Rising With My Mystic Power

WHISPERS IN THE ASHES

The cavern lay in silence. The guardian’s broken shell cooled into black stone, its molten veins fading to dull cracks that still hissed with steam. The once blazing chamber now felt like a tomb, and Mordaine stood at its heart, still trembling from the fire that hadn’t quite left his veins.

His chest rose and fell heavily. The flame within him pulsed like a second heartbeat quiet, restrained, but alive. It felt different now. Sharper. Hungrier.

Lyra stood a short distance away, studying the cavern wall with her torch. Her silver dagger was gone, but her expression hadn’t softened. If anything, she looked… thoughtful. Troubled.

Mordaine ran a hand through his sweat damp hair, forcing his voice steady. “That thing… it wasn’t just a guardian, was it?”

Lyra’s torchlight flickered across her face, casting shadows in her eyes. She didn’t answer immediately, which told him enough.

Finally, she said, “Guardians like that don’t appear by accident. They’re bound summoned to protect something ancient. Something someone didn’t want disturbed.”

Her words echoed through the cavern.

Mordaine swallowed, his throat dry. “Then why was I able to destroy it?”

At that, she turned, her gaze locking onto him. There was no warmth in her eyes only intensity. “Because the Ember answered you. And it recognized you as its wielder.”

The air between them hung heavy.

Mordaine clenched his fists, still feeling the ghost of fire on his skin. “I don’t even know what it is. I can barely control it.”

“You’ll learn.” Lyra’s tone was clipped, but her grip on the torch tightened. “You have to.”

He caught something in her voice a flicker of urgency, maybe even fear. Before he could press her, the cavern floor trembled. A faint groaning sound shivered through the walls.

“Not good,” Lyra muttered. “The guardian’s death destabilized the chamber.”

Sure enough, dust rained from above, and a jagged crack split open near the beast’s corpse. From within the fissure, faint light spilled a glow not of magma, but of runes, etched deep into the stone.

Mordaine’s breath caught. “What is that?”

Lyra’s torch barely reached, but even from here, they could see strange carvings spiraling across the hidden wall. Ancient symbols, glowing faintly blue, alive with power.

They approached carefully. The air grew heavier, pressing down on them as though the weight of centuries had been sealed into this place.

Mordaine reached out, hesitating just before his fingers brushed the runes. “It feels… familiar.”

Lyra grabbed his wrist. “Don’t touch it.”

Her voice was sharper than before, cutting through the tension like a blade. Mordaine looked at her, startled. “Why?”

“Because some doors aren’t meant to be opened,” she said, her expression unreadable. “Not yet.”

But as she spoke, the runes pulsed brighter, responding to Mordaine’s presence.

The glow traced lines into a shape a flame, encircled by chains. Beneath it, symbols shifted into something almost legible: The Ember’s Heir.

Mordaine’s chest tightened. The flame inside him surged, answering the call.

Lyra swore under her breath, dragging him back. “We’re leaving. Now.”

The cavern rumbled louder, cracks spreading along the walls. Steam burst from the fissures, and the ground began to collapse where the guardian’s body lay.

They sprinted for the exit, the chamber falling apart behind them. By the time they reached the tunnel mouth, the cavern had begun to seal itself, stone folding in with a roar, burying the glowing runes once more.

Breathless, Mordaine leaned against the tunnel wall, sweat dripping down his temple. His heart thundered not just from running, but from what he’d seen.

“The Ember’s Heir…” he whispered.

Lyra’s head snapped toward him. Her eyes blazed in the dim light, and for the first time, she looked almost afraid.

“Forget it,” she said firmly. “Forget what you saw. If you speak of it, even in whispers, you’ll bring death down on both of us’’.

Mordaine stared at her, bewildered. “How can I forget? That symbol it was calling to me. It knows me.”

“Exactly.” Her jaw tightened. “Which means others will know you too. And they won’t stop until they’ve ripped that flame from your body.”

The weight of her words sank deep, colder than the cavern’s air.

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the distant echoes of collapsing stone rumbling behind them.

Finally, Lyra turned toward the path ahead. “Come on. The Academy will already be suspicious of how long we’ve been gone.”

Mordaine pushed himself upright, though unease gnawed at him. The words on the wall replayed in his mind, over and over, until they branded themselves into his thoughts.

The Ember’s Heir.

And for the first time, Mordaine Carrowell realized his fire was not just a gift. It was a claim. A destiny.

One that others would kill to possess.

The Academy of Arcanum stood tall as ever, its spires gleaming in the late afternoon sun. From the outside, it was the same fortress of stone and glass that Mordaine had seen countless times majestic, untouchable.

Yet as he and Lyra crossed its iron gates, Mordaine felt a different eyes followed them.

The courtyard, usually filled with chatter and laughter, seemed hushed today. Apprentices sparred half heartedly, their gazes drifting toward Mordaine as though measuring him with every glance. A pair of older students paused mid-duel, whispering behind their blades.

Mordaine adjusted the strap of his satchel, his stomach tightening. “They’re staring.”

“They’ve been staring since the Trial,” Lyra said under her breath, her expression unreadable. “Word spreads fast when someone who was supposed to fail suddenly doesn’t.”

Mordaine grimaced. He could feel it curiosity laced with something sharper. Distrust. Jealousy. Fear.

As they climbed the marble steps, a figure blocked their path. Tall, broad shouldered, clad in the Academy’s crimson dueling robes. Kael Draven.

Mordaine stiffened. Kael was one of the Academy’s prodigies lightning magic user, admired by instructors and feared by peers. His eyes, storm-grey, narrowed at Mordaine with a predator’s focus.

“Well, well,” Kael drawled, folding his arms. “The boy who couldn’t conjure a spark now thinks he’s the Academy’s rising flame.”

A ripple of laughter spread among the students gathering nearby.

Mordaine felt heat flare in his chest, unbidden. The Ember stirred, as if it wanted to answer the insult. He fought it down, clenching his fists at his sides.

“I don’t think anything,” Mordaine said evenly. “I just do my best.”

Kael’s lips curved in a sharp smile. “Then you won’t mind proving it. Tomorrow. Training yard. Let’s see if your… miracle is worth anything.”

The challenge hung heavy in the air. Refusing would brand Mordaine a coward. Accepting meant stepping into the ring with one of the Academy’s strongest.

Lyra shifted beside him, her gaze cold as steel. “He doesn’t have to dance for your amusement, Kael.”

Kael’s smile widened. “He doesn’t have to but if he refuses, everyone will know what he is. A fraud.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

Mordaine’s pulse pounded. Every instinct screamed at him to avoid attention. To keep his fire hidden. Yet the words on the cavern wall haunted him The Ember’s Heir. Could he really keep hiding forever?

“I’ll be there,” Mordaine said before he could stop himself.

Gasps rose. Kael’s smile sharpened into something wolfish.

“Good,” Kael said softly. “Don’t be late.”

He turned and strode away, his followers trailing behind him. The courtyard’s whispers erupted again, louder this time.

Mordaine let out a slow breath, his heart racing. Lyra’s expression was unreadable, but her jaw tightened.

“You shouldn’t have agreed,” she murmured.

“What was I supposed to do? Let him brand me a coward?”

“You were supposed to survive,” she snapped quietly. “Kael isn’t like the guardian. He won’t hold back. And if your flame slips beyond your control, you’ll reveal more than you realize.”

Mordaine swallowed hard, guilt knotting in his stomach. But deep inside, beneath the fear, a different feeling stirred. Anticipation.

For the first time, he wasn’t running from his power.

He was stepping toward it.