The city of Arvadan was beautiful only from above.

  Gilded rooftops shimmered beneath the sun, and its spires pierced the clouds like fingers of ambition. From the temple’s high terraces, the city looked like a divine jewel. But as Arjun walked its streets for the first time in years—no chains, no whipmasters, no bowed head—he saw the truth beneath the gold.

  It stank of rot.

  Markets overflowed with color—saffron, silk, spices—but behind them, beggars fought over spoiled rice. Gilded chariots raced through the main streets while the wounded dragged themselves through back alleys. Holy men preached peace from marble towers while guards kicked a limping child into a gutter for stealing a fruit.

  Arjun kept walking. Unseen flames stirred within him.

  Meera walked at his side, her hood drawn low. She watched the city like a wolf among hyenas.

  “Did you expect better?” she asked.

  “I expected worse,” Arjun replied. “But hope makes even illusions seem bright.”

  She smirked. “Spoken like a man learning fast.”

  They turned down a narrow passage that stank of sweat and coal. A forge district. Blacksmiths hammered, slaves pumped bellows, and sparks leapt like fireflies into the haze. At the end of the street stood a tall, thin man with skin like dark bronze and arms marked with tattoos of ancient runes. His name was Devnar, and Meera had said he once served the same master who owned Arjun.

  Now, he served only the underground resistance—the Fireroot.

  “You're the boy who burned a godmark into the temple wall?” Devnar asked, without preamble.

  “I didn’t burn anything,” Arjun said. “The karma did.”

  Devnar grunted. “Semantics. You stirred something. That's enough. Come.”

  Inside a shadowed chamber lit by a single flame bowl, Devnar rolled open an old hide scroll on the floor. On it: a map of the city. But not one sold in noble shops—this map was riddled with marks, tunnels, names scratched in code, escape routes, and death zones.

  “There’s something you need to understand,” Devnar said, stabbing his finger at the palace district. “The king knows about you.”

  “I assumed as much,” Arjun replied. “He hasn’t acted yet.”

  “Not directly. He’s smarter than that. He’ll wait until the people praise you, then crush you as a warning.”

  Arjun looked at the map again. “Then we give him reason to fear first.”

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Devnar chuckled, surprised. “You really are different. Most gifted ones just run, hide, beg.”

  “I’ve done enough of all three,” Arjun said. “I’m here to change what comes next.”

  > [Quest Received: Strike the Chains]

  Objective: Liberate a slave camp outside the city walls.

  Optional: Avoid civilian casualties. Inspire hope.

  Reward: Karma +20 to +50 (based on outcome)

  Possible Trait Unlock: Liberator’s Path

  Two nights later, beneath a moon shrouded in smoke, Arjun and Meera stood atop a hill overlooking Camp Shakta, a labor colony surrounded by wooden walls and torch-wielding guards. Dozens of slaves, mostly farmers and miners, were forced to sleep chained like animals in the dust.

  Arjun clenched his fists.

  “I know this place,” he said. “They sent me here once, when I was thirteen.”

  Meera placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don't have to go back.”

  “I do,” Arjun replied. “Because they never let me leave.”

  They moved like shadows through the night.

  Using routes marked by Devnar’s spies, they slipped past the outer wall and into the supply yard. Arjun raised his hand, conjuring a flicker of flame. It hovered midair, illuminating the rusted locks binding the gates.

  He pressed his palm against the first lock.

  The metal hissed, then cracked apart, molten slag falling to the ground.

  > [Flame call Skill – Precision Burn Unlocked]

  You can now target objects with focused karmic heat.

  One by one, they opened gates, cracked chains, and roused the sleeping prisoners.

  Some shrank back in fear. Others thought they were hallucinating. But when one old man opened his eyes and saw Arjun—bare-chested, eyes glowing, fire in his palm—he whispered:

  “...You were the boy who fought back. The one who refused to kneel.”

  “Not a boy anymore,” Arjun replied. “Get up. We're leaving.”

  But as the last shackle fell away, a horn blew.

  The guards had noticed.

  They came with swords drawn and whips raised, shouting commands. Arjun stood at the front, palms glowing, body loose and ready.

  The first guard swung a scimitar.

  Arjun caught it mid-air with a bare hand.

  It hissed and melted against his skin.

  Flame erupted from him—not wild or raging, but shaped, controlled. He twisted, striking the earth with an open palm. Fire shot outward like a ripple, forcing guards back in a wave of heat.

  > [Flame call – Combat Mode Engaged]

  You may now choose between Flame Purge, Chain fire, and Ember step (Level 1).

  “Get the slaves to the forest path!” Meera shouted, cutting through ropes with a curved blade. “Arjun, hold them!”

  Arjun nodded.

  He was already moving.

  He dashed forward, ducking a spear, then leaping into the air. His fist crashed into the ground beside three guards—flames exploded upward, knocking them off their feet.

  Another guard aimed a crossbow.

  Arjun blinked forward—vanished in a trail of embers—appearing behind the shooter just in time to catch the bolt mid-flight.

  > [Skill Learned: Ember step – Level 1]

  Short-range flame dash. Cooldown: 10 seconds.

  One by one, he drove them back. He didn’t kill. But neither did he allow mercy to the cruel.

  By the time dawn broke over the hill, the camp was burning—but not in destruction.

  The chains were ash. The slaves were free.

  And in the heart of the fire stood Arjun, surrounded by weeping survivors, bowing not out of fear—but reverence.

  > Quest Complete: Strike the Chains

  Civilians Saved: 47

  Guards Neutralized (Non-lethal): 18

  Karma +50

  Trait Unlocked: Liberator’s Path

  When freeing innocents, flame abilities are enhanced. Bonus Karma per rescue.

  As they marched back to the city, the former slaves now moving with heads high and eyes forward, Meera walked beside Arjun and said, “You’re not just sparking a fire anymore.”

  “What am I doing, then?” he asked.

  “You’re building a blaze.”

  But behind them, deep in the black marble palace of Arvadan, the king received the news. His face was a mask of calm, but his hand gripped the armrest hard enough to crack it.

  “Send the assassins,” he whispered. “Let’s see how divine this boy truly is.”