Prologue:Part 1 – Before the Flames

The village of Duskpine was small, tucked between the dark edge of the Verdant Wilds and the shadow of the Ironfang Mountains. Most who passed through barely remembered it existed. To Kael, though, it was the entire world.

At twelve years old, he thought his life was simple, almost ordinary. His mornings were filled with his father’s stern lessons in swordplay, afternoons with his younger sister Lyra’s laughter, and evenings with the warmth of firelight spilling across wooden walls that smelled faintly of pine. If there was hardship, Kael never saw it—his father, a weathered man with eyes like steel, shouldered it quietly.

Lyra was the heart of their home. Just ten, she carried an innocence that Kael secretly envied. She sang while carrying buckets of water, skipped through the dirt paths barefoot, and had a way of finding beauty even in cracked stones or broken tools. She’d grin at Kael after one of Father’s brutal sparring sessions and whisper, “One day you’ll be stronger than him, you’ll see.”

Kael didn’t believe it. His father was more than a man—he was a wall, immovable, the kind of figure Kael thought could hold back the entire world if it demanded it. But still, Kael trained, sweating, aching, sometimes failing so badly that his wooden sword clattered uselessly to the ground. And yet, Father never allowed him to give up.

“Strength isn’t a gift, Kael,” his father told him once, handing the boy the fallen sword. “It’s a burden. You carry it so others don’t have to.”

Those words etched themselves deep into Kael’s heart. He didn’t fully understand them then, but he felt their weight every time Lyra clung to his arm, asking him to chase fireflies or telling him she dreamed of seeing the great cities beyond the mountains.

Life, though fragile, felt steady. The villagers were kind enough, bound together by necessity more than affection. Rumors came and went of monsters roaming the forests, of beasts drawn closer each year, but none had reached their quiet lives. And though Kael’s father trained him harder than seemed necessary, Kael chalked it up to a soldier’s paranoia—his father’s past was a mystery he never spoke of.

Still, sometimes Kael caught him staring toward the horizon, jaw set, as though expecting storm clouds no one else could see.

One evening, that storm nearly showed itself.

The night air was heavy, unusually still. Kael and Lyra sat by the fire, their father sharpening his blade in silence. The rasp of stone on steel was steady, deliberate. Lyra leaned against Kael’s shoulder, humming softly, her eyes heavy with sleep.

Then—footsteps. Not outside. Inside the house.

A tall shadow filled the doorway. Kael tensed, instinctively reaching for the wooden practice sword leaning nearby. His father was already on his feet, steel flashing in the firelight.

“Stay behind me.” His father’s voice was low, dangerous.

Kael obeyed without hesitation, pulling Lyra close.

The figure stepped into the light, and Kael saw the face of his father’s old friend—Master Veylan, a man who had visited their home countless times. He had trained with Father, shared food with them, even told Kael stories of war and glory by the fire. To Kael, Veylan was nearly an uncle.

But something was wrong. His eyes glowed faintly red in the shadows, and his expression—cold, almost hollow—sent a chill down Kael’s spine.

“Veylan,” Father growled, blade raised, “why?”

The man only smiled faintly. “Because peace was never meant for men like us.”

Kael didn’t understand those words. Not then. But he felt Lyra trembling against him, her small fingers digging into his sleeve. He felt his father’s tension, the way his stance shifted like a wolf cornered by another predator.

That night, the quiet life of Duskpine began to unravel.

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