"The sun slowly rose between the snowy mountains, casting soft golden light through the mist. Down in the valley, birds began to sing, frost started to melt.
On the mountain's cliffside, the mother woke first. She always did.
Her fingers, roughened by years of labor, brushed gently against her husband's shoulder.
"Kael, wake up," she whispered. "It's morning. Today's a big day. You have to go to Master Smith Bruno."
The man groaned, bones creaking, and sat up with a yawn. "Yes... we have to get ready too…"
He turned to look at the children—curled together like puppies beneath a heap of blankets.
"Wake up. The sun is up."
Nyxen sat up reluctantly, rubbing his eyes. Lumi, the youngest, whimpered and rolled over.
"I don't want to get up... I still feel sleepy," she mumbled.
"Papa, let us sleep too… just a little longer?" Arthur pleaded.
Kael smiled, already gathering their things.
"Nyxen," he said to the eldest, "get up. Today we're meeting Master Smith. The Hero Summoning is near. We have to be ready."
Still half-asleep, Lumi slumped against Arthur. The father bent down and lifted Nyxen into his arms as if he weighed nothing, then pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek.
"Bye, Lara," he said. "We'll return by dusk."
He kissed both children's heads and walked out, his son resting peacefully against his chest.
"Good luck, Kael," Lara whispered behind them.
Kael waved back to her.
Down the cliff path they went, the boy's arms curled around his father's neck, warm breath against his collarbone.
Kael hummed a tune—a broken melody from a forgotten village play. The kind of song the poor cling to when hope starts tasting like delusion.
Nyxen stirred.
"Ahh! What... where am I?"
He blinked, then listened quietly to his father humming, the road winding toward the kingdom of Vernvaile.
"Father, why do you always hum that song?" Nyxen asked.
Kael didn't stop walking.
"Because my parents taught it to me. They had nothing. My father used to sing this when he was happy."
"They died when I was very small. I don't remember their faces. Just this song. But whatever little I remember… humming it brings peace to my heart."
Nyxen grinned. "Hehe, I'm excited. I'll sing too!"
And together, father and son hummed down the mountain.
Soon, they reached the edge of the Vernvaile slums, where smoke clung low and the stink of charcoal never lifted.
Master Smith Bruno's forge crouched beside a ruined shrine. The old smith—with a white beard and scarred belly—stood outside, feeding his cow with one hand and scratching himself with the other.
"You're early," he grunted. "That's rare, Kael. Good. We'll start in an hour. Eat. Change. Move fast. We don't have much time."
He glanced at Nyxen.
"Come in. Get inside."
"Okay, Master Bruno," Kael and Nyxen replied together.
Kael helped his son into work clothes. Their aprons were singed, patched, and stained with sweat and old blood. They tied cloths over their mouths and stepped inside.
The forge roared like the mouth of hell. The air shimmered with heat. Metal hissed. The flames burned their faces even from a distance.
Bruno pulled out a glowing rod of iron, pulsing like a living vein.
"Take it," he barked.
Kael gripped the tongs, muscles tightening. Nyxen, now fully awake, raised the hammer. His hands trembled—remembering the voice that had whispered his name last night.
But he focused, eyes fixed on the glowing rod, and began to swing.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The forge rang with every strike. The metal flattened into shape.
A blade was being born—beaten, folded, scorched.
Hours passed.
Nyxen beamed. "Can I hold it? This looks awesome."
Kael chuckled. "No, not yet. Bruno will sharpen it, and then it'll be done. We'll come back tomorrow. Maybe then."
"Then you can try using it. But remember—don't let Bruno find out."
Nyxen pouted. "That grumpy old man..."
"Shhh! What are you saying? Speak softly," Kael said, trying to stay serious. But Nyxen burst into laughter seeing his father's face, and Kael laughed too.
Nyxen placed the blade down, with the sad expression.
"Okay, okay. I won't let him find out."
By late afternoon, the sun turned blood-orange. Bruno raised his soot-blackened hand.
"That's enough. Tomorrow we quench. For now—here. Take this."
He tossed them two silver coins.
Kael blinked. "This is too much. We didn't do enough to earn this."
"Just take it," Bruno muttered. "It'll come in handy. I like your work.
"Earn like this every day... maybe the Heroes will notice. Maybe you'll stop being trash."
He laughed dryly.
Kael bowed slightly. "Yes, we'll work hard."
On the way back—
"Father," Nyxen said quietly, "why do you always bow to Bruno even when he insults us?"
Kael looked at him for a moment.
"Because... sometimes we have to hear what we don't want to hear and Do what we don't want to do."
"People look at us with disgust. But he still pays us. That means something."
Nyxen made a face. But then, at the end of the road, he saw a small candy stall.
"Father! We earned extra today. Can we buy toffees? Lumi and Mother love them."
Kael blinked. Then smiled.
"Yes. Let's."
They stopped at the stall where candy glinted like glass. The boy picked one for each sibling.
They walked on, the father singing the same soft melody again. A song clinging to memory like skin to bone.
Nyxen rolled his eyes. "That song again... whatever."
He started humming too. But his thoughts wandered—to the voice from the night before.
Nyxen in his mind muttered why don't I just tell father
Nyxen
"Father..."
But before he could say more, Kael stopped.
A strange light flickered ahead.
Wrong.
Kael froze.
Past the trees, their village was glowing. and the smoke was covering the clouds
This was a firelight.
No.
No no no nooo—
Kael's blood turned to ice.
Without a word, he lifted Nyxen and began to run.
Ash blew into their mouths. The air tasted like burnt flesh and splintered wood.
And then—screams.
Not the kind from dreams.
Real, jagged, wet, human screams.
Kael ran faster. His boots slammed against cracked earth.
And then—he saw it.
Hell.
Flames devoured roofs. Chickens shrieked. Smoke rose from bodies torn apart.
A woman ran from her hut, hair ablaze, clutching a lifeless baby. She tripped—and a soldier stabbed her in the spine. She twitched. Then stilled.
Another man, intestines trailing behind him, crawled toward a well. A soldier crushed his skull with a boot.
Kael gasped.
"Stay here," he whispered, setting Nyxen behind a tree. "Don't move. No matter what. If I don't return... run."
And he charged in.
He ran into the inferno, eyes burning, lungs choking.
Lara. Arthur. Lumi. Please.
He saw a soldier dragging a little girl—six, maybe seven—by the leg.
"No!!" Kael roared. He snatched a broken axe from the ground and hurled it.
It struck the horse of a man in glowing armor. The animal reared.
Soldiers turned.
"Who dares attack General Mars?!"
The general turned—golden armor, too-white teeth, too-cold eyes and with a big mustache
"You?" he spat. "A rat throwing scraps?"
He raised his hand.
"Catch him."
They beat him.
Fists. Knees. Boots.
He coughed blood. A tooth came loose.
"Why... why are you doing this?" he choked, spotting a goat emblem on their armor.
"We serve the World Nobles," one soldier sneered.
Kael understood then.
He was nothing.
Kael looked at the general. "Have mercy, my lord..."
"Mercy?" Mars dismounted slowly. "Filth like you deserves none."
"Where's his family?" he barked.
"We'll find them," a soldier grinned.
"No! Kill me—but not them. I beg you!" Kael sobbed.
General Mars stepped closer, bent down, and whispered:
"I'll rape your wife in front of you. I'll split your children open like pigs. And when you scream—and then the real fun begins
He stood.
Soldiers dragged someone out of the smoke.
Kael looks at the soldiers dragging a woman
Lara.
Laarraaaa he screamed
Bloodied. Bruised. Coughing. Her hands tied.
Mars looked at kael with a twisted smile on his face . "Found her."
Kael wept, breathless.
He tried to crawl—but a boot crushed his hand.
"Hold him up," Mars said.
Two soldiers grabbed him, forcing him to his knees.
Mars undid his belt.
"Let the lesson begin."
The boy, still hidden, heard screams of his villagers
He clutched the toffee in his fist. Fingers whit
e. Knuckles shaking.
Why is father taking this much time.
He did not move.
Just like his father said.
He did not cry.
Just like his father taught him.
But deep in his chest, something cracked.
A soundless scream.
A seed of hate.
A black star, born.