Guardians of Immortal Keys

Chapter One: A Flickering Flame

The morning sun had just started to graze the horizon when Iñigo Del Fuego, 17, was jolted awake by an unusual sensation—a feeling akin to fire brushing against the nape of his neck. Unfamiliar and unsettling, but with the pressure of his first day at Hartford High looming, he reluctantly pushed it aside. The glaring digits of his clock marked his lateness, emphasizing that time was not on his side.

In a rush, Iñigo braved a cold shower, which did little to calm the persistent burn. He wolfed down some toast, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts about the day ahead. His gaze then caught a photograph of his mother on the kitchen counter, her smile bittersweet. "Miss you, mom," he whispered, a lump forming in his throat. Her passing during his birth had left a lasting scar on his relationship with his father. The conspicuously empty driveway that morning only reinforced Iñigo's suspicion that his father, yet again, had left early or returned late—becoming an all too common occurrence. This realization brought a sharp pang of sadness; Iñigo often felt sidelined by his father, seeing himself as a living reminder of a love lost.

Shaking off these thoughts, Iñigo headed to Hartford High. The school was abuzz, students milling about, their excitement palpable. Amidst the chatter, he caught snippets of a conversation. "Did you hear about the assessment today? I think it's some kind of body check," one student said. "Really? For what?" another queried. "Probably for PE or something," the first student guessed.

Intrigued but preoccupied with the persistent burning at his neck, Iñigo made his way to literature class. The discomfort escalated, and in the midst of a particularly dull lecture, he could no longer bear it. "Excuse me," he blurted out, standing abruptly. "Mr. Del Fuego, where do you think you're going?" the teacher demanded, her tone sharp. "Sorry, I just... need a moment," Iñigo mumbled, rushing out of the room.

In the bathroom, he quickly stripped off his shirt, confronting his reflection—black hair, silver eyes, and now, a strange symbol emerging on his skin, glowing like embers. "What...is this?" he murmured, a mix of fear and fascination in his voice.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Iñigo spun around to see a tall, imposing figure in a military uniform enter. "Can I help you?" the man asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle despite his stern appearance. "No, I... was just leaving," Iñigo stammered, hastily pulling his shirt back on. Their eyes met, a silent exchange passing between them before the man stepped aside, letting Iñigo rush past.

Back in class, the pain had dulled, but a feverish warmth had begun to spread through his body. His palms flickered with transient glimmers. "Must be seeing things," he muttered, glancing around to ensure no one had noticed. Fortunately, they hadn't.

As the class dragged on, Iñigo's concentration wavered, his thoughts muddled by the fever. Eventually, the teacher noticed. "Iñigo, are you okay? You look pale," she said, concern softening her earlier annoyance. "I don't feel so great," he admitted. "Go see the nurse, and take the rest of the day off," she instructed, her tone now compassionate.

In the nurse's office, Iñigo sat, feeling disoriented as the nurse examined him. "You're burning up," she observed, her expression worried. "I'll give you a note for your advisor. Go home and rest, Iñigo."

As he left, a mix of relief and confusion washed over him. The symbol, the military man in the school, his sudden illness—what did it all mean? Unbeknownst to him, he was at the heart of an unfolding prophecy, his destiny intertwined with the world's future.

Stepping into the daylight, the enormity of his unknown journey weighed heavily on him. Unaware of the adventures and challenges that lay ahead, he began his journey home, the fever a blazing sign of the awakening power within him, heralding the start of an epic saga yet to unfold.