The Heir of Veiled Realms

Chapter 1: Flame of the Forgotten

It was raining again in Blackmist Alley.

The downpour beat a rhythmic tattoo against the cobblestones, as if the sky itself were knocking on the bones of the city, demanding to be let in. Cold mist curled between the slats of narrow buildings like whispered curses. In this part of the city, forgotten by the gleam of neon towers and untouched by magic academies, nobody asked for miracles. They asked for shelter, for scraps, for the privilege of one more breath.

Kael Dain didn't even ask for that anymore.

He sat curled beneath a sagging wooden awning behind Madam Kreel’s apothecary, his threadbare cloak soaked through, its edges stiff with dried blood, some of it his, some not. A stray dog sniffed at his feet and then, seemingly pitying him, curled beside him for warmth. Even mutts knew kin when they saw it.

Kael had been in Blackmist Alley for thirteen years. Born there. Raised in silence. Scarred into obedience.

He had no parents. Not really. Just a drunkard of a stepfather who disappeared the day Kael turned six and a mother who had died in the fire that took their home two winters later. Since then, he'd bounced between charity homes, alleys, and kitchen scraps, forgotten by the world and deemed useless by those who knew him.

He didn't possess magic. Not even a spark.

And in a world that ran on magic like blood through veins, that made Kael worse than nothing. It made him invisible. Until tonight. A scream cut through the alley.

Kael jolted upright, his breath catching in his throat. The dog beside him growled low, ears pinned back. Another scream, this one strangled mid-cry. Then silence. Not the silence of peace, but the kind that came when something old and dangerous had entered a space that should have been empty.

He rose slowly, heart pounding, and edged toward the sound.

The alley twisted like a serpent, a broken spine of shattered tiles and moss-covered brick. As Kael crept forward, he saw the flicker of fire. Not the orange flame of a hearth or a spell, but a pale blue glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Two figures stood over a third, collapsed one. Robes trimmed in silver. Masks shaped like snarling beasts. Kael’s stomach dropped. The Writeseekers.

They were rumored to be hunters of magical artifacts, mages who had abandoned morality in pursuit of forbidden knowledge. It was said they could read a person’s soul like a book... and then erase it.

Kael should have run. He should have turned, disappeared into the night. But something pulled him closer. A voice, soft and familiar. "Help..." It came from the collapsed figure.

A girl. No older than him. Pale hair slicked with rain, a pendant clutched in her bleeding hand, an ancient thing, shaped like a broken sun. Their eyes met.

And in that moment, something ancient stirred in Kael. Not magic. Not yet. But... potential. The kind of thing that had no place in Blackmist Alley. The nearest Writeseeker turned.

“Leave,” he hissed. “This is not your concern.”

Kael didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was the fire. Maybe it was the girl’s eyes. Maybe it was the voice that whispered from somewhere deep inside him: If you walk away now, you will never be more than this. He stepped forward.

“No.” The Writeseeker raised a hand, sigils flaring to life along his fingers.

Kael lunged. He didn’t know what he was doing. He was just a scrap of a boy, hungry and wet and furious at a world that never gave him a name.

But as the sigils burned toward him, Kael’s body moved, faster than thought. His foot swept low, knocking the masked figure off balance. The other turned, casting a bolt of blue fire, but Kael twisted around it, fingers brushing the girl’s pendant.

The world exploded. Not in light, but silence. Everything slowed. The rain stopped mid-air. The flames froze. The Writeseekers hung like statues. And before him stood a man, or something like one.

Robes of black silk that shimmered with stars. Hair the color of starlight. Eyes like dying suns.

“You shouldn’t be here yet,” the figure said, voice calm and ancient. “But the Flame chose you.”

Kael tried to speak, but no sound came. The man reached forward, placing a finger against Kael’s brow.

“Then let us see what you become.” The world roared back to life.

Kael collapsed to the ground, gasping. The pendant was burning in his hand, but not from heat. From power.

The Writeseekers were gone. Only scorched outlines remained where they had stood.

The girl stirred, her eyes wide with awe. “What… what are you?”

Kael looked down at his hand, where the broken sun had fused to his palm. He didn’t know the answer.

But for the first time in his life, Kael Dain wasn’t invisible.

 Behind him, the shadow of the man in starlight watched still... and smiled.