Ash clung to his skin.
The air burned in his lungs.
The silence gnawed at his mind.
Arthur stumbled through the ruins of his village, his steps dragging across scorched earth. The laughter, the warmth, the simple days—it was all gone.
His fists trembled, his vision blurry.
"Lina…"
Her name escaped him like a broken prayer.
His chest ached—like something hollowed him out and left nothing behind.
Why?
Why did this happen?
Why was he left behind?
The wind whispered, curling through the ashes.
"Come… child of dragons… your trial awaits…"
The voice again.
A calling that rattled his bones, sinking into his very soul.
His feet moved without his consent, pulling him toward the forest, toward something ancient waiting just beyond his understanding.
---
Arthur's surroundings shifted as the forest deepened. The ground faded. The sky warped. The smell of ash gave way to something impossible—a realm untouched by the world.
When he crossed through the final tree, he stepped into an endless plane of fractured islands, floating beneath a sky scorched with crimson embers. Rivers of molten lava snaked between the drifting stones.
At the center, a colossal door, forged from dragon bone and flame, stood silently. Carvings of beasts and symbols unknown adorned its frame.
The voice whispered again.
"Prove yourself. Face the Crucible of the Fourfold Path. Wield what was denied to you. Conquer what consumes you."
Arthur approached the door, each step echoing louder in this hollow dimension.
He pressed his palm against it.
The door groaned, opening with a sound like cracking stone.
Blinding light swallowed him.
---
The First Island: Fire's Grasp
When his vision returned, Arthur found himself standing on cracked, scorched earth.
Volcanic pillars jutted into the sky. Rivers of fire pulsed like veins across the land. The air shimmered with unbearable heat, distorting everything in the distance.
Before him, a pack of flame-forged beasts snarled—red-hot hounds with molten jaws, their bodies flickering like living fire.
His breath caught in his throat.
I don't have a weapon. I don't have anything…
The hounds charged.
His body moved instinctively—ducking, rolling, sprinting away—but his mind was fractured.
His heart still lingered in the ashes of his home.
Why should I fight?
Why am I even here?
What's the point of surviving… if I've already lost everything?
A beast lunged—its fangs grazing his arm. The searing pain jolted him back to the present.
He stumbled back, clutching his burned skin.
"Rage."
The word surfaced in his mind, dark and consuming.
"Is that what you want?" Arthur thought bitterly. "You want me to hate? To burn everything down in return?"
The flames around him responded to his anger, flickering higher, swirling closer.
As another beast lunged, something inside him ignited.
His palm lit up—flames erupting, raw and uncontrolled. He hurled them forward in blind desperation, engulfing the beast.
The hound shrieked, dissolving into ash.
The power obeyed him—but only when his fury ruled him.
His breathing grew ragged. His skin blistered from the heat that crawled across his own hands.
It's consuming me.
More beasts charged. More flames answered.
Every attack fed his anger. Every flame seared his flesh.
His strikes grew stronger. His burns grew deeper.
"Power without control consumes the wielder."
The whispered warning echoed faintly in his mind—but rage drowned it out.
They burned my home. They took Lina. They took everything from me.
The more he fought, the more the flames devoured him.
Pain tore through his body—but it felt distant now.
Only the fire mattered.
---
But then—
Through the suffocating heat—
A memory surfaced.
A quiet afternoon.
Lina laughing.
The chief ruffling his hair.
The sound of birds in the trees.
Warmth that wasn't pain.
Fire that wasn't destruction.
His eyes widened as he staggered back, releasing the fire clinging to his skin.
His own flames had begun to scorch his arms black.
If I keep going like this… I'll burn away just like the village.
He clenched his fists, forcing the fire to retreat, breathing hard.
The beasts circled him, waiting for him to erupt again.
Control it. Don't let it control you.
His next step was steady.
His next breath was calm.
The fire responded—calmer, sharper—no longer devouring, but shaping itself in his hand like a flickering blade.
"Power is not given to those who burn—it is granted to those who can bear it without being consumed."
The voice echoed again—clearer this time.
Arthur faced the remaining beasts with a steady gaze.
The fight wasn't over. But this time—he would lead the fire. He would bend it to his will.
The beasts charged once more.