Kael Voss rose slowly to his feet, the ground still feeling unsteady beneath him.
"I… really appreciate you telling me all of that," he said quietly. "Even if it feels like someone just dropped an entire mountain on my head."
Old Man Thorne was already at the door, struggling with an ancient iron key that looked older than the academy itself.
"Yeah, yeah, it's fine," he grumbled, jiggling the key left, right, up, down, and left again. "I just need to lock this damn door before the rats throw a party in my scrolls."
The key refused to turn. Thorne muttered curses under his breath, shook the handle violently as if trying to strangle it, then kicked the bottom of the door so hard the entire frame rattled.
"Come on, you rusty piece of…"
Kael pressed his lips together tightly, fighting hard to hold back a laugh that was threatening to escape.
Thorne whipped around, one white eyebrow arched so high it nearly touched his hairline.
"What's so funny, boy?"
"Nothing, sir!" Kael squeaked, eyes wide with feigned innocence.
Thorne narrowed his eyes, turned back to the door, and gave it another furious jiggle.
"Stupid thing's been broken since the third Empress, I swear…"
Kael bit the inside of his cheek.
"Uh… sir? Let me try."
"I've got it," Thorne snapped.
"I insist. Please."
Thorne froze, the key halfway twisted. He glared at the door as though it had personally offended him. Then he released a long, dramatic sigh and stepped aside with a sweeping gesture of his arm.
"Fine. Be my guest. There's no chance you'll even budge it an inch. This door is forged from star-forged obsidian iron, tempered in the breath of a volcano wyrm, and enchanted by the Fourth Flame Emperor himself. It weighs more than three warhorses and laughs at ordinary human strength."
Kael stepped forward, rolled his shoulder once, gripped the handle, and slammed the door shut.
CLANG.
It closed perfectly. The lock clicked smoothly, as if relieved to finally behave.
Silence filled the air.
Thorne's mouth actually fell open. His cloudy eyes widened like coins.
Kael turned, glanced at his own palm, then back at the door.
"That… didn't seem particularly difficult."
Thorne blinked. Once. Twice.
"How in the nine hells…"
"I just pulled," Kael said with a shrug, "and pushed. That's all."
Thorne scratched his scarred cheek and muttered, "That door has humiliated generals, archmages, even a prince once. The poor boy cried."
Kael offered a small, sheepish grin.
"So… does that mean I'm strong now?"
Thorne barked a laugh that echoed down the tunnel.
"Strong? Boy, you're still as weak as a wet kitten. That wasn't your own muscle. That was the dragon's power leaking into your blood. A single drop of its strength is worth more than a thousand ordinary men."
Kael's grin faded.
"Leaking?"
"Exactly," Thorne replied. "And if we don't teach you how to control the leak, one day the entire dam will burst and the empire will drown in flames."
Thorne started walking.
"Come with me. I want to show you something."
They descended deeper than Kael had ever ventured. The torches grew farther apart, the air turned colder, and the stone felt ancient. A rusty iron sign hung crookedly from the ceiling:
HIGHER SENIORS ONLY — DEATH TO TRESPASSERS.
Kael swallowed hard.
"Are we even allowed down here?"
Thorne didn't answer. Instead, he raised one gnarled hand. A small, steady flame bloomed in his palm — pure golden-white, clean and bright like sunrise on fresh snow.
Kael stopped in his tracks.
"Wait. You can create fire?"
Thorne rolled his eyes so dramatically it was a miracle they didn't pop out.
"What, you thought I was just a retired janitor? Didn't you listen to a single word of my story earlier?"
Kael rubbed the back of his neck.
"I… might have zoned out a bit during the part about you slaying the lava titan. Sorry."
Thorne snorted.
"This is the Dawn Lotus Flame, the pride of the ancient Thorne clan from the Eastern Isles. One of the purest healing and support flames in existence. Also quite useful for lighting dark hallways when rude boys fail to pay attention."
He waved the flame ahead like a lantern. The golden light danced across the damp stone walls, pushing the shadows back.
Kael hurried to keep up.
"So… what's my flame called? Something with dragon in the name?"
Thorne's flame flickered. He stopped walking and turned, giving Kael the most sarcastic look imaginable.
"Boy, do you ever stop asking questions?"
Kael took a dramatic step back, hands raised in surrender.
"Sorry! Sorry!"
Thorne shook his head, but a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his beard.
"I don't know yet. First I need to determine exactly which dragon is sealed inside you. There were nine Legendary Dragons in the old myths, each with its own unique flame, personality, and favorite method of destroying continents. Until we identify which one chose you as its jailer — or partner — we can't name your fire."
Kael opened his mouth, then quickly closed it when Thorne's eyebrow threatened to launch into orbit again.
They continued deeper. The tunnel sloped steadily downward until the air grew thick and hummed with ancient power. Finally, they reached a pair of enormous double doors — black wood bound with crimson steel, intricately carved with phoenixes and dragons locked in eternal battle.
Thorne placed his palm against the door. The Dawn Lotus Flame flared brightly, tracing a complex symbol in the air. The doors swung open silently.
Kael's breath caught in his throat.
The space beyond was impossible.
A cavern so vast he couldn't see the ceiling — only endless darkness illuminated by floating rivers of pure fire that flowed like upside-down waterfalls. Bookshelves taller than palace towers rose in perfect concentric rings, connected by bridges of living flame. Actual senior students in elegant crimson-and-gold robes were flying through the air.
Some had wings of fire sprouting from their backs, beating slowly and gracefully. Others wore boots that left trails of sparks as they glided. A girl shot upward like a rocket, laughing brightly, trailing a tail of blue-white flame as she snatched a book from a shelf a hundred meters above.
The scent of old paper, smoke, and raw magic was so thick Kael could almost taste it.
He stood frozen in the doorway, mouth agape.
Thorne stepped beside him, arms folded, looking both proud and slightly smug.
"Welcome," he said, his voice low and filled with reverence.
"To the Grand Crimson Library."
The doors boomed shut behind them…