Morning light filtered through carved stone lattices, spilling gold across the nursery floor. The aether lamps dimmed on their own, surrendering to the rising sun as warmth settled into the air.
Arav Ashvath sat cross-legged on a thick cushion, a small wooden flame toy resting between his palms.
His mother had carved it herself.
The toy was smooth, warm, imperfect in a way that made it precious. When he turned it slowly, the grain caught the light, ember-red lines glowing faintly as if remembering fire.
Everything in House Ashvathar carried that warmth.
The walls held heat.
The floor breathed comfort.
Even the silence hummed faintly, alive.
Above him, the nursery lantern flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then it pulsed.
In perfect rhythm with his heartbeat.
Arav froze.
Pain lanced behind his eyes—sharp, sudden, merciless. Images crashed into his mind without warning.
Rain.
A narrow alley.
Cold stone beneath his back.
Steel flashing.
Blood spreading across the ground.
His breath hitched.
The wooden toy slipped from his fingers and struck the floor with a dull sound.
For a heartbeat, the nursery vanished.
He was there again—lying in the rain, lungs burning, the world fading as life drained away.
Then—
The pain broke.
The door slid open.
"Arav?"
Warmth returned with that single word.
Lady Sharanya Ashvathar stepped inside, her presence calming the air itself. Her fire-hued robes caught the morning light, ember patterns shifting gently as she moved.
She knelt, lifting the fallen toy.
"You dropped this, little flame."
Her gaze sharpened—not with fear, but instinct.
"Are you feeling unwell?"
Arav blinked, forcing air into lungs that still felt too small, too new.
"I'm fine," he whispered.
It wasn't true.
But it was enough.
Sharanya brushed her thumb along his cheek. "You think too deeply for your age."
If only you knew.
Something shifted behind his thoughts.
A presence.
A pressure.
Not heavy—but absolute.
Then—
[Seal Condition Met.]
[Cognitive Development: Sufficient.]
[Primordial Sign-In System Activating.]
Golden light unfolded behind his vision, calm and orderly.
[Welcome, Host.]
Information aligned itself effortlessly.
Name: Arav Ashvath
Race: Human — Astraeon Variant
Age: 3
Bloodline: Ashvathar Flame Root (Noble · Mid-Grade)
Physique: Infernal Pulse (Ancient Grade)
Affinity: Fire (Active), Time Fragment (Sealed)
Arav inhaled slowly.
So it wasn't a dream.
The second life.
The system.
The power.
All real.
Sharanya lifted him into her arms. "Come. Your father is already training the warriors."
The corridor opened into the courtyard beyond—stone polished smooth by centuries of flame. Warriors moved in disciplined formations, aether-charged strikes carving arcs of red-gold through the air.
At the center stood Lord Aaryan Ashvathar.
Fire obeyed him.
Not violently.
Not wildly.
It listened.
"Again," Aaryan commanded.
"If your flame wavers, so does your will."
The warriors roared and struck as one.
Something stirred in Arav's chest.
Recognition.
Admiration.
A sense of familiarity older than memory.
Sharanya smiled softly. "The flames listened to him before he could speak."
As if sensing them, Aaryan turned.
His stern expression softened—just a fraction.
"You're awake."
"He was thinking," Sharanya said.
Aaryan exhaled. "Of course he was."
Warmth settled in Arav's chest.
[Daily Sign-In Available.]
Sign in.
[Successful.]
[Reward: Ember-Thread Breathing Technique — Comprehension +20%]
Heat flowed through his body, mapping itself into instinct.
Without realizing it, Arav adjusted his posture.
A nearby torch bent toward him.
The air quivered.
Sharanya stiffened.
[Reality Recoil — Stage 1 Triggered.]
The flame snapped back into place.
Aaryan's gaze sharpened—not with suspicion.
With recognition.
"Bring him to me later," he said quietly. "It's time he learns the basics."
As Arav rested against his mother's shoulder, he felt it again.
A pulse beyond the sky.
Watching.
Waiting.
The Origin Flame stirred.
And somewhere far beyond Astraeon, something remembered his name.