Chapter 1: The Forgotten Boy
The twin suns dipped behind the sapphire hills of Virelia, casting golden light across the sleepy town of Thalor's Edge. A warm breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient moonfruit tree, and in the distance, dusk-singers began their evening chorus. Beneath that great tree, two boys sat close, their bare feet skimming the wildgrass, hands sticky with juice from stolen fruit.
“Elian,” the younger boy whispered, gripping a red string between his fingers, “promise me we’ll always protect each other, no matter what.”
The older boy gave a soft laugh, brushing messy strands from his friend’s brow. “Always, Lior. I swear it on the stars.”
They wound the red thread around each other’s pinkies, binding their vow with childlike sincerity. It was a promise carved into their bones. A future only they could imagine.
But time devours the innocent. And stars eventually fall.
---
Ten years later.
The spires of Sovareth, capital of the Onyx Territories, gleamed like fangs under the moonlight. A city of power and rot, secrets curled through its veins like smoke. In the heart of it, the Dravenhall Estate loomed—a palace of shadows, all black marble and silence.
In a hidden chamber beneath it, Ruin stood over a corpse, wiping blood from his gloves with eerie precision.
“Elian Veras died long ago,” he had once told himself. “I buried him under the name they gave me.”
Now, he was Ruin—the most feared executioner of the House of Viscari, a syndicate that ruled the underground with cruel elegance. His past had been burned away, and only the blade remained.
“You were messy,” said Don Viscari, lounging on his obsidian throne, swirling a dark liquor in a crystal chalice. A silver pistol rested beside him like a pet.
Ruin met his gaze with cold indifference. “He begged. I listened.”
The Don smirked. “Compassion. How nostalgic. But don’t forget what you are.”
“I never do.”
The Don tossed a leather scroll onto the table. “Your next mark. A man of interest. Very... personal.” His voice curled into something malicious. “You might enjoy this one.”
Ruin unfurled the scroll, expecting the usual: a name, a time, a death. But what he saw instead pulled the breath from his lungs.
A faded ink-drawn portrait.
Lior Kael.
The name hit like a dagger. And suddenly, the shadows around him felt too heavy.
---
Far beyond Sovareth, in the quiet realm of Aurithen.
Nestled in a valley kissed by frost and morning light, the village of Creswyn seemed like a place untouched by cruelty. Cobblestone roads, slow-brewing tea houses, and laughter that rose with the wind.
Lior Kael wiped sweat from his brow and opened the windows of The Hollow Hearth Café. The scent of elderberry bread and brewed hearthroot tea wafted through the streets. He smiled at the peaceful rhythm of this life.
“Lior!” called Mira, his co-worker, laughing. “You’re staring into nothing again.”
He blinked back to the moment. “Just daydreaming.”
She handed him a tray of pastries. “Serve these to the dawnwatchers before they think we’ve turned into ghosts.”
As he stepped outside, sunlight kissed his skin and the wind brushed past his cheeks like a memory. He lived for these small moments—quiet, simple, safe.
And yet... in the back of his mind, a memory clung like smoke.
Two boys beneath a moonfruit tree. A red thread. A vow.
He hadn’t spoken Elian’s name in years. But sometimes, he still whispered it in dreams.
---
That night.
Ruin sat alone in his quarters in Sovareth’s Blackspire Ward, staring at the image of Lior. His fingers found the red thread tied to a broken blade beside his bed. Old, frayed, but never discarded.
He wasn’t supposed to remember.
But how could he forget the only person who ever made him feel human?
Now, Lior was a target. Which meant someone had dug into Ruin’s past.
And in the House of Viscari, no one survived long when love became a weakness.
---
Elsewhere—in a border town infirmary near the Ethervale Divide.
Matheo Kael, Lior’s adopted brother, stumbled into the healing ward, bleeding from a dagger wound. “Help…” he gasped, collapsing at the feet of a startled medic. His satchel hit the stone floor, and a glowing crystal communicator tumbled out.
One name shimmered on its last pulse:
Lior.
---
Back in Creswyn.
The crystal on Lior’s bedside table hummed and glowed violet. He sat up, groggy, until he saw the message projection forming above it.
Urgent. Matheo Kael—critical condition. Patient requests you. Location: Ethervale Divide, Northern Infirmary.
His blood turned to ice.
Throwing on his cloak, he rushed into the moonlit night, unaware that another figure had already begun the journey south from Sovareth.
Destiny was waking. The thread was stirring.
And a forgotten promise was about to be remembered.
