The night fell like ink over West Hollow, blanketing the streets in a chill that whispered warnings through rustling leaves. Nova stood at the edge of the orphanage grounds, her hood pulled low, backpack slung over one shoulder. Inside it? A water bottle, a half-eaten sandwich, and trembling courage.
Lucien was waiting in the alley behind the bakery, just as he'd said.
"You came," he said, his voice low but not surprised.
Nova crossed her arms. "Still not sure this isn't a bad idea."
Lucien smirked. "Good. Doubt keeps you alive."
He turned and walked into the shadows, expecting her to follow.
They traveled in silence through winding alleys and over rooftops, the city unfamiliar in the dark. Nova was amazed at how effortlessly Lucien moved, as if the night itself opened paths for him.
Finally, they arrived at a seemingly abandoned warehouse tucked between two crumbling buildings. The front door creaked open at Lucien's touch, revealing an interior that defied its outward appearance.
The space inside was vast, clean, and lined with glowing crystals that lit up the floor in soft amber hues. On one end was a sparring ring; on the other, a wall lined with weapons and bookshelves full of thick, ancient tomes.
Nova turned in a slow circle. "This doesn't look abandoned."
Lucien gestured around. "One of our hidden training sites. Welcome to your first lesson."
She dropped her bag and stepped into the center. "So, what now? You going to throw fireballs at me until I figure out how to block them?"
Lucien chuckled. "Not quite. The flame isn't just about destruction. It's life. Energy. Emotion. To control it, you have to understand yourself."
He walked to a table and retrieved a small metal orb the size of an apple. It glowed faintly when he held it.
"This is a flame orb," he explained. "It responds to Flamebound energy. Focus, and it'll light. Lose control, and it'll burn."
Nova reached for it.
The moment her fingers brushed the surface, the orb flickered to life—then flared wildly, emitting a searing pulse before clattering to the ground.
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "You're full of raw energy. That's dangerous."
Nova bit her lip. "I didn't mean to."
"You will learn," Lucien said. "Or the flame will consume you."
The hours that followed were grueling. Lucien taught her to breathe—slow and controlled. To visualize her fire as an extension of herself. To command it, not beg it.
By the time midnight struck, Nova was drenched in sweat, her hoodie abandoned, and her hands glowing with a faint golden hue that no longer sparked wildly.
"You're a fast learner," Lucien admitted, tossing her a towel.
"Or stubborn," Nova muttered, wiping her face. "Same thing."
He chuckled. "You're both. That'll come in handy."
As she sat on the floor, catching her breath, she looked up at him. "How did you become a Sentinel?"
Lucien leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I was ten when the Shadowfiends killed my village. A Sentinel saved me, trained me. When I came of age, I chose to serve."
Nova's expression softened. "I'm sorry."
"It made me who I am," he said quietly. "And now you're being shaped too."
She hesitated, then asked the question that had been haunting her since the alley.
"Why me, Lucien? Why was I chosen?"
He was silent for a long moment, then knelt beside her, his eyes serious. "The Flame chooses those with the strength to carry it. But the mark—Nova, that's something else. It's ancient. Sacred. The last time someone bore it… the world nearly ended."
Nova's heart dropped. "What happened?"
"They turned," he said. "Gave in to the darkness. Became the first Nightfallen."
A chill ran through her. "And you think that could happen to me?"
"I think," Lucien said slowly, "you're the only one strong enough to stop it if it does."
They sat in silence after that, the weight of fate pressing heavy between them. Outside, the wind howled.
Inside, a spark began to steady.