The first light of morning spilled across the rooftops of Valora, painting the city in warm hues of gold and rose. The cobbled streets, still damp from last night's drizzle, glistened beneath the waking sun. From the harbor, the scent of brine mingled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, while the voices of early merchants rose in songlike rhythm—bargains struck, laughter shared, and coins clinking into open palms. Valora was a city alive, pulsing with trade and rumor, and it was within this chorus of life that Kael Valtor began his day.
Seated at the window of his modest family home, Kael stretched his arms wide, yawning as the cool breeze tousled his mess of blonde hair. His amber-hued eyes, bright yet restless, scanned the awakening streets. Seventeen summers had shaped him into a young man with more curiosity than certainty, and though life in Valora offered stability, his heart longed for something unnamed.
From below drifted the soft hum of his mother's voice. Elara, her dark hair threaded with silver, moved gracefully in their small kitchen, stirring a pot of porridge. Each note she sang carried warmth, grounding the home in comfort. Across from her sat Beron, Kael's father. Once a soldier and now a clerk at the docks, Beron's broad shoulders had narrowed with age, but his sharp eyes still held the vigilance of a man accustomed to watching over others. He sipped tea from a chipped cup, his silence steady as stone.
Kael bounded down the narrow steps. "Morning!" he called, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Elara glanced up with a smile. "There you are. Sit, before it cools."
Beron lowered his cup, his mouth quirking in a faint grin. "And remember, lad—Master Duren expects you at the forge today. If you wander off again, you'll find yourself on the wrong end of his hammer."
Kael groaned good-naturedly as he sat. "I'll be on time, I promise."
His father raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. Still, Kael dug eagerly into his bowl, the familiar taste of oats and honey filling him with warmth. Their mornings were simple, yet within that simplicity lay a sense of belonging he often took for granted.
After a moment, Elara spoke softly. "Kael, your father and I have been talking about your future."
The spoon paused halfway to his lips. "My future?"
Beron set his cup aside. "You've a knack for the forge, boy. Master Duren says your hands are steady, and your strikes true. Perhaps one day, you'll take over the smithy yourself."
Kael shifted uncomfortably. "And if I don't want to be a blacksmith?"
Elara met his eyes with gentle firmness. "Then what do you want, Kael?"
He opened his mouth but faltered. The truth fluttered in his chest like a bird—desires for distant horizons, for purpose beyond steel and fire. Yet he couldn't frame them in words. "I… don't know," he admitted at last.
Beron gave a slow nod. "It's enough for now. But soon, you'll need to choose—and whatever path you take, walk it with both feet."
Kael swallowed the last of his porridge, the sound of cathedral bells rolling through the city streets. They called the faithful to prayer, but for Kael, they stirred only unease. He rose quickly. "I'll head to the forge early today."
Elara touched his cheek with a smile that reached her eyes. "That will please Master Duren."
---
Valora, alive in daylight, was a festival of colors and sounds. Merchants draped their stalls with silks of crimson and sapphire. Spices perfumed the air—cinnamon, saffron, pepper sharp enough to sting the nose. Children darted between carts, laughing as they chased one another, while dockworkers shouted orders over the creak of laden wagons. Yet beneath the liveliness lingered whispers of unease: raiders on southern borders, shadows of unrest that even Valora's thick walls might not keep out.
The clang of hammer on anvil greeted Kael as he entered the forge. Master Duren, his arms thick as oaken beams, glanced up with a grunt. "You're late."
Kael grinned. "Only by a breath."
"Then make it up by working twice as hard. The bellows won't pull themselves."
Kael rolled up his sleeves and joined the rhythm. Fire roared, iron glowed, and sparks leapt like fireflies as hammer met steel. The heat pressed in, stifling, but Kael lost himself in the cadence. Each strike was a small act of creation, and for a time, he felt at peace.
But peace fractured when the forge door opened.
A tall man entered, robed in dark velvet embroidered with silver threads. Two armored retainers flanked him, their faces blank as polished shields. The noble's eyes, cold and calculating, swept the room.
"Master Duren," he said, his voice smooth, practiced. "I require a blade reforged. The crest of House Valerius must be etched into the steel."
Duren bowed stiffly. "Of course, Lord Valerius."
Kael's hands stilled. He had heard the name in hushed tones at the docks. Valerius—known as much for his charm as for the ruin left in his wake.
The lord's gaze landed on him. "Your apprentice?"
"Aye, my lord," Duren replied. "Kael Valtor."
The noble's eyes sharpened. "Valtor? Related to Beron Valtor of the docks?"
Kael forced himself to meet his stare. "He's my father."
Valerius's lips curved, though the smile never touched his eyes. "Tell your father the ledger must balance before month's end. Late payments… displease me."
Kael stiffened, heat rising in his chest. "Yes, my lord."
With a sweep of his cloak, Valerius turned and departed, his retainers silent shadows at his back. The forge's warmth now felt suffocating.
"Pay him no mind," Duren muttered, though his jaw was tight. "Lords see only coin."
---
That evening, twilight washed the city in shades of violet and gold. When Kael returned home, he found his mother by lamplight, mending cloth with steady hands.
"You're late," Elara said softly.
"Lord Valerius came to the forge," Kael murmured. "He spoke of Father's debt."
Her hand stilled, needle trembling. "I see. Thank you, Kael. Leave that matter to us."
"Is Father in trouble?"
Before she could answer, Beron entered, shoulders heavy with fatigue. He offered a tired smile. "Worry not, son. Valerius may roar, but we've weathered worse storms."
Kael wanted to believe him. Yet when he lay in bed later, moonlight casting pale bars across the floor, unease gnawed at him. He dreamed of black wings blotting out the sun, of whispers threading through the dark, of stone steps slick with blood.
He woke gasping before dawn.
Downstairs, he found Elara at the window, watching the sky soften from gray to rose. She turned, smoothing his hair as she had when he was small. "A nightmare?"
Kael nodded. "The city… swallowed by darkness."
Her hand lingered on his cheek. "Dreams often carry truths our hearts already know."
"Do you think something is coming, Mother?"
Her eyes, filled with sorrow, searched his. "The world is changing, Kael. But even when night falls, remember—light survives so long as someone carries it."
Outside, Valora stirred awake once more. Bells tolled. Merchants shouted. Life pressed onward, blind to the shadows edging closer. And Kael Valtor stood in the middle of it all—suspended between innocence and the storm that would one day shatter it.