Prologue — The Last Ember
The sky of Erindale cracked open the night the boy awakened.
A river of stars shimmered above the kingdom, yet none could ignore the pillar of light rising from the eastern cliffs—blue, blinding, pulsing like a heartbeat. The High Scribes called it an omen. The common folk called it a curse.
But deep within the ancient ruins stood a boy with eyes aflame.
His breath steamed in the cold air as raw power spiraled around him, tugging at the edges of reality itself. Behind him towered an armored colossus—wings of molten fire, metal plates etched with forgotten runes, and a face carved in the likeness of a fallen god.
The sentinel moved without sound.
Its glowing gaze swept the horizon as if remembering an eternity long buried. The boy did not flinch. If anything, he looked… connected to it. As though the creature's awakening had triggered something in him as well.
And in that moment—across kingdoms, across empires, across every sanctum where magic still dared to breathe—
the ancient prophecy stirred.
"When the Ember-Bonded rises, the world shall split between salvation and ruin."
The boy knew none of this.
All he knew was that the thing behind him had spoken his name.
A name he hadn't heard since the night his village burned.