The Reborn Knight: Flames of Destiny

A Noose of Light

The runes surrounding us pulsed, painting the forest floor in eerie silver light. The air hummed with power, charged like a storm about to break.

We were trapped.

The lead inquisitor stepped forward, his expression unreadable. His long midnight-blue robes bore the emblem of the Silvern Inquisition—a coiled dragon, its wings wrapped in chains. The anti-magic gauntlets on his arms glowed with the same intricate runes as the ones encircling us.

"Arin, the Forgotten Prince," he repeated, his voice calm, almost amused.

Lyria's breathing hitched beside me. Cain, for once, said nothing.

I forced myself to meet the inquisitor's gaze, fighting the fire rising in my chest. If I used it, I'd be playing into their hands.

I swallowed. "If you've been looking for me, you should've sent a letter. This seems excessive."

The inquisitor smiled. "Oh, we've been watching you for quite some time." His eyes flicked to the burned ground where the Abyssborn had been. "But tonight, you gave us something we didn't expect."

I tensed.

"They weren't just burned," the inquisitor continued. "They were erased."

A whisper of something cold and ancient crept down my spine.

He wasn't just here to capture me.

He wanted to understand what I had done.

The Shackles Close

I heard the crossbows being drawn before I saw them.

Figures emerged from the trees—at least a dozen Silvern Inquisitors, all armed. Their weapons weren't ordinary. Runes glowed along the edges, meant to tear through magic.

Lyria's grip on her daggers tightened. Cain, ever the opportunist, sighed dramatically. "Really? I just cleaned my coat."

The inquisitor ignored him, focusing on me. "Surrender. Now."

I set my jaw. "And if I don't?"

He smiled. "Then we make you."

A flick of his wrist, and silver chains shot from the runes.

Fast. Too fast.

I barely had time to move before they coiled around my wrists, tightening like living snakes. The moment they touched me, my flames flickered out.

I gasped as my strength withered.

My knees buckled. The chains were draining me.

Lyria lunged toward me, but an inquisitor stepped forward, slamming the hilt of a rune-blade into her stomach. She choked, staggering back.

Cain didn't move.

I barely heard Lyria's strangled curse over the roaring in my ears. My vision blurred, the world tilting. The chains weren't just binding me. They were pulling something out of me.

The inquisitor stepped closer, peering down at me like I was an experiment on a table.

"This power of yours," he murmured. "It isn't normal, is it?"

I gritted my teeth. "You tell me."

He tilted his head. Then, in a voice almost too gentle, he asked:

"What do you remember before waking up in that castle, Prince Arin?"

The words struck harder than any blade.

Because I didn't know.

I didn't remember my childhood. I didn't remember anything before the flames.

The inquisitor saw something in my face and smiled.

"So you feel it, don't you?" he murmured. "That emptiness. The parts of you that should be there, but aren't."

I clenched my jaw, pushing down the nausea.

"Your flames don't just burn," he said. "They take."

The chains tightened, sending a wave of cold agony through me. I gritted my teeth.

The inquisitor crouched in front of me. His voice softened. "You don't have to fight this."

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

A voice in my head. Familiar. Old.

Let go, Arin. This isn't your fight.

A memory flickered at the edges of my mind. A woman's voice. Gentle. Kind.

You don't have to fight.

For a second, the fire inside me dimmed.

And then Cain spoke.

"Did you really think this would be easy?" His voice was mocking, amused— but beneath it, there was a warning.

I snapped back.

The inquisitor's expression flickered.

Then I drove my knee into his ribs.

He staggered back.

The fire in my chest roared to life again, pushing against the chains. Not breaking them—but resisting.

The inquisitor exhaled slowly, rubbing his ribs. Then, instead of looking angry—he laughed.

"Good," he said. "I was hoping you'd resist."

Then he snapped his fingers.

The chains tightened, pulling me to the ground.

I choked as pain shot through my body, my vision flickering.

Lyria yelled my name. Cain didn't move.

And then the inquisitor leaned close and whispered:

"I want to see what happens when you break."

The Escape

The ground trembled.

The inquisitor stilled. "What—"

A crack split the earth.

Something was coming.

The inquisitors tensed. I forced my head up, vision still spinning—

And then I saw it.

A shadow moved through the trees.

Not human.

Not an Abyssborn.

Something else.

The inquisitor sensed it too. He turned sharply—too late.

The darkness moved.

A figure ripped through the trees, a blur of obsidian and fire.

The inquisitor barely had time to react before a clawed hand slammed into his chest, hurling him backward.

I gasped for breath, my body still bound by the chains.

Cain grinned. "Well, now. That's new."

Lyria grabbed my arm. "Move!"

The figure stepped fully into view now, standing between us and the inquisitors.

Tall. Wrapped in black armor that seemed to shift with the shadows.

Golden **flames flickered beneath its skin—**not like mine.

Controlled. Ancient.

The inquisitors backed away.

And then the figure spoke.

Its voice was layered—two voices speaking as one.

"You do not belong to them, Arin."

The chains around me shattered.

I hit the ground, gasping.

The lead inquisitor's face twisted in rage. "Kill them all."

The night exploded into chaos.