Chapter One – The Road of Ash
Vaelin Kor strode along a desolate road. The shattered remains of his empire lay behind him in the burned earth. The setting sun bled crimson light over a landscape etched with deep scars—a reminder of the ambition that had razed cities and snuffed out hope.
At 6'6″ tall, Vaelin was a towering figure, draped entirely in a dark, tattered cloak. His hood pulled low, he revealed only the cold gleam of his steel-blue eyes—a hardened gaze that no longer cradled warmth. Fastened to his back was The Crimson Warbringer, a relic forged in his fallen world's final moments. The blade's silent weight spoke of broken promises and countless lives lost, a burden he carried without words.
The remnants of advanced civilization had long been replaced by nature's cruel reclamation. Now, under a sky streaked with red and black, the ruined land lay open beneath his heavy steps. Buildings reduced to charred timber, streets cracked into isolation—all bore witness to a past ruled by ruthless order. Yet, even in his solitary march through devastation, the harsh present could not be ignored.
In the distance, the ghost of a village emerged, its collapsed roofs and shattered walls standing as silent sentinels of a long-forgotten community. As Vaelin neared, the air grew thick with the acrid stench of burnt wood and dried blood. Survivors, huddled in the shadows, watched his approach with wary eyes. They remembered both the terror and the ruin his orders had once wrought. Their silence spoke of loss and fear—an unspoken plea for rest amid chaos.
Suddenly, a soft, trembling voice cut through the oppressive quiet. From behind a fallen wall stepped a small boy, no older than ten. His ragged clothes and dirt-smudged face transformed his fearful eyes into vessels of stubborn hope. Clutched in a trembling hand was a broken pendant—a mirror of a cherished token Vaelin's wife had once worn. In that glimmer of shattered metal, the child seemed to clutch onto a promise of protection.
"Please, sir—help us," the boy whispered urgently. His plea was simple and raw, carrying with it the desperation of those left unarmed against the cruelty of fate.
Vaelin paused. His broad frame came to a halt as he regarded the child. There was no time for regret nor an avalanche of memories—only the stark immediacy of need. Without a flourish of words, his gravelly voice broke the silence. "Why do you ask for help?"
The child stepped forward, voice wavering as he spoke. "They're coming. Bandits… raiders. They'll return to take everything. I saw you with your sword. You're our only hope." His words held no illusions about miracles—just a desperate call for protection in a dying world.
A tense hush fell over the ruined village. The villagers, emerging from hiding like silhouettes at dusk, exchanged anxious glances. In that pause, the weight of the past seemed momentarily eclipsed by the palpable threat of the present. Vaelin's features remained unreadable, yet in his measured nod, the promise of action was clear.
Without another word, he straightened his back. "I will help," he said simply. "We'll stand together."
Even as the child's hopeful eyes met his, a distant sound approached—soft, rapid thumping that grew louder. A chill raced along the edge of the quiet evening. Dark figures moved through the gloom beyond the village, their intentions hidden by the gathering night.
Vaelin's grip tightened on the hilt of The Crimson Warbringer as he peered into the encroaching darkness. In that charged moment, amid the ruined shelters and the silent prayer of those around him, fate took a decisive turn. The night was about to break into chaos, and every soul held its breath.
Then a cry cut through the stillness—a sound not belonging to the wind, but to the approaching enemy. Shadowy shapes gained form, and the unmistakable clamor of boots on broken stone signaled that the threat was now upon them.
Vaelin's eyes narrowed as he stepped toward the looming danger. With his back to the frightened villagers and the child's pleading gaze fixed on him, he raised his blade. The moment of decision had come. Would his past finally be eclipsed by an act of protection, or would the night swallow the fragile hope of a people already too familiar with loss?
The first torch flared in the distance. In that instant, silence shattered.