(Vlad's POV)
Fire had always answered me.
Not eagerly.
Not wildly.
But faithfully.
It rose when I called, bent when I commanded, burned when I needed it to burn. Even with the slave mark biting into my mana like a chain, the fire had never betrayed me completely.
Until that afternoon.
We were clearing a ruined watch post near the northern border—nothing remarkable. Rotting wood. Broken stone. The kind of place the blight liked to creep into quietly. I raised my hand to burn away the corruption clinging to the wall—
And the fire shattered.
Not faded.
Shattered.
It burst from my palm in a violent flare, then collapsed inward like a dying star. Heat tore through my arm, raced up my chest—
And then—
Pain.
White-hot. Sudden. Not mine.
I dropped to one knee, breath tearing out of me as if something had punched straight through my ribs. My vision blurred. The ground tilted.
"What—" I gasped.
The air smelled like blood.
Fresh.
Coppery.
