Chapter 5 Fire Does Not Burn Me

Kael's eyes opened, but they didn't soften.

He stared at Aeryn like someone who had glimpsed something monstrous in a reflection. His chest rose slowly under the bandages, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"You're awake," Aeryn finally whispered.

Kael's voice was rough. "I noticed."

Silence stretched between them. Aeryn took a step closer.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

Kael's gaze didn't waver. "But you did."

Aeryn flinched. "I wasn't in control."

Kael looked away. "Then learn to be."

Those three words sliced sharper than the assassin's blade. Aeryn left without another word.

By the next morning, he'd been released from magical probation. The rune was gone from his throat, though a phantom burn lingered there. The silver chain around his neck still pulsed, now permanently fused to his collarbone like some ancient scar. He didn't dare touch it-not since the night it nearly seared through his shirt. It feels alive now. Like it watched him back.

Whispers followed him through the halls. Not just the usual muttering from classmates, but true fear. Some stared in silence. Others crossed the corridor to avoid him. A few spat in his direction.

He tried to ignore them.

Obsidian Hollow didn't forget-and it certainly didn't forgive.

The Dueling Hall was a massive circular chamber of polished obsidian ringed by glowing banners of the Four Great Houses. Magic shimmered in the air, thick with sparks and salt and blood. It reeked of old fire and pride.

Combat Class was mandatory.

Aeryn stood in the far corner, arms folded, trying to blend into the shadows. Every nerve in his body thrummed with unease. Kael hadn't spoken to him since waking up. Lucien was nowhere to be seen. And now this.

It didn't work.

Instructor Harrow paced the room in her jagged leather cloak, black hair coiled like serpents around her shoulders. Her eyes glinted with disdain as she barked orders.

"House Blood", paired with House Flame. "House Claw, you're with House Shadow." Cross, you're with-She paused, lips curling into something between amusement and malice. "Vale."

The temperature dropped.

Lysandra Vale stepped forward from the center of the chamber, bronze hair bound in a braid, her red dragon-etched armor glowing faintly with internal heat. Her eyes-molten gold-locked onto Aeryn.

She smiled, sharp as a sword's edge.

"Try not to cry, hybrid."

Aeryn raised an eyebrow. "I'll do my best."

The match began with no ceremony.

Lysandra didn't hold back. She opened with a flame burst meant to stagger, not kill. Fire shot from her palms in a spiral, spinning like a wheel of smoke and heat.

Aeryn dove aside, rolled, sprang to his feet. His boots smoked. His lungs burned.

Lysandra moved like she was born in battle. Every gesture is elegant, practiced. The room tilted toward her rhythm.

Aeryn dodged again, barely avoiding a flame-whip that licked the ground beside him.

"On your knees already?" she called, amused. "Thought you had claws."

"I save them for people I like."

She growled and launched another burst.

This time, it hit.

Or it should have.

The flames curved around Aeryn's chest, spiraled across his shoulders and vanished.

He blinked.

So did she.

Instructor Harrow's voice sliced through the tension. "Continue!"

Lysandra snarled and raised her hands. The heat intensified. Her armor flared brighter.

Dragonfire.

She launched it.

Aeryn didn't move. Couldn't.

The fire engulfed him.

Gasps echoed. A scream.

But when the flames faded, Aeryn was still standing.

Unburned. Steam rose from his skin, but no wounds, no blistering.

His shirt was scorched open across the chest, exposing the chain fused to his skin. It glowed faintly.

Lysandra stared.

"You should be ashes."

Aeryn looked at his hands. They were steady.

The room exploded in whispers.

"Impossible."

"Dragonfire-he walked through dragonfire."

Instructor Harrow stepped forward. "Enough. Match over."

Lysandra didn't argue. She just turned and walked away.

Aeryn stood alone in the middle of the ring.

The hybrid could not burn.

That night, a storm lashed the academy towers. Rain pelted the high windows like claws against glass. Thunder rolled through the spires.

Aeryn crossed the bridge between the training halls and the East Tower, rain soaking through his cloak. Lightning illuminated the black stone.

She was waiting.

Lysandra leaned against the far column, arms crossed, steam rising from her skin where the rain touched it.

"I was hoping you'd show."

Aeryn slowed. "You don't strike me as the 'hopeful' type."

She pushed off the wall. "You shouldn't have survived that duel. Even the Council looked surprised."

"Trust me, I was the most surprised."

Her eyes flickered. "You absorbed my fire."

He said nothing.

"I had a brother," she said suddenly. "Older. Braver. Arrogant as hell. He died last year. Burned alive in the Sanctum of Flames."

Aeryn swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"He wasn't alone when it happened."

Lightning struck close. Thunder boomed.

Lysandra stepped closer. "There was another presence in the sanctum. The flame remembered it. Dragonfire remembers everything. That presence-it matched your brother's aura."

Aeryn's mouth went dry. "Asher?"

"Yes."

She stepped closer still, nose to nose. "What did he do?"

"I don't know. I didn't even know the supernatural world existed until last week."

Lysandra's eyes searched his.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to."

Silence.

Then she said, softer, "You didn't flinch. When the fire touched you."

"I felt it. It just... didn't hurt."

Her expression tightened. "The only thing fire doesn't burn is something already born of flame. Or something cursed."

She turned away.

"I'll find out what he did. And if you had any part in it..."

She looked back, her voice colder than the storm.

"I'll make sure you burn where he didn't."

Aeryn didn't respond.

She disappeared into the shadows.

As he turned back toward the tower, the surrounding air shifted.

A flicker of warmth curled across his skin, rising from beneath the collar of his shirt.

The silver chain.

It pulsed once, then again.

And this time, it didn't feel like heat.

It felt like breath.

He yanked the collar down-just enough to see the chain writhing.

Moving.

Alive.

Burned into the hollow of his collarbone, a new glyph had formed overnight.

Once he'd never seen before.

But something deep inside him knew exactly what it meant.

And at that instant, in the silence before another bolt of lightning split the sky, Aeryn understood:

Someone-or something-was using him as a key.

And the door it unlocked was already opening.

Behind him, something whispered in his brother's voice:

"You were never the heir. You were the weapon."

And then the chain screamed.