Four months had dragged by like wounded beasts crawling across scorched earth.
Kael Voss lay sprawled on the top bunk of his assigned bed, back pressed against the thin, lumpy mattress that had grown far too familiar. The wooden slats creaked beneath him with every small shift, a constant soundtrack to his restless nights.
His arms were folded behind his head, fingers interlaced, while his amber eyes traced the spider-web cracks across the ceiling above. Those cracks had become like old companions — he had memorized every line, every fork where they split and spread like veins beneath skin.
The room was dim, illuminated only by weak morning light filtering through a small window near the door. Dust motes danced lazily in the pale beam, swirling in the stale air. The bunkhouse smelled of sweat, wood polish, and the faint metallic tang that clung to everything in the laborers' quarters.
"It's been four long months," Kael muttered, his voice rough from sleep, barely above a whisper.
He shifted his gaze from the ceiling to his right hand, lifting it slowly until his palm hovered directly above his face. He studied the calloused skin, the dirt permanently etched into the creases of his fingers, and the small scars that had accumulated from endless training — as if they might suddenly reveal some hidden truth.
"Four whole months, and I still can't wield the so-called dragon flame."
His fingers curled inward slowly, forming a loose fist that trembled slightly in the air. Frustration settled heavy and cold in his chest like a stone. He turned the fist this way and that, watching how the weak light caught on his knuckles and highlighted the rough patches where skin had split and healed, split and healed again.
"But I know one thing for certain," he continued, his voice growing steadier as his fist clenched tighter, knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. The muscles in his forearm tensed, cords standing out beneath the skin.
Memories flooded back then — sharp and unbidden, like shards of broken glass. He could see the training grounds clearly in his mind: the wide, dusty expanse behind the labor quarters where Old Man Thorne had taken him every single day before dawn.
The old man had stood before him, weathered face creased with a patience Kael sometimes felt he didn't deserve.
"Feel the flame within you," Thorne had instructed on that first morning, his voice calm and measured. "It's not about forcing it out, boy. It's about recognizing it's there, acknowledging it, and then… letting it flow."
Kael had stood with feet planted wide, knees slightly bent, arms extended with palms facing forward exactly as Thorne demonstrated. He had closed his eyes, searching deep inside himself for any flicker, any spark, any warmth that might signal the dragon flame's presence.
Nothing.
"Concentrate," Thorne had urged, circling him slowly. "Empty your mind of everything else. The flame is part of you, not separate from you. You're not summoning something external — you're awakening something internal."
Kael had squeezed his eyes tighter, forehead creasing with effort. He had reached deeper into the darkness inside himself, hunting for anything that felt like fire, like power, like the legendary dragon flame everyone spoke of with such reverence.
Still nothing.
Minutes stretched into hours. Sweat had trickled down his temples and neck, soaking into his collar. His arms had begun trembling from holding the position so long, muscles burning with an entirely different kind of fire — the fire of exhaustion.
"I don't feel anything," Kael had finally admitted, his voice cracking with frustration.
"Again," Thorne had said simply, his tone neither disappointed nor encouraging — just endlessly patient.
The second day had been no different. Thorne tried a new approach, having Kael channel the flame through movement instead of stillness.
"Strike forward!" Thorne commanded, demonstrating a punching motion that ended with his fist wreathed in brilliant crimson flames that danced and writhed like living things. "Let the motion draw the flame out!"
Kael had mimicked the movement, throwing his weight into a straight punch that cut through the air with a sharp whistle. His fist met only empty space — no flame, no heat, no power. Just flesh, bone, and crushing disappointment.
"Again!"
Punch after punch, hour after hour. His shoulders ached, his knuckles split, but still no flame appeared.
By the third week, Thorne had grown more creative. He made Kael meditate for hours, attempting to commune with the dormant power supposedly sleeping within him. He had Kael run until his legs gave out, hoping physical exhaustion might lower whatever mental barriers were locking the flame away. He even had Kael submerge himself in ice-cold water, theorizing that extreme cold might provoke the inner fire to awaken in self-defense.
Nothing worked.
Kael remembered one particular morning when it had been raining — a light drizzle that turned the training grounds into a muddy mess. Thorne had stood before him, water dripping from his gray beard, eyes studying Kael with an intensity that made him squirm.
"There's something blocking you," Thorne had muttered, more to himself than to Kael. "Something fundamental. It's as if… there's a wall inside you, and the flame can't get past it. Or won't."
"What does that mean?" Kael had asked, shivering in his soaked training clothes.
"I don't know, boy. I honestly don't know."
That had been two months ago. Since then they had continued the attempts, but both of them knew — though neither said it aloud — that something was deeply, perhaps permanently, wrong.
Kael blinked, the memories fading as he returned to the present. His fist was still clenched above his face, trembling now not from effort but from barely contained emotion.
"That I'm damn good at sword and hand-to-hand combat," he continued his earlier thought, a hint of pride creeping into his voice despite everything. "These last four months, I've trained so hard with Old Man Thorne to wield the dragon flame…"
He paused, the pride faltering.
"But every time I train, something feels really off. Like there's something inside me that's… uncertain. Unstable. Wrong."
He finally lowered his arm and sat upright. The sudden movement made the bunk frame groan in protest. His hand moved to his chest, pressing flat against his sternum, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath the skin.
What was it? What was this gnawing feeling that haunted him during every training session? It was like standing on the edge of a cliff in total darkness — you couldn't see the drop, but you could feel the empty space yawning before you, waiting.
"But I know for certain that I'll ace the swordsmanship exam," Kael said more firmly, trying to rebuild his confidence with words. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile despite the doubt plaguing him. "And the tournament too. I'll prove myself there, even without the flame. I'll show everyone that Kael Voss isn't someone to dismiss."
His smile had just begun to solidify when three sharp knocks echoed through the small room.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The sound was aggressive and impatient — the kind of knock that demanded immediate obedience.
Before Kael could respond, the door swung open with enough force to bang against the wall. A man filled the doorway — a higher official, judging by his pristine uniform. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a face permanently fixed in a scowl.
His labor official's coat was spotless, unlike the worn, patched clothing the regular laborers wore. A gleaming badge on his chest marked him as someone with real authority over people like Kael.
"Get your ass out of that bed, Voss!" the official barked, his voice filling the small room like a physical force. "The laborers' gathering is starting right now in the main quarters. You think you can just lie around while everyone else is already assembled?"
Kael opened his mouth to respond, but the official wasn't finished. His sharp eyes swept the room and landed on the bottom bunk directly below Kael. A figure was visible there, wrapped tightly in a thin blanket, back turned to the room.
"And who the hell is that?"