Chapter 1: The Boy Who Should Have Died
The rain had fallen without mercy for three days.
Ashbrook Village lay in ruins.
Broken homes smoldered beneath the endless downpour, their charred beams collapsing one after another. The smell of blood lingered in the cold air as frightened cries slowly faded into silence.
The bandits had left.
Or so everyone believed.
Beneath the twisted roots of an ancient dead oak, a young man stirred.
“…Where…”
Charles opened his eyes.
A violent cough escaped his lips as he rolled onto his side, spitting mud and blood onto the soaked earth.
His chest…
His eyes widened.
The spear wound that had pierced straight through his heart had vanished.
Only a strange black mark remained above it.
It resembled an ancient flame.
At its center rested a crimson eye that pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
Charles touched it carefully.
“What is this…”
A deep voice echoed within his mind.
“At last…”
Charles froze.
His breathing stopped.
The voice hadn’t come from the forest.
It came from inside him.
“Who’s there?”
Silence answered.
Then…
A slow laugh filled the darkness of his mind.
“Thousands of years…”
“I have waited thousands of years.”
Charles stumbled backward until his back struck the dead tree.
“You…”
His voice trembled.
“Am I dead?”
“You were.”
The words struck him harder than the spear.
Images flooded back.
The flames.
The screams.
His father standing before the village gate with a broken sword.
His mother pushing him toward the forest.
“Run, Charles!”
Then…
Darkness.
Charles clenched his fists.
“They killed everyone…”
The voice became calm.
“Then become strong enough that no one will ever do so again.”
The black mark glowed.
Golden flames erupted.
Later a screen appeared:
Ember Legacy Activated
Host: Charles
Realm: Mortal
Bloodline: 1% Primordial Ember
Inherited Ability: Flame Sense
Trial: Survive Until Sunrise
Reward: Continue Living
Failure: Death
Footsteps approached.
The bandits had returned.
Charles picked up his father's broken sword.
“Come.”
“This time… I’m waiting.”