In the distant east, nestled deep within the misty valleys, was a village named Indhramaya — a place whispered about for its strange phenomenon: fires that sparked from nothing, burning brightly for moments before vanishing without a trace.
Among the villagers lived a quiet 17-year-old boy named Raivan. He always felt... different. Like something ancient and powerful was calling out to him, echoing through his dreams.
Then came that night.
The stars above were red, and the winds felt alive. Raivan dreamt of a massive dragon, cloaked in crimson flames. It hovered in the void, staring into his soul with golden eyes. The voice that followed shook his very bones:
> "Awaken, child of flame... The Bloodline must rise again."
He jolted awake — and on his right palm, a fiery sigil had appeared, glowing faintly. It wasn't a burn. It didn't hurt. But it pulsed... like it was alive.
Confused and afraid, Raivan ran to his grandfather — the village lorekeeper.
His grandfather stared at the mark in stunned silence, before whispering:
> "This is no ordinary sign. It's the Sigil of the Agnivansh — the Fireblood Line.
Long thought extinct… buried in myth. But if this has appeared... your destiny is no longer ordinary."
Chapter 2: Whispers of the Forest
Raivan's heart thundered as his feet pounded through the underbrush. Branches whipped past his face, leaves scattered in his wake. Behind him, strange sounds echoed — snarls, hisses, and the heavy thud of something inhuman giving chase.
Lyra moved like wind beside him — silent, fast, and graceful, as if she knew every root and stone.
> "Keep running!" she called. "We're nearly at the Veil Tree!"
"The what?!"
> "Just move!"
They burst into a clearing bathed in silver moonlight. At its center stood a towering tree — gnarled, ancient, its trunk carved with runes that shimmered faintly. Its bark pulsed as if alive, and its leaves were the color of flame.
Lyra grabbed his hand and slammed it against the trunk. The sigil on his palm glowed brightly.
The runes lit up.
The air split with a crackling sound — like a page being torn from reality.
And then… silence.
The beasts chasing them — unseen, monstrous — skidded to a halt just outside the boundary. One of them, a shadowed form with glowing red eyes and bone armor, let out a furious shriek but could not pass.
Raivan stumbled back, breathless. "What was that?! What are those things?!"
Lyra leaned against the tree, panting lightly but calm. "Hunters. Shadows forged from broken flame. The Order sends them after sigil-bearers."
Raivan looked at his hand. "You're telling me… they're after me because of this?"
> "Because you're not just anyone, Raivan. You're part of the Agnivansh bloodline — the last lineage of dragonkind. You carry the Aether-Flame, the rarest elemental force."
He stared at her. "That sounds like something from a storybook."
> "It was — until tonight."
Raivan sat down hard, still trying to breathe. "So what now?"
Lyra turned to him, eyes serious. "Now, I take you to Dranveil Academy. It's the only place where you'll be safe… and where you'll learn to survive."
He scoffed. "An academy? You're kidding. I don't want to fight dragons. Or shadow demons. I want my life back."
Lyra knelt before him. "You don't get to want normal anymore. Destiny doesn't ask permission."
> "Why me?" he whispered.
> "Because your blood is not just fire… it's hope."
From the shadows, a soft growl rose again — as if the forest itself whispered secrets too old for words.
Raivan looked up at the flaming tree, the glowing runes, and the girl who seemed like a prophecy herself.
He didn't believe in fate.
But something deep in his bones told him...
This was only the beginning.