Bloodfire Bonds
Chapter 2: The First Flame Forgotten
The storm had passed, but the silence it left behind was heavier than thunder.
Jaden sat beneath a dying tree at the far edge of his village—the tree where children whispered old stories about swords buried under its roots, swords that bled when drawn. He didn't believe them.
He believed in silence. It was the only thing that never lied to him.
His fingers traced the edge of the dull blade lying across his lap. It wasn't iron or steel. It was older than that. Brittle and veined with black, like something unearthed from a dream.
Jaden didn't know where it came from. He only remembered finding it one night, buried under ash, pulsing faintly, as if waiting for him.
Now, it was the only thing that stayed.
The village no longer spoke his name. His parents, if they still were his parents, didn't look at him anymore. They whispered of omens, of shadows, of "cursed births." They spoke as though he were a crack in the world's surface. A tear they wanted to stitch closed.
But Jaden didn't cry.
He hadn't in years.
That night, under a bruised sky and a shattered moon, the sword hummed.
Not with sound—but memory.
A girl's voice echoed, soft and distant.
"You were my king before kings had thrones."
His eyes widened. He had heard it before. Not here. Not now. But before.
Images surged behind his eyes. A thousand versions of himself standing on battlefields of fire and stars. A woman in red armor, crying as she held a blade made of light and sorrow.
The feeling wasn't fear. It was recognition.
And then—
The blade cracked.
A red glow bled from its veins.
And Jaden felt his chest burn—not from pain, but from return. Like something lost had finally found its way back to him.
He rose, slowly, and looked toward the horizon. The wind shifted, carrying not just the scent of rain—but the sound of footsteps far beyond time.
Elsewhere, where light had not yet learned to rise, Lisa stood in a chamber of shifting mirrors. Her sword rested upright in the stone floor, its red petals frozen in bloom.
She had not spoken in centuries. She had not dreamed in millennia.
But tonight, she knelt. Gently.
And whispered.
"Jaden…"
Her fingers brushed the mirror's edge. It rippled, showing not her reflection, but his shadow—taller now. Alone. Lost. Yet burning.
He is awakening.
The scar on her back—one shaped like a falling sword—throbbed as though remembering.
Behind her, an old woman cloaked in vines stepped into the chamber. Her eyes were hollow, but her voice still held gravity.
"Lisa," she rasped, "The ancient vow is stirring. The bond is returning. You know what that means."
Lisa stood, her voice calm.
"It means the first war is ending."
She turned to face the elder.
"And the last one is beginning."
Back in the waking world, Jaden looked at his hand. It was trembling—not with fear, but fury. Not rage toward others.
But toward the silence. The years he spent waiting. The feeling that something—someone—had been taken.
He lifted the cracked sword.
And though it was broken, it felt heavier than any mountain