Smoke curled into the twilight sky, thick and choking.
Kaelen Drayke stumbled through the ruins of Elder Hollow, blood dripping from a shallow cut across his brow. The once lively village was now nothing more than a carcass of charred timber and ash. Every home, every field — destroyed.
"Mother?!"
His voice cracked, raw from smoke and panic. He pushed aside a splintered beam, the wood still hot to the touch, searing his palms. No answer came, only the soft groan of burning wood and the distant screams already fading into memory.
He had never seen the raiders before. They were shadows in the dark, wearing armor blacker than midnight, striking down men, women, and even children without mercy. No banners, no cause. Just slaughter.
A low groan caught his ear. Kaelen spun around.
Near the ruined fountain at the center of town, a figure stirred — Master Garron, the village blacksmith. His once broad frame was crumpled beneath a fallen beam.
"Master!" Kaelen rushed to him, heart pounding.
Garron coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. His hand, rough and calloused, seized Kaelen's wrist with surprising strength.
"Listen, boy," Garron rasped. "They came... for you."
Kaelen blinked. "Me? Why—"
"No time," Garron hissed. His free hand fumbled at his side, pulling free a small, battered locket — one Kaelen had seen him wear all his life, never once opening it.
He pressed it into Kaelen's hand, fingers trembling.
"Take it. Find... the Warden's Tomb... north, beyond the Veilwood."
A shudder ran through the old man. His grip slackened. His eyes dulled.
Kaelen froze, grief clawing up his throat, but the sound of hoofbeats in the distance jolted him back to reality. More raiders. They were not done.
He clenched the locket tight, the metal biting into his skin. His heart thundered with fear and something more. Rage.
Why would anyone destroy Elder Hollow for him?
What secret had been hidden here, in plain sight?
A whisper stirred at the edge of his mind, a voice not his own.
"Run, Kaelen. Live. Awaken."
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Without another glance back, he sprinted into the smoke-choked forest, the locket burning cold against his chest.
The forest swallowed him whole.
Branches slashed at his face and arms as he plunged deeper into the woods, his breaths ragged, his legs aching.
When he finally collapsed beside a fallen log, the village was no longer visible. Only the acrid scent of smoke lingered in the air.
Kaelen fumbled open the locket with shaking hands. Inside, nestled against faded velvet, was a shard of metal — broken, jagged — and an inscription worn by time.
"To the Last Warden: Protect the Flame."
He stared, heart hammering.
Warden?
The Wardens were fairy tales told to children, stories of ancient protectors who once roamed the world when monsters still roamed the land.
No one believed in them anymore.
No one except fools.
And yet...
Kaelen's fingers brushed the shard — and a searing pain lanced through him.
Visions exploded behind his eyes: a battlefield under a crimson sky; a towering beast of shadows; a line of warriors clad in silver and blue, standing against the dark.
He gasped, jerking his hand away. The shard pulsed faintly, as if alive.
The world was not as it seemed.
And Kaelen Drayke's story had just begun.