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Chapter 1 - Chapter One: The Cursed Boy and the Slient Flame

The wind howled like a dying wolf over the high cliffs of Grith Hollow. Beneath a fractured moon, a lone figure sat atop a crumbling stone outcrop, watching the stars burn in silence.

Irisen Vale had never known peace.

Even before the curse, he had been different. While other children played in the mudflats or chased wild wildroots in the thickets, he heard whispers—soft, ancient voices murmuring in languages no one taught. They came from the wind, from the stone, from the faint warmth that pulsed in his chest like a second heartbeat.

The villagers said he was born wrong.

No soul. No future. Just a hollow child with a dying light.

"Still alive, demon spawn?" came a voice behind him. Sharp, sneering, too familiar.

Irisen didn't turn. "Go away, Ferrek."

"Should've drowned you when you were a babe. Your ma screamed for three days before she finally stopped."

Irisen clenched his fist. The stone beneath him trembled faintly.

Ferrek and his gang of pig-witted brutes didn't know it, but every time they came near, they stoked the thing inside Irisen—the ember that wanted to burn, to break free, to scream.

And one day, it would.

But not yet.

He stood, dusted off his ragged cloak, and began walking back toward the village. Behind him, Ferrek spat in the dirt and laughed. "Keep walking, freak."

The Hollow was dying. Even Irisen could see it now.

The fields no longer grew grain but sprouted blackened thorns. The water from the well tasted of rust. The crows no longer sang—only circled, patient as death.

That night, he slept beneath his straw pallet, trying to muffle the whispers in his ears. But they were louder now, more insistent.

Come to the flame.

You are the key.

Wake us.

Then came the dream.

Fire. Endless fire, brighter than the sun, roaring in an ancient forge beneath the world. Shadows danced in the smoke—gods of war, of wisdom, of ruin. One turned to him with eyes of molten gold.

Find the Everburn Heart. The world can still be saved.

He awoke in a cold sweat. And in the ashes beside the hearth, where no fire had been lit in days, a single coal still glowed.

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