THE HIDDEN DRAGON

The Flames Awaken

"You're not supposed to survive fire like that. Not unless... you're one of them."

Rey wiped the blood from his mouth and stared at the boy who had just tried to knife him. The street fight had ended with scorched pavement, melted steel, and an unconscious gang leader twitching beside a burnt-out stall.

His fists were shaking. Not from fear. From something deeper.

From within.

Fifteen years now

The Brighthollow slums were a godless furnace of rusted metal, broken dreams, and anger that simmered beneath every coughing breath. Rain didn’t wash this place clean; it only spread the filth thinner. Smoke hung low, mingling with the stink of diesel, sweat, and desperation.

Rey Soren—no surname worth remembering—walked these cracked alleys like a ghost in borrowed boots. Half-boy, half-blade, all silence. He carried scars like currency and kept his head low because eyes in Brighthollow meant trouble.

But tonight? Trouble would find him.

“MOVE!”

A child’s scream. A crash. Then the unmistakable bark of Dagger’s gang—those street hyenas with nothing but blades and bruised pride.

Rey turned instinctively toward Copper Row. Smoke curled above the stalls like warning fingers.

Talli caught up to him, breath ragged. “They’re at it again. Mira’s stall. They flipped it. Beat her senseless.”

Rey’s jaw clenched. “Why?”

“Because they can.”

He didn’t answer. Just started walking. Faster.

Copper Row burned with fear. Fruit trampled. Fabric torn. Blood on stone.

Mira was on the ground, mouth leaking red, clutching her side.

And there stood Dagger—tall, twitchy, all grease and malice. He was laughing.

Rey stepped into the clearing, the world slowing around him. The people parted.

Dagger turned. “Well, if it isn’t the forge rat. Come to play savior?”

“You’ve got until I count to three,” Rey said, voice like grinding coals.

Dagger scoffed. “You think you scare me, scrub? You ain't—”

“One.”

“You little—”

“Two.”

He moved.

Dagger never heard “three.”

The punch came like a cannon blast. Dagger flew backward, skidding across the wet cobbles like a discarded doll.

And then—everything snapped.

The gang surged. Knives gleamed.

But so did Rey.

Something inside him split. A scream of heat surged from his spine. His skin burned with light—not pain, but power. A forgotten roar echoed through his soul.

And suddenly—

Flames.

Fire exploded from his hands, wild and molten. One gang member screamed as his blade melted mid-air. Another was flung back by a shockwave of blistering heat.

The fire didn’t consume Rey.

It followed him.

It obeyed.

He turned, eyes glowing gold, hair whipping like a flame. The entire street stared as the gang scattered like roaches.

Silence fell.

Then gasps.

Then whispers.

“Dragonborn…”

He ran.

Back at the forge, he slammed the door behind him. Breath ragged. Heart pounding.

Juno didn’t even flinch. The old man sat at his bench, hammer paused mid-air.

“It happened,” Rey gasped. “The fire. It… it came out of me.”

Juno exhaled slowly. “So the cocoon has cracked.”

Rey blinked. “What?”

The forge master stood and walked to a locked chest buried beneath the floorboards. He pulled it open and unwrapped a silk bundle. Flame-red. Ancient symbols wove through it like veins of heat.

He handed it to Rey.

“Your mother left this. Lady Seraphina of the Drakar Clan.”

Rey staggered. “No. I… I’m just an orphan. You said—”

“I lied,” Juno said gently. “To keep you alive.”

“What—what are you saying?”

“You are Rayden Drakar. Son of fire. Heir to the Flameborne Line. The last dragon of the blood.”

Rey stared at the cloth. His hands trembled. His skin hummed. And then—

Visions.

A woman’s eyes—golden like the sun. A castle wreathed in fire. A sword singing in agony. A baby, wrapped in prophecy.

He fell to his knees.

“I knew her,” he whispered. “From my dreams. I thought I was going mad.”

Juno nodded. “You remembered what your soul couldn’t forget.”

“Why now?”

“The seal has limits,” Juno said. “And your time is no longer yours. Others will come now. For you. To kill or to control.”

Rey stood slowly. “Then what do I do?”

“You burn them first.”

That night, Rey couldn’t sleep.

The city whispered below him.

Talli found him on the rooftop.

“You lit up half the market,” she said. “They’re all talking.”

“I don’t know what I am.”

“Doesn’t matter. You fried Dagger’s eyebrows off. That’s enough for me.”

He chuckled softly.

She looked at him. Really looked.

“You’re not afraid?” she asked.

“I’m terrified.”

“But you didn’t run.”

“I did. But only to come back stronger.”

She nodded. “Good. Because I think they’re coming.”

Rey turned. “Who?”

But she was already climbing down.

In the high mountains far to the north, beneath the obsidian sky, a cloaked figure knelt in a hall of fire and shadow.

“My lord,” he rasped. “The signal flared. The seal is broken.”

The fire pulsed. A deep voice echoed.

“Rayden lives?”

“Yes. He has awakened.”

The flames hissed like snakes.

“Send the Revenants. No survivors. Burn Brighthollow to ash.”

The figure bowed low. “Yes, Lord Veyros.”

“And bring me his heart.”

Back in Brighthollow, Rey’s breath caught. He bolted upright from his cot.

The forge creaked.

The air changed.

Smoke.

But not from the chimney.

Rey stood, chest bare, eyes alight.

“They’re coming,” he whispered.

And this time, he wouldn’t run.

He would rise.