The flames of rebellion leave a mark. But sometimes… they leave a price tag too.
---
It started the morning after they escaped the Scourge Riders.
The Iron Howl rumbled into a battered border outpost town called Rustfell—a crooked cluster of metal huts, smoke stacks, and market tents swaying under a burnt-orange sky. The place smelled of engine oil, dust, and secrets.
Kaen didn’t like it.
“Too quiet,” he muttered, his crimson chains twitching around his arms like wary snakes.
Ryker stretched as he stepped down from the Howl, boots kicking up sand. “That’s ‘cause the last idiot who messed with the Dominion got buried here.”
Kess raised a brow. “You sound like you’ve been here before.”
“I have,” Ryker said with a grin. “Let’s just say… I made an impression.”
---
They hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the open marketplace before the whispers began.
“That’s him…”
“The crazy bastard from the Dune Vault…”
“The Sovereign Flame…”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
And then—
> BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
A transmission blared from every vendor screen and dusty hologram tower. A crackling voice followed:
> “By decree of the Dominion Bureau of Order, a new bounty has been issued—dead or alive.”
The image flickered… and there it was:
> RYKER VAEL
Alias: Sovereign Flame
Threat Level: Red Priority
Bounty: 1,000,000 DUNARIS
A stunned silence settled across the town square.
Ryker stared up at the screen. Kess froze mid-bite of her dusty bread roll. Kaen’s jaw tensed.
And then…
Ryker grinned.
---
The silence exploded into chaos.
Every bounty hunter, merc, and black-market thug in Rustfell turned their heads toward him with the same gleam in their eyes.
“Yup,” Ryker muttered, cracking his knuckles. “Definitely made an impression.”
---
The first wave came fast—blades and bullets flying through the air. Kaen’s chains moved like lightning, shielding Ryker as Kess vanished into the smoke, reappearing behind attackers with daggers slicing tendons and throats.
Ryker didn’t even draw a weapon at first. He just moved—ducking, flipping over crates, slamming enemies into walls with brutal momentum and gritted teeth.
Then he yanked a pipe from the ground and swung it like a bat.
“First million’s always the hardest!” he shouted.
---
Ten minutes later, the dust settled.
Bodies groaned on the floor. Vendors cowered. One man tried to crawl away before Kaen’s chain whipped out and yanked him back.
Ryker stepped up to the flickering bounty board screen and stared at his own face.
“I look better in person,” he said, wiping blood from his jaw.
Then something unexpected happened.
A kid. No older than ten. Dirt on his cheeks, one eye bruised. He stepped out from behind a stall… and offered Ryker a broken glass shard.
“Here. It’s not much. But if you’re gonna keep fighting… you might need it.”
Ryker knelt, took the shard, and gave the kid a fist bump.
“Thanks, kid. What’s your name?”
“Thane.”
“Well, Thane…” Ryker stood, shard in hand. “Next time I come back, maybe you’ll be the one with a bounty.”
The kid grinned.
---
They left Rustfell before reinforcements arrived, the Iron Howl blazing westward into the horizon. But the world… had already begun to change.
---
In a dark Dominion tower, a cloaked figure watched the bounty transmission playback. A glass of black wine swirled in her hand.
> “He’s unmarked. A nobody. And yet he activated the Vault. This Ryker Vael…”
Her lips curled into a smile.
> “Let’s see how far you’ll burn… before I snuff you out.”
---
And far beyond the sandlands, in a floating fortress city…
A red-haired warrior with a black coat and no tech implants sipped from a battered flask and watched the same bounty on a flickering old screen.
He smirked.
“He reminds me of the old days,” he whispered.
“Captain Valen,” someone called from behind. “Should we interfere?”
Valen turned, his eyes burning with a quiet fire.
“No. Let the fire spread.”
---
