THE HIDDEN FLAME OF LUTHERCHRIS

CHAPTER 5: The Hunters of Veylar

The dawn over Wrenford came slow and silent. The storm from the night before had left the sky veiled in gray, and the ground soaked and heavy with mist. Collins hadn’t slept. The image of the shadows moving through the forest refused to leave his mind.

He sat by his window, the small shard — the Ember Key — resting in his hand. It pulsed faintly, matching his heartbeat. Every few seconds, a faint whisper escaped from it — words too ancient to understand, yet strangely comforting.

> “Guard the Flame… the eyes are watching…”

He clenched his fist and stood, glancing toward the forest. Something inside him whispered that whatever had awoken last night wasn’t done.

It was calling to him.

---

By midday, he packed his things — the locket, his mother’s spellbook, and the shard — and stepped outside. The streets of Wrenford were unusually quiet. Merchants who normally shouted their prices now spoke in hushed tones. People avoided his eyes.

It didn’t take long for him to notice why.

Three figures stood near the village gate — cloaked in dark blue armor engraved with strange runes that glowed faintly. Their presence alone made the air tense. On their chests was an emblem of a burning sword encircled by a crescent moon.

Collins heard a whisper from a villager nearby.

> “The Hunters of Veylar… what are they doing here?”

He froze. He had heard that name once — from one of his father’s letters, years ago.

The Hunters were a special order, tasked with tracking beings who wielded forbidden or unstable elemental powers.

And now, they were in his village.

---

One of them stepped forward, pulling down his hood. His hair was silver, his eyes a sharp shade of icy blue. “We’re looking for someone,” he said to the gathered villagers. “A young man. About eighteen. Brown hair, carries a strange glow upon his wrist.”

Collins instinctively covered his arm with his sleeve.

The Hunter’s gaze swept the crowd slowly, and though Collins tried to stay still, he could feel those eyes searching for something inside him.

> “His name,” the man continued, “is Collins Lutherchris.”

A cold shiver ran down his spine. He turned to leave quietly through the back alley, but before he could move, another Hunter appeared — a woman this time — blocking his path. Her voice was soft, but her eyes burned with knowing.

> “Running away, are we?”

Collins’ throat tightened. “Who are you?”

She smirked faintly. “Someone who can smell the Flame even through the rain.”

He took a step back, hand instinctively clutching the shard in his pocket. The mark on his wrist began to glow beneath his sleeve — faint, but enough for her to notice.

Her expression hardened. “It’s true, then. The Ember lives.”

---

Without another word, she drew her blade — not steel, but pure energy. A blade of shimmering light that hissed when it met the air. Collins stumbled back, his mind racing.

“I don’t want to fight you!” he shouted.

“Then surrender the Ember Key.”

He hesitated. “You know about it?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That shard doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the Council of Veylar. You’re playing with powers that destroyed kingdoms.”

The moment she said it, the shard in his pocket flared red-hot, and a voice whispered in his mind — urgent, commanding:

> “Run, Collins! The Flame must not fall!”

Without thinking, he thrust his hand forward — and a wave of heat erupted from his palm. Fire coiled like a serpent, striking the ground between them. The Hunter leapt back, shielding her face from the sudden blast.

The flames spread across the street, twisting into the shape of wings before fading to embers. The villagers screamed and scattered.

When the smoke cleared, Collins was gone.

---

He ran into the woods, the Ember Key glowing bright enough to light his path. Behind him, he could hear the Hunters’ boots pounding on the wet soil. They were fast — faster than any normal human.

He pushed himself deeper into the forest, where the trees grew denser and the mist hung thick. His breath came in ragged gasps. The mark on his wrist throbbed painfully, the glow spreading up his arm like fire beneath his skin.

Suddenly, he stumbled upon a clearing.

At the center stood an ancient stone altar — half-buried in moss. Strange runes, like those on the shard, covered its surface.

The moment Collins stepped near it, the shard in his hand reacted — vibrating wildly. He placed it on the altar out of instinct.

And then everything changed.

---

The air turned heavy. The runes lit up in bright crimson, swirling around him. A beam of fire shot upward from the altar, splitting the mist and painting the trees in orange light.

Collins stumbled back as images flashed before his eyes —

cities in flames, warriors wielding the four elements, a tower collapsing into the sea, and a voice — his father’s voice — echoing through it all:

> “If you’re hearing this, Collins… it means the Flame has awakened. Do not trust the Hunters. They serve the wrong master.”

Then the light faded. Collins was left trembling, the words burning in his mind.

He barely had time to breathe before the sound of metal boots approached from behind. The Hunters had found him.

The silver-haired man stepped into the clearing, his blade gleaming. “You shouldn’t have touched that altar.”

Collins looked up, defiance in his eyes. “Then I guess I’ve already done what I shouldn’t.”

The Hunter raised his weapon — and for a brief moment, Collins could see his reflection in the glowing steel: a boy no longer ordinary, eyes burning like molten gold.

The forest fell silent.

And as the first strike came, the world seemed to shatter into flame.