in his father’s voice made him pause.

“Son,” Falwon continued, “I need you to listen to me carefully. If anything ever happens to me… I want you to find Eradros.”

Kinetrius stiffened. “Why are you talking like that? What’s going on?”

Falwon gripped his son’s shoulders, his eyes serious. “Just promise me, Kin.”

A chill ran down Kinetrius’s spine. His father—the unshakable Falwon V’orrn—was speaking like a man who knew something was coming.

“I… I promise.”

Falwon let out a slow breath. “Good. Now let’s move on. Got a few other stops to make, and we’re losing the day.”

By the time the sun dipped low, casting molten orange across the waters, their errands in Riften were finally complete.

But as they made their way back to the carriage, a cold voice called out behind them.

The voice cut through the air—cold, firm, and entirely unwelcome.

“Falwon V’orrn. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Both father and son turned sharply, their eyes landing on three figures standing near the shadows of a nearby alley.

They wore orange robes with intricate gold linings, and their faces were hidden behind smooth, featureless masks.

Falwon’s body tensed immediately. His usual relaxed posture shifted into something rigid and battle-ready. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword.

Kinetrius felt his stomach twist. He had never seen his father react like this.

Falwon’s voice was calm, but firm. “I’m sorry. What business do you have with me?”

The masked man in the center cocked his head slightly. “Our business is not with you.” His masked gaze shifted to Kinetrius. “It is with your son.”

Kinetrius felt his breath hitch. “Me?”

The man nodded. “Our master believes the boy to be a disruption to the natural order… and he cannot be allowed to exist any longer.”

The words hung in the air like a blade against the throat.

Falwon’s jaw tightened. “And if I refuse?”

The masked man didn’t hesitate. “Then we will give you the honor of doing the right thing—by giving back what you stole. Or we stain these docks with your blood.”

Kinetrius froze.

For the first time in his life, he felt real, unfiltered terror.

Falwon’s grip on his sword tightened to the point of trembling. His voice, however, was like iron.

“Kin,” he said, his tone low and urgent. “Do you remember what I told you?”

Kinetrius swallowed hard, trying to keep up with what was happening. “Dad, I don’t understand—what are they talking about?”

“RUN.”

Kinetrius stumbled backward as his father drew his blade.

“KIN, GO! NOW!”

The masked man raised a hand, fireball magic swirling in his palm.

Falwon was faster.

With a single powerful swing, his sword met the blast midair, redirecting the flames into the ground. The man then drew a blade, circling Falwon like a predator.

Then he charged.

Steel met steel as Falwon clashed with the robed assailant, his sword slicing through the air with practiced precision. Sparks flew from the impact, and in the chaos, Kinetrius turned and bolted.

Kinetrius had never run so fast in his life.

His heart pounded violently as he tore through the docks, his boots slamming against the wooden planks. Behind him, he could hear the heavy footsteps of two masked men in pursuit.

He didn’t make it far.

One of them tackled him from behind.

Kinetrius hit the ground hard, his chest smashing against the dirt as strong hands pinned him down.

He struggled, kicking, thrashing, but the men were too strong.

His head whipped around frantically—his eyes locked onto his father.

Falwon was winning.

He moved with deadly grace, cutting down one attacker with a vicious slash across the chest. The masked man fell to his knees, clutching his wound before falling on one knee.

Kinetrius felt hope surge through his chest.

“YEAH, DAD! KICK HIS ASS!”

The masked man holding him shouted, covering Kin’s mouth and tightening his grip.

“Shut it, runt!”

But Falwon’s victory was short-lived.

One of the remaining men let go of Kinetrius, his hands glowing with fire magic.

Kinetrius barely had time to react before the spell was hurled directly at his father’s back.

The fireball struck.

Falwon roared in pain, staggering forward as flames tore through his coat.

Kinetrius let out a muffled scream, still trying desperately to break free.

The attacker closed in, grabbing Falwon by the scarf around his neck and forcing him down onto his knees.

The first masked man—now back on his feet, though wounded—retrieved his sword from the ground.

Kinetrius watched in horror as the man approached.

“No… no, no, no—”

The masked man placed a hand on Falwon’s shoulder, almost gentle.

“It’s a shame, really,” he said. “This was nothing personal.”

And then—

The blade sank deep into Falwon’s chest.

Kinetrius screamed, tears pouring out of his eyes as he watched on.

His father jerked violently, blood spilling from his lips. The knife was twisted, earning a choked gasp of pain.

Then—another slash—across the throat.

Everything froze.

Kinetrius couldn’t breathe.

His father—his hero—collapsed. His lifeless body hit the ground with a heavy thud.

The world around Kinetrius blurred.

And then—something changed.

A searing heat rose within his chest.

A burning sensation—unlike anything he had ever felt—erupted from his core.

His throat tightened, as though something inside was struggling to break free.

The man pinning him down didn’t notice—not until it was too late.

Kinetrius inhaled sharply—

—and then he screamed.

Suddenly light began pouring between the man’s fingers that were firmly grasping Kin’s face.

Flames erupted from his mouth.

The masked man’s hand caught fire instantly.

His screams of agony were drowned out by the roaring inferno that engulfed everything.

Buildings. Horses. The very air around them.

Everything burned.

Even the two men who had murdered Falwon—their robes ignited in an instant, their bodies reduced to blackened husks within seconds.

But Kinetrius couldn’t stop.

His body was on fire, yet he did not burn.

It was power. Raw, uncontrolled, furious power.

He clawed at his throat, trying to force the flames back down, but they poured from him like a flood.

Everything before him was reduced to ash.

When the flames finally ceased, Kinetrius collapsed, his body racked with exhaustion.

The world was silent.

The docks were smoldering ruins. Corpses—burned beyond recognition—lay scattered across the ground.

And then, from beyond the smoke—the sound of armored boots.

Three Riften guards approached cautiously, their weapons drawn.

“By the Divines…” one of them whispered, “Its like an Oblivion gate came and went.”

“Was it the boy then?” asked the second guard, his voice quiet, uncertain.

They slowly began to circle Kinetrius, forming a loose perimeter around his unconscious body. None of them wanted to get too close—not yet. Whatever had just happened, it hadn’t been ordinary magic. They could all feel that.

“There’s no way…” the third guard muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve seen fire spells get out of hand before. Some idiot conjures a flame atronach or lights up his own robes—but this… this is something else entirely.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the second guard replied grimly. “Men are dead. Buildings are ash. And he’s the only one here without a scratch on him.”

The first guard stepped forward, frowning as he looked down at Kinetrius. The boy’s face was still flushed, likely from whatever strain had overtaken him—but now it was calm, almost serene, as if he had drifted into sleep without a single burden left to carry.

“We’ll bring him in,” the guard said at last. “Sort it out at the prison.”

He crouched beside the boy, studying him for a moment longer. There was a flicker of something like guilt in his eyes—regret, maybe.

“Sorry about this, lad,” he murmured.

The other two guards moved in, fitting shackles carefully around Kinetrius’s wrists and ankles. They lifted him between them with slow, deliberate movements, taking care not to jostle him as they stepped over the rubble. The boy didn’t stir.

With the stables still smoldering behind them, they turned and began the long walk back through the gates, carrying the only lead they had into the heart of Riften—to a cell, and to answers.

Prologue End—