THE HIDDEN DRAGON

Whispers in The academy

"You don't look like much. Then again, neither does a spark—until it sets the whole world on fire."

Rey adjusted the straps on his worn-out pack, sweat trailing down his back as he stared up at the looming gates of the Academy of the Seven Towers. The stone glistened with ancient runes, and banners flapped in the wind—each one representing an elemental house: Flame, Frost, Storm, Stone, Shadow, Light, and Tide.

He belonged here.

Somehow, impossibly, he belonged here.

“Go on,” Juno said beside him, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Before they shut the gates. And Rey…”

Rey turned.

“Watch the flames inside you. Don’t let them burn faster than your heart can hold.”

With a nod and a deep breath, Rey stepped into the courtyard and into a world that would either forge him—or break him.

The academy was vast, alive with students of every shape, color, and class. Nobles with embroidered uniforms glared at street-born initiates. Professors walked like gods among mortals, their eyes trailing sparks or ice or shadow as they moved.

Rey kept his head down.

His dorm was small but clean—a stone cubicle in the Tower of Flame. A single bed, a desk, a window that didn’t quite close. He didn’t mind. It was the first real bed he’d had in years.

That night, he dreamed.

Again.

But this time, it was clearer.

He stood in a field of ash. Towers crumbled. Blood boiled in rivers of fire. And the woman—his mother—stood at the center of it all.

"The fire awakens not to destroy, but to reveal," she whispered. “But beware, Rayden. Not all flames bring light.”

He woke gasping.

Sweat. Trembling fingers. Heat curling from his skin.

The next morning was orientation. Rey joined the line of first-years shuffling into the Grand Hall. The ceiling stretched into forever, stars dancing above like a mirror of the sky.

A tall, silver-robed man stood at the center dais. His voice echoed as he addressed the crowd.

“I am Archmage Tellarin. You are no longer children of your past. You are flame-seekers. Tidecallers. Stonebinders. You are potential incarnate.”

Rey didn’t hear most of it. His eyes had found hers.

Lyra Vale.

She stood near the front—sharp as a blade and just as cold. Her eyes were pale violet, her black hair tied back in a flawless braid. Noble. Confident. Dangerous.

She looked right at him.

And smirked.

That’s when someone shoulder-checked Rey from behind.

“Watch it, ash-rat,” came a snarl.

Kade Marron. Towering, blond, and carrying the smug grin of someone who’d always gotten his way. Son of a general. Favorite of the Flame professors.

Rey didn’t rise to the bait.

Yet.

Classes began. Elemental theory. Channeling. Combat forms. Meditation. Most students struggled. Rey… didn’t. When it came to fire, it obeyed him like a loyal hound. It coiled around his fingers, flared when he whispered.

Which only made Kade hate him more.

“You showing off again, forge brat?” Kade hissed after Rey lit a candle during a precision control exam without touching it.

“It’s not my fault your fire keeps spitting on you,” Rey said, brushing past.

The class laughed.

That earned him a bruised shoulder in the training yard later.

Zayne arrived in Rey’s life like a summer storm—loud, chaotic, and impossible to ignore.

“Name’s Zayne! Third Tower, Stone Path, but I don’t let that weigh me down, y’know?”

Rey tried not to laugh. Zayne looked like he could lift the academy itself, with arms like tree trunks and a grin that could melt steel.

“You’re the flame guy,” Zayne said, jabbing a thumb toward Rey’s chest. “I saw you torch that practice dummy. That was badass.”

Rey shrugged. “It was just an exercise.”

“Nah, it was a statement.”

They became fast friends.

Nights grew restless.

Rey’s dreams turned stranger.

A tower made of bones. A dragon circling a blood-red sun. A voice chanting in a tongue that made his bones ache.

One night, he awoke with fire blooming from his fingertips, the sheets smoldering.

He ran to the rooftop.

Stars spun above. He pressed a palm to his chest, willing the fire to calm.

It didn’t.

Instead, he saw shadows—glimmering figures dancing just beyond the edge of sight. Whispers curled in his ear.

"Rayden... remember the oath... remember the betrayal..."

“Who’s there?” he called.

Silence.

But something ancient had stirred. Watching. Waiting.

Weeks passed. Lyra remained a mystery. She aced every test. Fought like a storm in battle drills. And yet, Rey felt it—the wall she kept between herself and the world.

Until the duel.

It was a practice match. Random pairs.

Of course, fate paired Rey and Lyra.

They circled in the arena, a ring of students watching with bated breath.

“No holding back,” Lyra said, cracking her knuckles.

Rey grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She moved like lightning.

He answered with flame.

Blows met in sparks. Fire and force clashed, throwing waves of heat into the crowd. For a moment, they were alone in the world—a dance of fury and grace.

And then—

His fire curved too sharply. Struck too close. Her sleeve caught flame.

Gasps.

She doused it, eyes wide with surprise... and something else. Not anger.

Recognition.

After the match, she approached him, panting.

“Where did you learn to channel like that?”

“I didn’t. It just... comes.”

She studied him for a long moment. “You’re not what you seem, Rey Soren.”

“Neither are you.”

She smiled, barely. “Touché.”

Later that week, Rey snuck into the forbidden archives.

He had to know more.

About the Drakar Clan. About the Night of Scorching Winds. About himself.

He found fragments. Scrolls half-burned. A map with the Flamecrest Citadel circled in blood-red ink. A prophecy etched in dragonbone:

“When the last firechild breathes flame under starlight, the Seven will tremble. The betrayers shall fall. And the dragon shall rise.”

He traced the words with shaking fingers.

Then, footsteps.

He turned—

It was Lyra.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“Neither should you.”

They stared at each other, truths hanging in the silence.

“You’re the firechild,” she whispered. “Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what I am,” Rey said. “But something’s coming. And I need to be ready.”

She looked at the scroll. Then at him.

“Then we better find out. Together.”

In the Tower of Shadows, far away, a cloaked figure opened a mirror of obsidian.

Inside flickered a vision of Rey.

The figure hissed.

“So the spark survives. Not for long.”

The shadow stepped into the dark.

To kill a fire, one must drown it before it learns to burn back.

Back at the academy, Rey sat by the window, watching embers dance from the training grounds.

Zayne tossed him a loaf of stolen bread. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Maybe I did,” Rey murmured.

Lyra leaned against the wall beside him. “Next time you sneak into the archives, bring better shoes. I almost tripped on your shadow.”

Zayne blinked. “Wait. You two broke into the archives?”

Rey just smiled.

The fire inside him pulsed gently. No longer just a tool.

A warning.

He was done hiding.

And if the academy whispered his name...

He’d give them something to scream about.