The wind howled across the fields of Brumafosca, bending the golden wheat like waves under a stormy sea. Crows danced in the sky, black flecks against an overcast morning. To Kael, age ten and armed with nothing but a stick and an oversized imagination, it felt like the world was warning him of something. But he paid no mind. After all, cows don't feed themselves.
"Hey, Gertha! Move your fat butt!" Kael waved his stick at the laziest cow in the herd. She responded with a slow blink and an unbothered chew.
"Ugh, you're worse than Aunt Marla after stew night," he muttered.
Gertha mooed. Kael took it as a personal insult.
The morning routine was simple: feed the cows, milk the cows, don't step in cow dung. That last part was often the hardest.
As he finished tying up the feed sacks, a sudden scream tore through the air—a shriek so raw, so full of terror, that Kael's heart seemed to freeze.
"Mom?" he whispered.
He dropped the bucket. Milk splashed over his boots. Without thinking, he ran.
The door to the farmhouse hung broken on one hinge. Blood pooled on the wooden floor, staining Kael's path in crimson. He stepped through the entryway like a sleepwalker. The scent of iron and fire hit him all at once. Then he saw his father.
Garren lay sprawled near the hearth, eyes wide open, a slashed wound across his chest. Kael stumbled back, bile rising in his throat.
"No... no..."
A noise in the kitchen—a wet, heavy sound. Kael crept forward. That's when he saw it.
The monster.
Tall, horned, its skin like cracked obsidian, the Gharnok loomed over his mother. She was still breathing. Barely. The creature plunged its claw down one last time.
Something inside Kael snapped. He grabbed the fireplace poker—a black iron rod—and lunged.
He leapt onto the creature's back, screaming, stabbing blindly. Again. And again.
The Gharnok roared, stumbling back. It slammed him into the wall. Kael felt claws rake across his left eye. Pain exploded through his head. Then, darkness.
The last thing he saw before passing out was his mother's hand, twitching.
And the empty space where Lyra, his sister, should have been.
In the void of unconsciousness, Kael dreamed.
A gray sky. Endless ash falling like snow. And standing amidst it, a tall figure wrapped in silence and smoke.
"Little one," the voice said, though the figure did not move. "You did not deserve this world."
Kael tried to speak. No sound came out.
"But I see your heart. I see your fire. It must not die here."
The figure placed a hand on Kael's chest. A burning brand sank into his skin, searing a mark just over his heart.
"I give you what remains of me," the voice said. "But power without purpose is ruin. Do not forget what was taken from you. And do not forget who you are."
Then, silence.
Kael awoke coughing.
Wooden beams above him. A dusty ceiling. The faint scent of herbs. Pain flared behind his eye, but it was still there. His left eye. He reached up and felt bandages. A scar.
"You're lucky, boy," said a rough voice. "Another inch and you'd be talking to worms."
An old man sat nearby, stirring a pot over a small fire. Long white beard, one eye, and a crooked smile that suggested he'd seen too much.
"Name's Oren. Found you in the ruins. House was ash. You were bleeding out on the floor like a gutted pig."
Kael tried to sit up. The pain disagreed.
"My sister... Lyra... Did you see her?"
Oren shook his head. "No girl. But... there were no small bodies either."
Kael's heart lifted.
"And there were tracks. Not beast tracks—wagons. Armed escort, looked organized. That wasn't a raid, boy. That was a targeted strike."
Kael frowned. "Why would they take her?"
Oren stirred the pot again. "Because sometimes, monsters aren't the ones with claws."
"Yes but my parents..." He said in a voice bordering on tears
"Kid I know how you feel, I too have lost loved ones in these ways, but you must not let sadness consume you."said the old man as he looked at the boy with compassion
" I have an idea, kid, I'll train you, I'll teach you everything you need to know to be able to get by on your own, and then when you're ready you'll go on a journey. "
Six Years Later
Kael turned sixteen with a blade in hand and a curse on his breath.
Oren had trained him in everything. Swordplay, survival, magic theory, monster lore, and the fine art of sarcasm.
"Block with your legs, not your face, genius!" Oren barked as Kael flew into a bush.
"I was trying to distract it!"
"Oh good. Maybe next time offer it tea and a chat."
Kael laughed as he stood. His body was lean, scarred, fast. The fire Aelyor had placed in him still burned, giving him strength. But it also whispered. Especially at night.
Over the years, they had hunted beasts, saved a few villages, even burned down a goblin den (on purpose, this time). Kael kept asking about Lyra, but leads were few. All Oren could say was:
"If they took her alive, and they planned it, she's worth something. And as long as she's worth something, she's alive."
It was hope. And that was enough.
One day, during a storm, Kael sat staring into the fire.
"Do you think I'm ready?"
Oren didn't answer at first. Then he nodded.
"You're not the same boy I dragged out of that house. You're faster than most mercs, smarter than half the mages, and dumber than a rock when it comes to women. But yeah. You're ready."
Kael smirked. "What do you mean about women?"
"You'll see," Oren muttered. "One day you'll save some fierce warrior girl from a band of trolls, she'll patch you up, and then you'll be too busy kissing to remember why you started this journey."
Kael threw a pillow at him.
The next morning, Kael packed his gear.
The fireplace poker had been reforged into a short sword, lined with runes. His cloak bore the mark of Aelyor. His scar had faded into a pale, silvery line that burned when he got too close to monsters—or to rage.
"Where will you go first?" Oren asked.
"North. There's a bounty on a slaver caravan. Matches the pattern."
Oren placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Whatever you find, remember what you are. Not what they made you."
Kael nodded.
Then, with the wind at his back and fire in his veins, he stepped into the world.
The Silent God was watching.
And Kael was ready to leave scars of his own.
To be continued...