Chapter 1: The Mark of the Cinder
The forge was the heart of the village — a heart that beat with the roar of flame and the clang of hammer on steel. Kaelen wiped sweat from his brow as he leaned over the anvil, the red glow of the heated iron casting shadows across his face. The air stank of soot and burning wood. He had been at the forge since before dawn, shaping plowshares and mending blades for the border guards.
"Boy!" barked Master Tharn, the smith, his voice rough as gravel. "The iron cools faster than your hands move. Again!"
Kaelen gritted his teeth and raised the hammer. His arms ached, but he swung anyway, feeling the strike ring through his bones. Sparks flew, dancing in the dim workshop like fireflies.
Beyond the forge walls, the sky darkened. Not from the setting sun — not yet — but from smoke. Kaelen froze. A low rumble echoed over the hills.
Master Tharn stiffened. "Ashspawn," he said, almost a whisper.
Kaelen dropped the hammer. "But they never come this far north…"
"They do now. Go, boy. Find your mother."
Kaelen didn't argue. He ran, his boots kicking up dust as he fled the forge. The village of Greythorn lay sprawled between blackened fields and the edge of the forest. It was small, no walls, no defenses beyond a handful of half-trained guards. And already, he could see them — shapes in the smoke, twisted mockeries of wolves and men, their bodies wreathed in cinders, eyes like burning coals.
Screams tore through the air as the first huts went up in flames. A man fell, throat torn open by a creature with jaws of molten stone. Kaelen ducked behind a crumbling stone fence, his heart hammering.
"Kaelen!"
The voice was his mother's. He turned to see her running toward him, hair loose, eyes wide with terror. But before she could reach him, an Ashspawn lunged. Its claws raked her side, and she fell with a cry.
"No!" Kaelen sprinted to her, grabbing a fallen branch and swinging wildly. The creature snarled and drew back, wary of the fire-touched wood.
His mother's breath came shallow. Blood stained her tunic. She reached up, fingers brushing his cheek. "Run… you have to run…"
"I'm not leaving you!" Kaelen shouted.
But she was already slipping away, eyes glassing over. And around him, the village burned.
A hand seized his arm, pulling him back. An old woman — blind in one eye, cloaked in rags — the village seer. "The time is now, child of cinder," she rasped. "Your mark awakens."
"I don't understand—"
She pointed to his forearm. There, beneath the soot and grime, a scar he'd carried since birth glowed faintly — like embers in the dark. A twisting, flame-shaped brand.
"The Spear… the Sunforged Spear…" the seer whispered. "Only it can end the Dragon King's reign. You must seek it, or all will burn."
A roar split the night. The ground trembled as something vast moved beyond the smoke — a beast larger than any Kaelen had ever seen. A glimpse of scale, of claw, of eyes like suns. A lesser dragon, perhaps, a servant of the King.
The seer shoved Kaelen toward the woods. "Go! Destiny calls!"
Kaelen hesitated — but another roar, another gout of flame, sent him running. He fled into the trees, the sounds of destruction fading behind him, replaced by the whisper of wind in the branches and the pounding of his own heart.
He ran until his legs gave out. He fell to his knees beside a stream, gasping. His reflection stared back at him — a boy of sixteen, dark hair wild, eyes wide with fear. And on his arm, the scar glowed softly, as if lit from within.
"What am I supposed to do?" he muttered, voice shaking.
The wind seemed to answer, carrying the smell of smoke, the memory of fire. The world was burning — and somehow, he was part of it.
Kaelen clenched his fists. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't go back. He had to move forward. Toward the Spear. Toward the Dragon King.
Toward his fate.
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🌟 The journey had begun.