Kaelan woke to the scent of herbs and wood smoke. His eyes opened to unfamiliar rafters, rough-hewn beams crossed with drying bundles of plants. Not his small room, then.

  He tried to sit up. Pain lanced through his hands, and he fell back with a hiss. Someone stirred nearby.

  "Easy now. Those burns need time."

  Vora leaned into his field of vision, her weathered face drawn with fatigue. The mine supervisor rarely showed concern for anyone. The fact that she sat at his bedside spoke volumes.

  "My father?" Kaelan's voice came out as a rasp.

  "Alive, thanks to you. Broken leg, but the bone-setter says he'll walk again." Vora handed him a cup of water. "Here. Small sips."

  The water soothed his parched throat. As clarity returned, so did the memories. The fire. The heat flowing through his veins. The flames obeying his will.

  "What happened down there?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

  Vora's expression shifted, became guarded. "You tell me. Half the miners are saying you controlled the fire itself. The other half think the smoke made them see things."

  Kaelan stared at his bandaged hands. Beneath the wrappings, he could still feel echoes of that strange heat. Not painful now, but present. Waiting.

  "I don't know what happened," he admitted. "It was like the fire recognized me. Like we were connected."

  Vora nodded slowly, as if his words confirmed something. "There's someone you need to speak with. He arrived last night, asking about the incident."

  "Who?"

  "An elder from the eastern provinces. Calls himself Morvith. Says he knew your mother."

  Kaelan's heart skipped. His mother had died when he was barely walking. He had few memories of her, just impressions of warmth and a lilting voice. His father rarely spoke of her.

  "Where is he?"

  "Waiting. Said to send for him when you woke." Vora stood. "I'll fetch him. And Kaelan? I've known you since you were knee-high. Whatever's happening, remember who you are."

  With that cryptic advice, she left. Kaelan used the moment alone to take stock. He was in the settlement's healing house. Other beds lined the walls, most empty. In one corner, a miner slept with bandaged arms. Another fire victim.

  Kaelan carefully unwrapped one hand. The skin beneath was pink and tender, but not blistered as it should have been after gripping a burning beam. Instead, a strange pattern traced his palm, darker skin in whorls like cooling lava.

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  The door creaked. Kaelan hastily rewrapped his hand.

  The man who entered moved with surprising grace for his apparent age. Tall and lean, with a shock of white hair pulled back from a deeply lined face. His eyes, though, were what captured attention. Amber, almost gold, with an inner light that seemed too bright for human eyes.

  "Kaelan, son of Torven." The voice was rich, accented in a way Kaelan had never heard. "And son of Elissa of the Cinderfell lineage."

  He knew his mother's name. Kaelan tried to stand, but dizziness forced him back down.

  "Who are you? How did you know my mother?"

  Morvith settled onto the stool Vora had vacated. He wore simple traveling clothes, but the fabric had an unusual sheen, almost metallic in the morning light.

  "I was her teacher, long ago. Before she chose to leave her heritage behind." The elder reached out, his fingers hovering over Kaelan's bandaged hands without touching. "The bloodline always tells, in the end. Fire calls to fire."

  "What are you talking about? What bloodline?"

  "Your mother came from a long line of Ashflame wielders. Fire workers. Those blessed or cursed with the ability to commune with volcanic energies." Morvith's golden eyes held Kaelan's. "She hoped it would skip you. That by coming to this remote place, raising you away from volcanic lands, the gift would remain dormant."

  Kaelan shook his head. "That's impossible. Magic doesn't exist."

  "Not magic. Ashflame is a natural force, passed through bloodlines that evolved near volcanic regions. Your ancestors learned to channel it, control it, become one with it." Morvith pulled something from a pouch at his belt. A small black stone that gleamed with inner red light. "This is volcanic glass, charged with Ashflame energy. Hold it."

  Kaelan hesitated, then took the stone. Instantly, warmth spread through his fingers, pleasant and familiar. The red glow brightened, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

  "It recognizes you," Morvith said softly. "As the fire in the mine did."

  "Why now? Why never before?"

  "Ashflame awakens in moments of great need or danger. Usually during adolescence, but sometimes later." The elder took back the stone. "What matters is that it has awakened, and there's no returning to ignorance. Others will have sensed it."

  A chill ran through Kaelan despite the stone's lingering warmth. "Others?"

  "Some who would help you learn control. Some who would use you for their own purposes." Morvith's face darkened. "And some who would destroy you before you grow too powerful."

  Kaelan laughed, though nothing felt funny. "Powerful? I'm a miner's son. I've never left this settlement."

  "You're the son of Elissa, last daughter of the Cinderfell line. One of the oldest Ashflame bloodlines." Morvith leaned closer. "What you did in that mine, saving those men with untrained ability, suggests your potential is exceptional."

  The door opened again. Kaelan's father entered, leaning heavily on a crutch. His normally ruddy face was pale, his red beard singed shorter on one side. His gaze fixed on Morvith, eyes narrowing.

  "I thought I sensed an old flame." Torven's voice was cold. "Come to collect another one for your order?"

  Morvith stood smoothly. "Torven. The years have been kind."

  "Not kind enough to make me forget your promises. Elissa was supposed to be free of that life."

  "And you promised to bring the boy if his abilities manifested." Morvith gestured to Kaelan. "They have. Spectacularly, from what I hear."

  Kaelan looked between them, confusion building. "Father? You know about this?"

  Torven sighed heavily, lowering himself to the edge of Kaelan's bed. "I'd hoped never to have this conversation. Your mother wanted you raised away from all that. To have a choice she never had."

  "What choice?"

  "To join the Cinderguard," Morvith answered. "To train your abilities, to serve as protector against those who abuse Ashflame power."

  "Or to live a normal life," Torven countered, glaring at the elder. "Which is what we chose for our son."

  "Events have overtaken that choice." Morvith pulled out another object, a medallion of dark metal inscribed with flame patterns. "Two nights ago, the Obsidian Order attacked a Cinderguard outpost less than fifty miles from here. They're hunting awakened bloodlines, especially old ones like your son's."

  Torven's face drained of remaining color. "Here? They've never come this far north."

  "Who is the Obsidian Order?" Kaelan demanded, frustration mounting. "Will someone please explain what's happening?"

  A commotion rose outside. Voices shouted, growing closer. Something crashed. Morvith moved to the window with surprising speed, peering out. His expression hardened.

  "They've found us already." He turned to Torven. "Your son's awakening was like a beacon. We need to leave. Now."

  Kaelan stood, ignoring the dizziness. "I'm not going anywhere until someone explains."

  "Explanations later," Morvith snapped. He pressed the medallion into Kaelan's hand. "This was your mother's. It will help focus your abilities."

  Another crash, closer. Someone screamed.

  "They're here," Torven said grimly. He handed Kaelan a pack. "I prepared this. Take it. Go with Morvith."

  "Father, no. You're injured."

  "Which is why I'll slow you down." Torven gripped Kaelan's shoulder. "Listen to me. What's happening now is bigger than our settlement, bigger than us. Your mother knew that one day this might come."

  Kaelan stared at his father, this man he thought he knew. A simple miner with simple dreams. Now a stranger with secret knowledge and a past tied to whatever power flowed in Kaelan's veins.

  "I won't leave you."

  "You must." Torven pulled him into a fierce embrace. "Find the truth of your blood. Then return, if you can."