James didn't remember leaving the arena.
He remembered heat—blazing through his veins like liquid gold. He remembered Elder Varn's terrified face. He remembered Dorian Blackwood's limp body crumpled against the noble stands.
Then darkness.
Now he was running through the Moonwood Forest, barefoot, robes torn, blood drying on his lips. The moonlight filtered through ancient trees, casting silver shadows that danced like specters.
Keep moving. Don't stop. They'll kill you if they catch you.
His lungs burned. His ribs screamed with every step. But the fire from earlier—that impossible golden fire—hadn't disappeared. It hummed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.
What was that? What am I?
A branch snapped behind him.
James dove sideways, rolling into the underbrush as a blade whistled past where his head had been. He crashed into thorns, biting back a cry as they tore into his arms.
Too fast. They're too fast.
Two figures emerged from the shadows—cultivators in black cloaks, their faces hidden behind silver masks. Not Blackwood guards. Someone else. Someone worse.
"The target is confirmed," said the taller one, voice distorted by magic. "Dragonheart Bloodline. Eliminate on sight."
The shorter one laughed—a cold, hollow sound. "He's Grade Zero. A fluke. He doesn't even know how to channel—"
James scrambled backward, heart pounding. His hands found a fallen branch—useless against cultivators. He was going to die here. In the mud. Forgotten.
No.
The word burned through him. The fire in his veins flared—and this time, he didn't resist.
No! I won't die like this! I haven't even begun!
Golden light exploded from his palms. Not controlled. Not aimed. Pure chaos. The shockwave sent both assassins flying into trees with bone-cracking force. One didn't get up. The other groaned, struggling to rise.
James stared at his hands. They were glowing. Warm. Powerful.
And terrifying.
"A fluke, you say?" James whispered, voice shaking. "Then you should have brought more men."
The surviving assassin's eyes widened behind his mask. "You... you can't control it. You'll burn yourself out—"
James advanced. His footsteps left scorched marks on the forest floor.
"Tell me who sent you."
The assassin spat blood. "You're already dead, boy. The higher realms don't tolerate abominations like you. Your parents knew that. That's why they—"
James's fist connected with the man's jaw before he could finish. The assassin crumpled.
Silence fell. The forest was still. James stood over the unconscious bodies, chest heaving, the golden light slowly fading from his skin.
And then he felt it.
A presence behind him. Calm. Ancient. Watching.
He spun—but there was no one there. Just a woman's voice, soft as silk, cutting through the night.
"You have questions, James Ironheart. I have answers. But first..." A pause. "You need to stop bleeding. And you need to run. The Blackwoods know what you are now. They'll send their best."
James searched the darkness, but she remained invisible. "Who are you?"
"A friend of your mother's. A debt I intend to repay." Her voice grew closer—but still, no form. "Your seal was broken too early. Your body isn't ready. If you try to use that power again without training, it will consume you from the inside."
James looked down at his hands. The warmth was gone. Replaced by cold. And pain. Deep, aching pain radiating from his core.
She's right. I'm dying.
"Then train me," he said, forcing the words out. "If you knew my mother, if you owe her something—then train me. I'll do anything."
A long pause.
Then, from the shadows, a woman stepped forward. She was beautiful in a severe way—silver hair, sharp eyes, a scar running from her jaw to her collarbone. Her robes were midnight blue, embroidered with constellations that seemed to shift as she moved.
She studied him like a merchant examining damaged goods.
"Your mother said you'd be stubborn." A ghost of a smile. "Fine. I'll train you. But I warn you, James—once you walk this path, there's no turning back. The Dragonheart Bloodline doesn't make you a hero. It makes you a target. The higher realms will hunt you. Your own realm will fear you. And everyone you love will be used against you."
She extended her hand.
"Knowing all that—do you still want to learn?"
James looked at her hand. At his own trembling, bloodied fingers. At the forest where he'd almost died twice in one night.
He thought of Dorian's smug face. Of his parents' screams. Of the voice in his head that had always whispered: You were meant for more.
James reached out and took her hand.
"Teach me."
Her grip was iron. "Good. Then your first lesson begins now." She pulled him upright, then pointed toward the distant mountains. "We're going to the Veil. It's a place that doesn't exist on any map. It's where I'll break you down and build you back into something the higher realms will fear."
James nodded, jaw set.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She smiled. But it didn't reach her eyes.
"Call me Sage. Now stop asking questions and run. They're already at the forest's edge."
From behind them, howls echoed—hunting dogs. And the sound of fifty boots pounding the earth.
James started running.
But this time, he ran toward his future.