Mist clung to the valley like a living thing, drifting between jagged peaks dusted with snow, curling around ancient pines and silvered rocks. The air hummed with magic older than stone itself, a latent pulse that whispered through the heart of Eldrath. Here, the Emberkin lived—a secluded people who bent fire to their will as naturally as one might breathe.
Among them was Kaela, sixteen, with eyes like molten amber and a spirit far too restless for the quiet order of her village. She had a gift most Emberkin only dreamed of: shaping fire into tools, blades, even tiny dancing sparrows that flitted along her shoulders. But her talent, though brilliant, was recklessly wild. The elders, wary of her strength, forbade her from practicing beyond simple sparks.
