"Run! Get the children out of here, now!"
The command rang out like a blade splitting the air. Firelight danced in the eyes of terrified villagers, their silhouettes flickering as they scrambled through the narrow streets. Ash fell like snow from the sky above Danigrasse Vale, drifting on smoky currents from the distant, still-burning remains of Morrin's Outpost.
The explosion hours before had ruptured the stone silence that usually guarded the Vale's mornings. It hadn't just shaken the land; it had shaken the belief in safety.
Smoke lines stretched across the southern horizon. The ash winds had reached them now, blackening the sky and settling on roofs, clothes, and skin. The air was bitter and dry, filled with the sting of burnt wood and twisted metal.
"Water buckets; form a line! Don't wait for the rivers to rise!" shouted another voice from atop the Hall ramparts.
Elder Varros Danigrasse stood at the gate, his face grave. His eyes flicked constantly between the smoke trails and the southern trails. Behind him, warriors gathered. Some returned injured. Others bore news.
"The fire reached the Breathstone vault," reported one scout, limping on a wrapped leg. "It melted part of the cliffside. Whatever was inside… it's lost."
"Casualties?" Varros asked.
"Twenty. Maybe more. Most of the outpost is gone."
Morrin's Outpost had been a vital link in the Ashen Flame territory. It stored one of the few known caches of stabilized Breathstone ancient tech power sources. To lose it was not just a blow to resources, but to pride, to stability.
Some believed it was an accident.
Others whispered darker theories: sabotage, rebellion, divine wrath.
A murmur passed through the people gathering in the square.
Then came the horn.
A clear, long blast from the forest trail.
Someone was returning.
A small figure appeared at the edge of the trees, dragging behind him a crude sled of animal hide and rope. On it lay the massive corpse of a tusk-back, its blood still staining the furs deep red.
Gasps echoed.
"It's the trial boy."
"Azrael."
"He… he brought it down?"
The crowd shifted.
Azrael looked like a ghost. Pale, ragged, face stained with soot and blood. He limped slightly, his left hand clutching the rope with trembling strength. His good eye was bloodshot. His posture was hunched—not in shame, but exhaustion.
He said nothing as he passed the crowd. Not even as they parted to let him through.
Varros watched him approach.
The boy stopped three paces from the gate and let go of the rope.
Azrael raised his chin, looking his father in the eye.
"I have completed the hunt."
Varros studied him.
"You are injured."
"Yes."
"You killed it alone?"
"Yes."
A long pause followed. Then, the elder stepped forward. He laid a hand on Azrael's shoulder.
"Then you are no longer a boy."
The watchers stirred. A few muttered disbelief. A few clapped once or twice. Most stood in stunned silence.
Janis stepped forward, her face split with a wide, stunned grin.
"You did it," she whispered, pulling him into a brief, tight hug. "You actually did it."
Azrael didn't hug back. He just let himself be held.
"I thought I was going to die."
"You didn't."
---
Inside the Hall, the elders convened.
Azrael stood outside, wrapped in a fur blanket, bandaged and silent. Janis sat beside him. The distant fires of Morrin still painted the sky a dull orange.
The door creaked.
A woman stepped out. She wasn't from Danigrasse her robes were different, dyed black and white with patterned rings along the sleeves.
"Who is that?" Azrael whispered.
"Messenger from Monochrome," Janis replied. "Umbros, maybe. That's high rank."
The woman moved with grace, her face half-covered with a silk veil.
She walked directly toward Azrael.
"You are the hunter who slew the tusk-back?"
Azrael nodded.
She tilted her head. "I watched from the treeline. Few men strike with desperation and succeed. You did."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Veyna," she said. "I am a Seeker."
Janis's brows rose. "That's not a common title."
"No," Veyna agreed. "It's a rare one. I study divine signs in places where the world breaks. Morrin's explosion summoned me. But it seems I found something else here."
She looked at Azrael intently.
"There is something strange about your aura, hunter."
"I don't… feel strange."
"You will."
---
That evening, the mood in the village was complicated. Celebratory horns sounded for Azrael's successful hunt, but they were muted by the ongoing mourning. The Council had officially recognized his trial, granting him adulthood and the right to bear the Danigrasse crest. But talk of the explosion, of divine wrath, hung thicker than smoke.
In the feast hall, warriors drank and shared news. Azrael sat at the edge, poking at his food. Janis stayed nearby, fiercely protective.
"I don't know how to feel," he said quietly.
"You don't have to feel anything," Janis replied. "You're alive. You proved yourself."
"I didn't prove anything."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I didn't win because I was skilled. I won because I got lucky. Because I got desperate."
"Luck counts. Desperation counts."
He shook his head. "Then what separates us from beasts?"
Before she could answer, the doors opened.
Varros entered. And beside him Veyna.
The crowd went silent.
"She wishes to speak," Varros announced.
Veyna stepped forward.
"I bring word from Umbros," she began, her voice clear despite the low tone. "The Monochrome Seers foresaw a tremor at Morrin. But not this scale. This event changes many paths."
"What caused it?" someone shouted.
"Not Breathstone failure," she said. "No accident. Something was stirred. Something old."
"Sabotage?"
"Perhaps. But sabotage of divine nature."
A chill swept through the room.
"We believe a Relic was awakened or destroyed. And in doing so, cracked a vein of ancient Echo."
"Which one?" Varros asked.
"We don't know yet."
"But why here?" said Barek, stepping forward. "Why near Danigrasse?"
Veyna turned her gaze to Azrael.
"I intend to find out."
Azrael stiffened.
"Why me?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
Not yet.
---
That night, as the fires burned low, Azrael sat outside again. Same stone bench. Same haunted thoughts.
Veyna joined him.
"I once thought I would die young," she said.
Azrael blinked. "You?"
"Yes. My people don't usually live long. The power we touch consumes us. But I survived. And now I look for patterns in people. You have one."
"A pattern?"
"You hide pain. You fear expectation. But you act anyway. That makes you dangerous."
Azrael scoffed. "I'm not dangerous."
She smiled faintly. "You killed a tusk-back."
"Barely."
"Barely is still alive."
He looked up at the stars.
"You think whatever happened at Morrin has something to do with me."
"I don't know yet. But I want to watch what you become."
He said nothing.
She stood.
"Sleep, Azrael. You've crossed a threshold. Whether you meant to or not."
He didn't answer.
But the stars above seemed to burn brighter.
And somewhere, deep in the ruins of Morrin, something pulsed.
Something that once knew his name.