The Five Realms

Chapter 53: Joey XI

Chapter 53: The Burden of Brightsteel

The world was on fire again.

Joey stood barefoot in the ruins of the manor—the one he never spoke about, not even to Chyna. Heat shimmered off blackened beams. Glass crunched underfoot. The air tasted like metal and mourning.

He walked forward, slow, as if each step might wake something.

The hallway stretched impossibly long. That couldn't be right—this house didn't have hallways. But dream logic obeyed grief, not blueprints.

At the far end, a door glowed. Not with light. With memory.

He opened it.

His father stood in the center of the study. Back turned. Hands folded behind him like he always did when lecturing in that calm, amused tone. But this time... he didn't speak.

He burned.

Not screaming. Not writhing. Just silently ablaze. Cloaked in golden fire that didn't consume—but revealed. Joey tried to run to him, but his legs wouldn't move. Tried to shout, but his voice stuck behind his teeth.

The flames flickered once. And then the figure turned.

Not Isendorn.

Not anymore.

Joey's own face stared back at him. Older. Wounded. Eyes like obsidian.

He woke with a jolt, breath sharp in his throat, skin damp with sweat.

Rohan stirred on the balcony perch, tail flicking once like he'd heard the whole thing through their bond. Maybe he had.

Joey sat up, rubbed his temples, and muttered, "Great. A prophetic trauma-dream. It must be Tuesday."

He pushed off the covers and padded across the smooth stone floor to his dresser. Pulled the top drawer open.

The wolf-eye stone Beanca gave him was still there. Polished black. Heavy in his hand.

He stared at it for a long moment. Then smiled—just barely.

They hadn't talked about last night. Hadn't needed to. But the weight of that silence was different now. Not avoidance. Just waiting. Like the moment before a spark.

Beanca's birthday was fun. Sweet. Real.

He thought of Steven's birthday back on August 18th.

If there was one universal truth in New Vroengard, it was this: when Steven Parker turned sixteen, the realm would notice.

The celebration took place in the Spellcaster District's upper gardens—a suspended ring of moon-glass walkways, floating flame-lilies, and willow-lantern trees that trailed bioluminescent streamers over enchanted ponds. It was like stepping into a scene from a dream... or a fevered elven musical.

Naturally, Steven showed up in a cloak he enchanted himself.

Dark velvet, slightly crooked along the seams, with a massive red dragon emblem stitched across the back—in peanut butter-colored rune thread that smelled faintly of toast.

"Oh no," Chyna whispered when she saw it. "He actually did it."

Joey clapped slowly. "And here I thought subtlety was dead."

Steven raised both arms and spun in a dramatic circle. "Feast your eyes, peasants. You stand in the presence of greatness."

"You're going to start attracting birds," Beanca deadpanned.