The wind howled through the mountain pass, sharp and cold as a blade. Snow drifted down in lazy flakes, covering the trail behind Aric Stormrune. His boots crunched softly against the frozen path, but he didn't stop. He had learned long ago that stopping meant dying.
The village of Ember Hollow lay quiet beneath the cliffs, its fires dimmed, its people tucked away in silence. It was a forgotten place, tucked far from the eyes of kings and war. That was why Aric's guardian had brought him here. To be hidden. To be safe.
But the dream came again last night.
A burning field. A sword of fire. A voice, calling his name.
Aric… awaken the flame.
He shook his head. Just a dream. That's what Maelis always told him. Just echoes of old stories and restless sleep.
As he stepped into the narrow street, the scent of smoke and cooking meat drifted from a nearby house. Familiar. Comforting. But something felt… wrong. The village was too eerily quiet. Even for Ember Hollow.
Then he saw it—black smoke rising from the western ridge. Not the soft curl of a cooking fire. This was thick, angry smoke. Like a warning.
He dropped his pack and ran.
Past the old well. Past the sleeping market stalls. His breath caught in his throat as he reached the ridge.
The old shrine was burning.
Flames danced over the stones, licking the carved symbols of the Emberblades. The statue of the sword, once proud and bright, now cracked and broken.
Aric's heart pounded. This wasn't an accident.
Then he saw the figure standing in the flames. Cloaked in black, face hidden, hand outstretched.
"Found you," the voice said—deep, cold, and wrong.
Aric stumbled back. But something stirred in his chest. A warmth, slow but growing. Like an ember waking in the ashes.
His hand drifted to the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. The one he'd never drawn. The one Maelis told him to never use.
But the flame inside him whispered: Now.