Bloodline of the First Flame

Chapter 1: The Boy Who Broke Iron

They called him the prince who never bled.

From the moment Raim opened his eyes to the blinding lights of the palace infirmary, silence followed him like a shadow. Nurses refused to speak his name. Doctors avoided his touch. And when he reached out, still a child, he crushed a titanium scalpel by accident. He was five.

Now at twenty-four, the walls of the capital city bent to his breath. Neon towers glowed like pillars of fire, drones hummed overhead like vultures, and the people of Aetherion bowed without meeting his eyes. Strength like his wasn't admired it was feared. Revered. Hated.

And on the night of the Festival of Moons, he would prove once again why.

He stood on the Sky Altar, cape fluttering against a windswept sky of glowing satellites. The Empire cheered below, a sea of voices roaring through the techno-lit plaza. But Raim heard none of it. His heartbeat thudded like war drums. He had one duty tonight: to break the ceremonial chain of irona thousand-year tradition once reserved for emperors.

"Begin!" the royal announcer shouted.

A twelve-foot slab of hybrid metal iron fused with graphene and memory-titanium was rolled into place. The priests lit blue fire beneath it. The chain shimmered like a serpent of molten silver.

Raim approached. Every part of him burned with restraint. The power surged within his veins—raw, uncut, divine. He could lift the palace if he wanted. Tear the sun from the sky, But he was raised better.

He closed his eyes. Whispered his father's name. Then gripped the chain with one hand.

The silence broke. SNAP. The chain shattered like glass.

Gasps filled the air. One of the palace guards dropped to his knees. Somewhere far below, a girl gasped and Mike's head turned, eyes locking with a stranger in the crowd. She wore a crimson hood, stood deathly still, and did not cheer. She stared at him with the stillness of someone who knew. And for the first time in years, Mike's heart skipped.

She knows what I am.