"A spark can light a candle… or raze a city."
— Ash Guard Instructor Rael
---
Renzo stood over the unconscious body of the flame user—hand still smoldering, breath sharp and uneven.
The heat clung to him.
His right hand no longer felt like it belonged to him. It glowed faintly red, embers drifting lazily from his fingertips as if possessed by minds of their own—tiny dancers in a rhythm only the flame understood.
What the hell just happened?
He looked down again at the attacker—an older man, once blazing with power, now collapsed and cold. His flame had died the instant Renzo's aura had ignited. But how?
He had no training. No mentor. He was just... a kid from Cavite who cleaned aircon vents and fetched groceries on Sundays.
His knees wobbled.
He turned toward the broken mouth of the alley. Smoke curled at the edges where concrete had scorched. A small crowd had gathered, framed by neon signs and blinking tail lights.
Eyes wide.
Phones out.
Recording. Watching. Whispering.
No, no, no.
They saw everything.
Panic spiked in his chest. He ran.
---
Fifteen minutes later.
The alley was quiet again. The heat had faded—but the scars remained.
A tall man in a black coat stepped into the broken space, boots crunching over glass and ash. He scanned the splintered brick walls, the scorched pavement.
He crouched, pressing his palm gently to the ground. The stone was still warm.
"…Red. First ignition," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
A soft rustle behind him.
A woman emerged from the shadowed end of the alley—late 30s, shaved hair on one side, a faintly glowing emblem etched into the skin at her throat. The sigil pulsed gently, marking her Ash Guard rank.
"No registry. No Dominion link," she said. "We confirmed it. This one flared out raw. No trigger. No permission."
The man didn't respond.
He stood slowly. A stray ember spiraled past his coat, drifting like a whisper from a memory not yet burned out.
"Another unlisted Awakener," he said. "And this one... didn't leave a mess."
He narrowed his eyes.
"He burned clean."
---
Renzo's Home. 12:12 AM.
The small living room was dim and quiet, the air thick with tension.
Renzo sat on the floor, back against their battered sofa. A thin towel was wrapped around his trembling right hand. It had stopped glowing—but it still burned beneath the skin.
Across from him, his little sister Aya lay curled on the couch, her breathing slow, her asthma meds still clutched loosely in her hand. She had slept through it all—through the storm outside… and the storm inside her brother.
She always did.
Renzo looked at her.
Safe. Still breathing.
He exhaled.
Then turned back to his hand.
His skin looked normal again. No burn marks. No bruises. But the fire was still there. Waiting. Whispering. It hadn't gone out.
And that terrified him.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
He stared at the screen for a long second. Then answered.
"…Hello?"
"Renzo Guevara?" The voice was male. Calm. Cold.
"Who is this?"
"You ignited tonight. You know what that means."
Renzo's throat dried. "I'm not looking for trouble."
The voice didn't pause.
"Trouble already found you. You lit your flame. You don't get to hide anymore."
Silence crackled over the line.
Then the voice delivered its final words—soft, deliberate, terrifying.
> "You have seven days to report to the Ignis Dominion…
Or the Ash Guard will come for you."
---
ASHEN SPIRE — IGNIS DOMINION HQ (Next Morning)
The Grand Flamekeeper Ishar Vael stood alone in the Hall of Origins.
Towering flame charts floated in the air around him—constellations made of fire. Ancient flame types, lineage markers, soul auras.
He moved his finger through the ember-lit map until he reached a single glowing sigil.
The icon for Void.
His eyes narrowed.
"…He's lit," he whispered.
Behind him, a figure stepped from the dark—cloaked, masked, silent. A Seeker.
"Another Awakener?" the Seeker asked.
Ishar shook his head.
"No. Not just another."
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
Somewhere far, a flame had awakened that shouldn't have existed yet. No training. No guidance. But it had flared clean—precise—without collateral.
That wasn't luck. That was selection.
"The flame has chosen," Ishar said softly.
And that changed everything.
---
CAVITE. 3:21 PM.
Renzo sat on the rooftop of a neighboring apartment complex, legs dangling over the ledge. Below him, the city thrummed with traffic, laughter, smoke, and horn blasts—life moving forward, unaware.
But Renzo wasn't the same.
He watched his hand, turning it over in the sunlight. Nothing. No fire. No sign.
But he could still feel it.
"What now?" he whispered into the wind.
That's when he felt it—a shift in the air. A presence behind him.
Then a voice, close and clear:
"You really thought we wouldn't find you?"
He turned.
A woman stood on the rooftop behind him, wearing a black-and-silver coat that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. No weapons in hand. No flame active. But her presence was undeniable.
She didn't look angry.
She looked impressed.
"You're coming with me," she said. "We've got a lot to teach you before you burn something you can't take back."
Renzo stood, cautious. "…You with the Ash Guard?"
She smirked. "Close enough."
Then she held out a hand.
"I'm your first teacher.
Welcome to the fire, Renzo Guevara."