Chapter One: Ashes in the Wind
The wind carried the scent of smoke long before the villagers saw the flames. Atop the eastern ridge, where the black pines bent like weary sentinels, a red glow pulsed against the dusk, distant yet hungry.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the barley fields, clutching his father's old sword—rusted, too heavy for his arm. His boots sank into the spring mud, and every instinct begged him to run. But he had seen the fire before. In his dreams. In the old woman's bones.
Behind him, Elderglen murmured in worry. Doors slammed shut. Mothers gathered their children close, their eyes flitting to the ridge. The elders spoke of storms or lightning, but Kaelen knew better.
This was no storm. The flame belonged to something ancient. Something that had waited.
A hand fell on his shoulder. "Don't be foolish," said Thalia, her voice as steady as the mountain river, though her eyes betrayed her fear. She was a year older, and already had the mark of the Huntress on her wrist.
Kaelen turned to her. "It's starting, isn't it?"
Thalia didn't answer. She didn't have to. The sigils on her leather bracer glowed faintly in the fading light, and Kaelen could almost feel the hum of old magic beneath the earth.
A shadow passed over the field. High above, something vast and winged wheeled through the clouds. Not a bird. Not a storm.
The fire on the ridge roared higher.
Thalia drew an arrow and notched it to her bow, eyes on the ridge. "We should warn the others. If the fire reaches the southern woods, the river won't stop it."
"It's not the fire that worries me," Kaelen said, tightening his grip on the hilt. "It's what's in it."
Thalia gave him a sharp look. "You sound like Old Marrin, muttering about shadow beasts and forgotten kings."
"Old Marrin was a drunk," Kaelen muttered. "But he wasn't always wrong."