Kaelen was a "Dullard," born with a core so cold it barely registered on the village’s testing stones. While the other youths sparked with the potential of Flame-callers or Ash-striders, he remained a flicker in a hurricane. But Robyn Wideman’s world didn't favor the gifted; it favored the relentless.

Kaelen didn't smile. He couldn't. The heat was agony, but for the first time in his life, he wasn't just watching the world burn—he was the one holding the torch. He stepped forward, the ground blackening beneath his boots, ready to forge a destiny that the heavens had tried to freeze out.

Kaelen closed his eyes. He didn't reach for the external ether. Instead, he reached inward, toward that tiny, frozen speck at his center. He didn't try to light it; he squeezed it. He compressed the cold until it turned into a friction-based ache.