Wielder Of The Dragon Flame

Chapter 7

The small safe-house was quiet except for the soft clink of teacups.

Asta sat on the old brown couch, his knees pulled up a little,his shoulders hunched. Across the low wooden table, Butler Gregory sat straight but tired, the lines on his face deeper than Asta had ever seen them.  

A young maid (Lina, the one who used to braid flowers into Asta’s hair when he was small) came in carrying a tray. Her hands shook a little, but she still managed to set down two steaming cups of black tea without spilling a drop. The smell of bergamot filled the room.

“Thank you, Lina.”

 Gregory spoke, his tone gently.

Asta wrapped both hands around his cup and took a slow sip. It was hot enough to hurt, but the pain felt good. It was something real.

Gregory sighed.

 “Master Cassian gave the order this morning. Every branch family, every elder, every guard,anyone still loyal to the old lord’s bloodline,has been told to stay away from you. He called it ‘cutting dead wood.’”

Asta stared into the dark tea.

 “He really hates me that much.”

Gregory gave a sad little smile.

 “Good thing your father bought this house many years ago. He said he had a dream… a feeling something like this might happen one day.”

Asta’s head snapped up.

 “Wait. Father knew I would be… flameless? Why didn’t he ever tell me?”

“No, no, Young Master.” 

Gregory shook his head quickly. 

“Lord Ignatius never believed you would be flameless. Never. He said the opposite. He told me, ‘If my son’s flame turns out stronger than mine, Cassian will never accept second place. That boy doesn’t know how to bow.’ So he bought this house quietly and put it in your name alone. Just in case you ever needed a corner of the world that was still yours.”

Asta’s mouth opened, then closed again. 

“This house… was supposed to be for Cassian?”

“Exactly.” 

Gregory said, taking another slow sip. 

“Your father thought you would be the one sending Cassian away one day,not the other way around.”

Asta laughed once, short and bitter.

 “Looks like Father got it backwards.”

He stood up fast, his fists clenched. 

“I’m going back. I’ll talk to Cassian and make him listen.”

Gregory didn’t move. 

“He won’t listen, Young Master. The guards have orders to break the legs of anyone who tries to force entry. I’m old, but I’m not useless,I checked.”

Asta stood there a moment, breathing hard, then dropped back onto the couch like all his strength had leaked out.

“If only I had inherited even a little of Father’s flame… none of this would be happening.”

Gregory looked at him for a long time. His lips moved, barely a whisper.

‘Oh, Young Master Asta… if only you knew who you truly are.’

Asta didn’t hear it.

Outside, the afternoon sun slid lower and lower until the sky turned purple, then black. Stars came out, cold and far away.

Inside Asta’s new room (small, plain, nothing like the huge bedroom he grew up in), he rolled from side to side on the narrow bed. Sleep wouldn’t come. When it finally did, it dragged him straight into a nightmare.

Red-black fire everywhere, people are screaming,a sky burning upside-down.  

And that voice,deep as mountains, shaking the world inside his head.

“Free me, boy… free me…”

Asta woke up gasping, his forehead wet with sweat. He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart hammering so hard it hurt.

‘What the hell are these dreams?’ 

He muttered into the dark.

Morning came too soon.

The underground mines beneath the academy smelled of dust and sweat and old fire that never quite went out. Torches hissed along the walls. Dozens of gray-clad laborers swung pickaxes in rhythm,clank, clank, clank,like a slow, angry heartbeat.

Asta swung with them. His hands were already blistered, but he didn’t stop. When his wheelbarrow was full of broken red stone, he pushed it to the checkpoint, dumped it with a loud crash, and went back for more.

Clank!

Clank!

Clank!

Hours blurred together, then a scream. A high and scared girl's voice was heard.

“Let me go, you bastards!”

Asta’s head snapped up.

Twenty meters down the tunnel, two older students in proper crimson uniforms had a girl pinned against the wall. One held her wrists; the other was laughing in her face. Her hood had fallen back,long fiery-red hair with gold streaks spilled out.

Asta dropped his pickaxe and walked over, boots heavy on the stone.

“Hey.” 

He said, his voice calm but loud enough to echo. 

“Didn’t you hear her? She said, "Let her go.”

The two boys turned.

“Oh, oh, oh,look who it is!” 

The taller one sang.

 “Asta the Flameless! Come to save the day?”

The second one doubled over laughing. 

“Yeah! What are you gonna do, huh? Burn us? Hahaha! You can’t even light a match!”

They laughed louder, slapping each other’s backs.

Asta stood very still. His fingers closed around the wooden handle of the pickaxe he had picked up again. The metal head was cold… then warm… then hot.

Little wisps of black smoke curled from the iron.

Far behind, the old man from the laborers’ unit,Old Man Kael,watched with suddenly wide eyes.

Inside Asta’s head, the dragon voice came again, low and hungry.

‘Don’t be afraid, boy.’

‘Use the pickaxe’

Asta looked down. The axe head glowed dull red, then darker,like blood seen through smoke.

‘Use it on them.’

‘Kill them boy.’

‘KILL THEM!’

The voice rolled like thunder.

Asta’s knuckles went white on the handle. Heat raced up his arms, into his chest, into his teeth. The air around the pickaxe shimmered.

The two boys stopped laughing immediately when they saw his face.

Asta looked up slowly.

A devilish smirk spread across his lips and not entirely his own.

The taller boy took one step back.

 “W-what the hell is that look for…?

”

The pickaxe head flared black-red, so hot the air itself screamed.

Asta took one step forward.

The tunnel went dead silent except for the soft hiss of melting stone beneath his boots.

And the dragon inside him laughed…