The sky above the training camp burned a dull copper hue, clouds swirling as if reflecting the tension simmering below. Early morning drills echoed across the field metallic footsteps, shouts, the hum of energy fields and kinetic boots striking the turf.
Blaze was supposed to be focusing. He wasn’t.
His teammates sprinted past in perfect formation, bodies glowing faintly with synchronized aura flow, but his mind was far from the drills. His strikes were sharp but hollow movements executed by memory, not instinct.
Each time his boots hit the ground, his chest ached. The sound of the wind reminded him of the gentle tremor in his mother’s voice the last time he called her. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be fine."
But he had seen the fatigue in her eyes. The faint blue tinge beneath her nails. The way she coughed and tried to smile through it.
Jason’s voice cut through the haze."Blaze! You’re hesitating again."
Blaze blinked and looked up. His coach stood near the edge of the pitch, one hand on his hip, the other gripping his data pad. His expression was unreadable.
"I’m fine," Blaze muttered, brushing sweat from his brow.
Jason didn’t believe it, he never did when Blaze wore that empty look. But he let it slide. "Take ten minutes. Clear your head. We’ve got scrimmage formations after this."
Blaze nodded and walked off toward the locker zone. His heart thudded heavily as the world around him blurred into motionless noise. He wasn’t fine. He couldn’t focus while his mother’s face haunted him.
He sat on the bench, fingers trembling. Then, with a soft hiss, he activated the holo on his wristband — a small blue icon blinking: "Unanswered Call – Sang-hee."
That was all it took. His decision was instant.
Without another thought, Blaze stood, tossed his training vest aside, and headed toward the hovergate. The camp’s energy barrier shimmered as he approached; he waited for a moment, then slipped through when a cargo drone passed by, using its energy signature to mask his exit. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ Nove1Fire.net
He was gone before anyone noticed.
City X lay beneath him in soft layers of neon haze and mist. The hover taxi glided smoothly through the morning light, slicing between transparent sky bridges. Blaze leaned his head against the window, eyes tracing the skyline.
Every skyscraper reminded him of her struggles every advertisement, every flying drone carrying luxury goods — they all belonged to a world that had forgotten people like Sang-hee.
When the taxi stopped before the familiar bungalow, Blaze’s heart sank. The home looked smaller than he remembered, fragile somehow, like a paper lantern ready to crumble.
Inside, faint coughing reached his ears.
"Mum?" he called softly.
There was no answer just another weak cough, followed by the sound of a spoon clinking against a bowl.
Blaze entered quietly. The living room looked unchanged: simple furniture, old family photos on the transparent wall screen, his mother’s old sweater draped over the couch.
Sang-hee turned as he stepped in, her face lighting up instantly."Dante!"
He hadn’t heard his real name said with that warmth in years.
"You’re supposed to be training," she said, though her voice trembled slightly.
He smiled faintly and walked over. "Training can wait."
"You shouldn’t have come, sweetheart. They’ll scold you"
"I don’t care," Blaze interrupted softly, kneeling beside her chair. Her hands were trembling as she tried to adjust the blanket over her knees. He gently took her wrist and felt the frailty of her pulse.
The fire in his chest flickered painfully.
"You haven’t been taking your meds," he murmured.
She looked away. "They’re too expensive now. But it’s fine — just a little cold."
Blaze chuckled bitterly. "A cold doesn’t make someone cough blood."
Her hand froze. For a moment, silence filled the room. Then she smiled again that same brave, trembling smile he’d seen a hundred times. "I watched your last match," she whispered. "You looked so strong out there. Just like your father."
Blaze’s throat tightened. "Don’t say that. I’m nothing like him."
"You have his fire, but your heart... your heart’s mine." She laughed softly. "Do you remember when you were ten? You used to practice until dawn, kicking the wall until the neighbors complained."
He nodded, blinking rapidly. "You always stayed up with me."
"Because I knew you’d be great one day."
The silence that followed was warm and painful all at once. She leaned back slowly, her eyes half closed. "Tell me... what do you call yourself now? Blaze, isn’t it?"
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. It’s what they call me on the field."
"It suits you," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "My little flame..."
Then the coughing began again sharp, violent, unbearable. Blaze’s reflexes kicked in. He gathered energy instinctively, white and blue aura flaring around his hands. The air shimmered as he tried to stabilize her pulse with controlled energy flow — an old martial healing technique his father had taught him.
But her heart rate was too weak.
"Mum! Stay with me—please—"
Her breathing slowed. Her eyes softened. "Don’t cry, my son."
He was trembling, the fire on his hands flickering erratically, tears stinging his eyes.
"You were born from fire," she whispered faintly. "But remember... warmth gives life, not destruction."
Then her fingers slipped from his hand.
The world went silent.
Blaze stared at her still form, his mind blank. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His energy crackled uncontrollably — the aura surrounding him exploding in faint sparks that danced around the room like dying embers.
He pressed his forehead against her hand. "Mum... please..."
But there was no answer. Only the faint sound of rain beginning to fall outside.
Slowly, he stood, taking one last look at her peaceful face. She looked like she was sleeping, fragile, weightless, free of pain.
He walked outside into the downpour.
The city lights were blurring now, streaks of blue and gold reflected in the puddles forming on the street. The rain soaked through his training gear, plastering his white hair to his forehead.
He raised his head, eyes closed, letting the water mix with his tears.
For the first time in a century, the Great Blaze felt small not because he’d lost a battle or failed a match, but because he had lost the one person who still saw Dante beneath the fire.
He clenched his fists, fire crackling faintly in his palms before fizzling out in the rain.
The night swallowed him whole.
And there, beneath the gray sky and the sound of endless rain, Blaze Anderson stood motionless — a warrior who could command flame, but not fate.