The village hadn't seen a new face in weeks, maybe months. But this man wasn't just new—he was wrong in all the ways that made animals fall silent and firelight dim.
Rivan stood frozen as the stranger stepped closer, his long gray cloak brushing against the dust of the village square. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved like someone who didn't just walk through danger—he welcomed it. Dust clung to his boots, and a faint smell of smoke followed him like a shadow.
"You look just like him," the stranger said again, his voice low and rough with years of silence.
Rivan stared. "Like who?"
The man reached into his cloak and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. With deliberate care, he unwrapped it, revealing a broken medallion. It was scorched, half-shattered, but unmistakable. A flame-shaped crest, partially enclosed in a crown.
Rivan's breath caught. He had seen this before—in the dream. Carved into the obsidian throne, etched on the flaming armor of the figure who called him mine.
"This," the stranger said, "belonged to your father. And now it belongs to you."
Rivan took a step back, heart pounding in his chest. "I don't… I don't even know my father."
"You will," the man said quietly. "Sooner than you think. Because they have found you."
"Who are they?" Rivan demanded. "What are you talking about?"
The stranger opened his mouth to answer—but paused. His head tilted slightly, like a wolf catching a distant scent.
Behind Rivan, a slow creak echoed across the square. Old Marn had emerged from the mist, his cane tapping against the cobblestone. His eyes, usually dim with age, were sharp now—focused on the stranger with something close to hate.
"Rivan," Marn said tightly, "come to me."
The stranger didn't flinch. "Stay where you are, boy."
"You've brought death with you," Marn growled, raising his cane.
"I brought a warning," the stranger said. "And a sword."
"You should've stayed gone, Kael."
Rivan turned, startled. "You know him?"
"I knew him," Marn replied, bitterness seeping into his voice. "Before he led your father into ruin."
Kael's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Before anyone could speak again, a sound cracked through the air like thunder.
A scream.
Not human. Not animal.
A sharp, metallic howl that tore through the morning mist and froze blood in the veins.
Rivan spun around, eyes searching the treeline. A low tremor ran through the earth, subtle but growing.
Then the sky began to darken—not like a storm, but something worse. Clouds thickened unnaturally fast, swirling above like a whirlpool of smoke.
From the forest's edge, they came.
Clad in armor that looked forged from scorched bones and blackened iron, tall, faceless, and swift—the Ashborn.
They moved like shadows, silent and graceful, each one carrying a twisted blade that dripped with black heat. Their eyes glowed like embers in a dead fire.
Rivan's mouth went dry.
"What are they?" he whispered.
Kael's sword was already drawn, a long, curved blade etched with crimson runes that pulsed faintly. "Killers. Hunters. Remnants of the ones who destroyed your bloodline."
Marn raised a shaking hand. "We have to run—"
"No," Kael said flatly. "We stand."
One of the Ashborn let out a piercing screech and lunged.
Kael met it mid-charge. His blade moved like lightning, slicing clean through the creature's side. It howled and disintegrated into a cloud of smoldering ash.
Another leapt from the side. Kael turned, blocked with his bracer, and drove his sword upward into its skull. Fire burst from its eye sockets before it crumbled to dust.
But one of the Ashborn didn't stop to fight Kael. It ran straight at Rivan.
His body froze. Every muscle screamed to move, but his feet were planted like roots. The Ashborn raised its blade, eyes blazing.
And then—
Flames.
A ring of fire exploded outward from Rivan's body. A deafening roar of heat and wind followed. The Ashborn never reached him—it was incinerated mid-air, screaming as it dissolved into embers.
Rivan collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, his heart slamming against his ribs. His hands glowed orange, heat radiating from his skin. The grass around him was gone—blackened into charred earth.
Kael turned slowly, staring not in surprise, but in grim certainty. "It's starting."
Marn knelt beside Rivan, fear and awe etched into his old face. "Rivan… are you hurt?"
He shook his head. "I… I didn't mean to. I didn't try. It just—happened."
"You awakened," Kael said, sheathing his sword. "The fire within you acted on instinct. It protected you."
Rivan looked down at his hands. "I could've killed everyone."
Kael shook his head. "No. Fire follows will—and your will was survival."
"But this... this isn't normal. This isn't right."
Marn looked at Kael sharply. "He's not ready."
"He doesn't have a choice," Kael replied. "The Ashborn know where he is now. They'll be back. With worse."
Rivan stood slowly, his legs trembling. "What do they want with me?"
"They want to extinguish what's left of your bloodline," Kael said. "You're the last heir to a throne they turned to ash."
"I'm no heir. I'm just a farmhand. I don't know magic. I can't fight."
"You will," Kael said firmly. "Because if you don't, this entire valley will burn. Eldhollow will be the first."
Rivan looked back at the village. Doors were shut, windows locked, smoke curling from chimneys where frightened families sat in silence. The people who had always watched him with wary eyes… were the same people who might die because of him.
He clenched his fists. "Where do we go?"
Kael met his gaze. "East. Beyond the Veiled Forest. To the ruins of Emberhold—the last stronghold of your ancestors. The fire still remembers its kings."
Marn grabbed Kael's arm. "If you take him east, there's no turning back."
"There never was," Kael said.
Rivan turned to the old man. "Should I trust him?"
Marn looked at him, truly looked at him. "You already burned a creature to ash without a single word. If you don't go with him… you'll burn yourself next."
Rivan nodded slowly. The heat inside him had dulled, but it hadn't left. It waited.
He faced Kael. "Let's go."
Kael gave a slight nod. "We leave at nightfall. Travel by shadow."
As they turned to leave, Rivan glanced at the smoldering ashes left behind by the Ashborn.
A strange thought crossed his mind—unbidden, but clear.
That fire felt… right.
To be continued...