Chapter 8:
When Fire Chose Another
The Unmade God's Requiem
“Some are born with fire. Others must burn to earn it.”
(Heaven remembers every spark — and who dared to make it burn.)
✦ Training Yard Culture — The Rule of Service ✦
The Training Yards of Heaven were temples of discipline — sweat, pride, and divine rhythm forged into every movement. Here, even losing was sacred.
Every duel, every spar, carried one unspoken law:
“The loser serves the winner for a day.”
No punishment. No shame. A tradition older than most Legions — born from the Iron Concord’s creed: “Strength without humility fractures the soul.”
It was meant to teach respect. But mostly, it taught pride.
The sun struck the courtyard tiles, light reflecting off hundreds of mirrored halos. Training chants echoed in the distance.
Kael and I stood at the center ring, bruised and panting. Our last match had ended predictably — his blade on my shoulder, mine halfway to the dirt.
He leaned on his wooden sword, grin confident enough to make angels sigh. “Well, rules are rules, Your Highness.”
Lyra, sitting on the fountain rail, nearly choked on her water. “Oh, this I’ve got to see. Prince Haise, servant for a day? How poetic.”
I groaned, wiping sweat off my forehead. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Kael flicked his wrist, mock-bowing. “Polish my armor. Carry my gear. Maybe fetch me some of those sacred dumplings from the east wing?”
His grin widened. “You’ll look good doing it.”
“Dream,” I shot back.
The instructor’s voice boomed from the sidelines. “Honor the rule, boys! Pride without service breeds rot!”
Kael smirked but hesitated. For once, he looked at me differently — not as a rival, not as royalty, but something between.
Then, with a breath, he said quietly — “I’ll make an exception.”
I blinked. “What?”
He stepped closer, tone lower now — the teasing burned off. “You’re the prince. You don’t serve me. You walk beside me.”
He said it like a challenge, not mercy — as if equality itself had to be earned.
A pause, softer: “I’d rather win with you than against you.”
For a heartbeat, the whole yard fell still.
Lyra smiled faintly, brushing her green hair back, eyes gleaming like sunlight on glass. “…That’s sweet,” she whispered. “Almost ruined by how proud you sounded saying it.”
Kael sighed. “I’m not repeating it.”
I grinned. “Good. I liked it better the first time.”
Lyra laughed, hands clasped. “Then it’s settled — no one’s servant today.”
Kael rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the ghost of a smile tugging his mouth.
As the next bell rang and trainees switched partners, we stood together — three sparks in a sea of steel.
No crowns. No ranks. Just pride, sweat, and an unspoken promise that one day, our names would burn in the same sky.
Instructor (quiet, almost to himself): “If the Heart stays quiet for him…” He looked at Haise, then at the sky. “…it’s because it’s listening closer.”
My birthday gift from Father: A tome bound in star-leather, runes glowing like caged lightning.
“Power answers not to blood, but to resonance,” he said, placing it in my hands. “These glyphs don’t give you spells…they teach you how to make Ryvane hear you.”
So these weren’t incantations.
They were resonance guides — training wheels for young godborns.
I whispered the simplest glyph-tone the book taught:
A flicker of Ryvane gathered at my palm…
…and died.
The page warmed beneath my fingertips,as if Ryvane examined me—and declined.
“…Seriously?”
Father chuckled.“Even stars begin as sparks.And remember: the words don’t command Ryvane.They calibrate your heartbeat.If your rhythm isn’t ready…Ryvane simply refuses.”
Kael held up his hand.
“Look—mine.”A small flicker on his palm.“Work harder.”
Lyra leaned closer, gentle as always.
“You’ll get it. I believe in you.”
Her faith burned brighter than the spark ever did.
✦ The Iron Concord’s Lesson ✦
Morning drills ended with the Iron Concord instructor standing before us — silent, armored, sunlight glinting off the silver crest on his shoulder.
“Today,” he said, voice like a forge cooling, “you’ll see what discipline truly becomes.”
Kael raised a hand first.
“What’s your Ascension rank, sir?”
The instructor’s lips twitched.
“Eminent. One step beneath the Crownkeepers. Few live long enough to hold it.”
Lyra blinked. “That’s… impossible.”
“Not impossible,” he said. “Earned.”
He lifted his palm. The air answered.
Every sword in the rack trembled — then rose.
Hundreds of them.
Floating, blade tips aimed toward the sky like a field of silver grass.
“Ryvane answers form before feeling,” he said. “At Eminent level, will itself rewrites the world.”
The blades whirled — first in unison, then in spiral motion, singing through the courtyard like a metallic storm.
He clenched his hand.
The swords fused midair, twisting into a single massive ring of rotating steel.
It carved a clean circle through the practice ground — stone, tree, and light all parting without resistance.
The air hummed, rippling from the sheer resonance pressure.
Kael’s hand twitched — a faint flicker of fire sparked across his knuckles, then vanished.
The instructor’s eyes caught it, then passed over him without comment.
Lyra stepped back, awe bright in her eyes.
And me—
I couldn’t breathe.
Then he spoke, quiet but absolute:
> “Eminent is not power. It’s control.”
The ring of blades fractured into five glowing shards, merging again into a single sword in his grasp — forged from every weapon that had obeyed him.
When he sheathed it, the sound itself bowed to him.
He turned toward us.
“Now tell me, trainees—what level are you?”
Kael straightened, pride smoldering. “New Moon, sir.”
Lyra bowed lightly. “Crescent, sir.”
His gaze fell on me.
“Seeker,” I said.
He nodded once. “Then keep asking. The Heart loves a question it can’t yet answer.”
The swords behind him disassembled into light, scattering like silver petals.
Kael exhaled — impressed despite himself.
Lyra whispered, “That was beautiful.”
And me? I only thought one thing—
> One day, I’ll stand where he stood. Not with light. Not with fire. With something the world can’t name yet.
“Some are born with fire. Others must burn to earn it.”
(Heaven remembers every spark — and who dared to make it burn.)
The day — something changed.
Kael breathed once, raised his hand—
FWOOOOOM—
A blaze erupted, spiraling around his wrist like a comet made of rage and pride.
Gasps everywhere.
Instructor :
“Fire… awakened!? At this age!?”
“That’s… the New Moon. You’ve crossed the first veil already!”
Lyra:
“Kael! That’s amazing!”
“Kael! You did it!”
Me : I tried to smile — proud, but something hollow echoed inside my chest.
Kael tried to hide his shock behind a smug grin.
But he turned… and saw me.
My eyes wide. My throat tight.
Proud for him… but hollow inside.
Kael’s expression softened just a little.
“Haise… when yours comes, it’ll be bigger than anything.”
He bumped my shoulder.
Like Ray used to.
But inside — a quiet crack formed.
Even he is getting further ahead…
Kael smiled brighter—
“Don’t fall behind, prince.”
My hands balled into fists.
I won’t.
I can’t.
If fire won’t choose me, I’ll learn to breathe where fire can’t.
By midday, the yard filled with training chants and flame.
I escaped to the Veinfall Garden — where streams of Ryvane-light poured like liquid glass from the palace cliffs.
They said if you sat under it long enough, the flow might align your inner current.
So I sat.
Cross-legged. Hands steady.
Eyes closed until the light behind my lids turned red.
Inhale through the Crown Vein.
Exhale through the Root.
Picture the current. Guide it. Don’t chase it.
Hours passed.
Ryvane brushed my skin — warm, promising.
Then it slipped away like a sigh that wasn’t mine.
“Maybe it’s shy,” I muttered.
The wind didn’t disagree.
For just a moment, my reflection in the water rippled out of rhythm with me — a blink too late.
I blamed exhaustion.
I shouldn’t have.
Even without spark, training never stopped.
If Ryvane refused to answer, I’d force the body to become its vessel anyway.
Weights of crystal, ten times my size.
Running through rivers of pure resonance until my lungs screamed light.
Hands blistered. Feet bruised. Breath cut to pieces.
Every swing heavier.
Every breath sharper.
Every prayer quieter.
If the Heart won’t speak to me, I’ll give it reasons to.
Lyra once tried to hand me a healing charm.
I refused it.
“Pain means progress,” I said.
She frowned. “Or denial.”
Kael overheard.
“Maybe both.”
If Heaven remembers every spark, then let it remember how long I stayed cold.
Whispers followed me everywhere:
“Why hasn’t the Prince awakened yet?”
“The King’s son cannot be weak.”
“A disappointing prince is a dangerous omen.”
Disappointment.
That word gnawed like teeth.
I gripped the Grimoire tighter.
I won’t be disappointment.
“Truth is not remembered. It leaks.”
If light refused to answer me,
then I’d go where light keeps its secrets —
the place where Heaven buries what it can’t forget.
When I left the Veinfall, the courtyard was empty — but not silent.
A faint sound followed me. Steps.
Perfectly in rhythm with mine. I stopped.
The echo didn’t.
Turning, I saw nothing — only my own shadow stretching across the marble, longer than it should be.
And in its chest, faintly — something pulsed back.
Heaven measures sparks & scars.
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