Kael opened his eyes to a world of ash. The air tasted like cold embers. He lay on his back in a flat field of gray dust. His chest rose and fell with a hurt rhythm. Every breath burned like thin fire in his lungs.
He tried to move but his body felt heavy and strange. His arms twitched when he reached toward the sky. His legs would not obey at first. Fear bloomed in his belly. He shut his eyes, gathering courage before he tried again.
When Kael sat up, a swirl of ash drifted across his vision. He shook off more dust and blinked hard. The field around him was empty and silent. No wind crossed the land. No bird cried. Only stillness pressed close, making his heart pound.
A white light hovered at the edge of his sight. It was the sun, pale and hidden behind a cloud of falling ash. Gray flakes drifted down like the last bits of dying snow. Kael rubbed ash from his cheek, tasting grit on his tongue.
He pressed his hand to his chest and froze. Under his shirt, something pressed back. He lifted the cloth and gasped. A spiral mark, etched into soft skin above his heart, glowed faintly. It pulsed once like a slow heartbeat. Warmth spread from that place whenever he touched it.
He let the shirt fall back. His fingers trembled. "What is this?" he whispered into the gray air. The echo of his own voice sounded strange, as if he spoke inside a hollow cave. He did not know his name. He did not know this place. He did not know why a spiral burned on his chest.
He leaned back on his hands and looked around. His boots pressed deep into the dust. He tugged at his shirt sleeve. His clothes felt stiff, like they had slept beneath rubble for many nights. A single strap crossed his shoulder. It led to a bag by his hip.
He reached down and unbuckled the satchel. The leather was cold and rough. Opening the flap let out a small puff of ash. Inside, Kael found three glass vials. Each held an ink that glowed softly: blue like a summer sky, green like fresh leaves, and gold like dawn. He stared at them, puzzled.
Beneath the vials lay a coil of silver thread. The metal shone in the dull light, wrapped in tight loops small enough to slip between his fingers. Even the thread's shine felt out of place here.
He lifted the coil and watched its shine fade in the ash-filtered sun. It felt heavy with promise and worry. He counted the loops with his finger. At the center, a small knot held it all together.
Below the thread lay a leather-bound sketchbook. Its cover bore the same spiral he wore on his chest. He pried it open with care. The pages were blank. Smooth, white paper stared back at him. His breath caught in his throat.
He closed the book and looked again. In the bottom corner of the satchel, a folded scrap of ash-paper waited. He unfolded it with shaking fingers. On the gray sheet, written in dark ink, were four simple words:
Ashmere remembers you.
He read the note twice. Ashmere. The word felt familiar. It tasted like half-forgotten song on his lips. But he could not place the memory, if it was one he had ever known.
He folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt. His palm still burned with the heat from the spiral. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden rush of dread. He stood on unsteady legs and blinked at the field around him.
There was no path. No sign of life. Just a wide plain of gray dust and a trembling stillness. Kael took a step. The world held its breath as his boot pressed into the soft ground. He took another.
A pale line stretched before him, like a ribbon of lighter ash. He followed it without thinking, guided by a sense that something lay ahead. With each step, he saw broken wood ribs poking from the dust, like the skeleton of some great beast. Rusted metal rings lay half-buried.
Kael felt he was not alone in this place of ruin. The fragments scattered across the plain felt like scattered thoughts. He paused at a broken wheel rim and ran his fingers along its jagged edge. It crumbled at his touch, leaving a fine gray powder on his palm.
The line in the dust led him toward a dark stand of trees. Their trunks rose straight and pale, as if carved from bone. The branches tangled high overhead, forming a vaulted ceiling of ashwood. No leaves stirred in the heavy air.
Kael stepped beneath the arches of the trees. His breath came faster now, not from fear but from longing. He felt pulled forward by something ancient and gentle. A quiet melody hummed at the edge of his mind. It was soft as a lullaby sung a long time ago.
He searched the grove for its source. The ashwood bark was smooth and cool. Shadows pooled at the roots. He traced a path deeper into the trees, following the faint singing in his heart.
After some time, the hush of the grove broke with a tinkling sound. It was like a soft bell far off in a dream. Kael's hand shot to his chest, where the spiral glowed in tune with the bell's chime. The pulse in his skin guided him, a gentle heartbeat leading him onward.
He came to a clearing where a single tree stood apart from the rest. Its trunk twisted in a perfect spiral, matching the mark on Kael's body. The tree's bark shimmered faintly, silver under the ash light. Thin strands of moss draped from its lower branches, swaying even though no breeze moved.
Kael's heart hammered in his chest. He could not explain why this tree felt familiar. A deep ache, as old as time, stirred inside him. He stepped forward and laid his palm flat against the trunk. The bark was cool and alive, humming under his touch.
A soft vibration shivered up his arm. The humming became a gentle melody, rising and falling like soft waves. Five notes drifted into his mind, sweet and aching. He closed his eyes and listened, letting the tune wrap around him.
He felt something guiding his hand. Without thinking, he reached for his sketchbook. He opened it to the first page and took the blue ink. The brush tip trembled in his hand. He drew the first note, careful to capture its curve.
When the note appeared on the paper, it glowed a little, as if it recognized itself. Kael held his breath. He dipped the brush again and drew the second note. Each time his pen touched the paper, the air around him seemed to shift.
By the time he finished the fifth note, his hand shook with wonder. The tree's melody stopped, leaving a hush that rang in his ears. Kael set down the sketchbook. He stared at the drawn notes, hardly daring to believe he had drawn them at all.
Then, as if the silence pressed too hard, the melody returned. A single, clear sixth note floated into his mind. It felt different from the first five—bold and certain, like a deep breath after a long holding.
Kael's heart leapt. He picked up the brush again without thought. He drew the sixth note on the page. The ink glowed more brightly. When he laid the brush down, the tree shivered and the air trembled.
A leaf drifted down from the branches above. It landed on the sketchbook and dissolved into ash as soon as it touched the page. Kael closed the book with a snap. The hush deepened. He pressed his hand to his chest. The spiral pulsed once, brighter now than before.
He felt the surge of something new—hope, purpose, and fear tangled together. The note he had drawn was not part of the melody he heard at first. It had come from him, or something buried inside him.
He looked up at the tree. "I don't understand," he whispered. "But I will learn."
He stood with the sketchbook held to his chest. In the distance, the tops of pale towers gleamed through the trees. They spiraled skyward like ribbons of stone. Kael realized the forest of ashwood was giving way to a city he did not know.
His breath caught. He took one more look at the spiral tree, its bark still humming with memory. Then he turned toward the city's call. Each step toward the pale towers made his spiral beat faster.
He left the grove and the spiral tree behind, carrying the sketchbook, the silver thread, and the glowing inks. He carried the note in his shirt—Ashmere remembers you—and the new melody in his mind.
The world ahead felt wide and dangerous. But Kael walked on, his heart filled with the strange lullaby that waited in his blood. The ash field, the silent trees, the veiled song—all of it had led him here.
He would follow the spiral's call. He would learn the tree's tune. And he would find Ashmere—where he belonged, though he could not yet remember why.
Night fell slowly as he climbed a gentle rise. The city lights ahead glimmered like distant stars. Lanterns hung from invisible wires, glowing soft gold against the gray sky. Kael paused at the top of the hill and breathed in that glow.
He felt the spiral's warmth against his chest. His fingers danced over the drawn notes in the sketchbook, and he whispered the melody softly to himself. The tune floated out on the cold air, a single voice in the silent world.
He did not know what awaited him in Ashmere. He did not know what the Rite would bring. He did not know what the Spiralkeepers or the Choir would ask of him.
But he carried a mark and a song no one else could claim. Ashmere remembered him. And now, he would learn to remember himself.
With the first light of dawn, Kael stepped onto the city's cobblestones. The spiral on his chest glowed steady and sure. The sketchbook lay open in his hand. The melody waited on his lips, ready to be sung.
He took a deep breath, feeling every breath catch fire in his lungs. He felt the chill of the city air and the pulse of his own heart. He felt the weight of the silver thread and the promise of the glowing inks.
Kael took his first true step into Ashmere. The city embraced him with silence and shadow, with mysteries tucked into every corner. The spiral on his skin guided him forward.
And somewhere, a veiled lullaby stirred, waiting for his voice to finish its song.
Chapter 1 ends.