The wind always smelled faintly of smoke in Ashveil.
Some said it was because of the forest fires that rolled through every summer. Others whispered that the earth itself still remembered burning, back when the skies were black and the old kingdoms fell. Luka had stopped wondering which was true. The smoke was just… there. Like the uneven cobblestones on Main Street or the battered wooden gates that were more patchwork than plank.
He adjusted the leather strap of the satchel over his shoulder, ignoring the way it bit into his skin. A delivery run wasn't supposed to take all morning, but Old Harren insisted on packing every message into one trip.
"Luka!" a voice called from behind.
He glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch a small loaf of bread flying through the air. He snatched it one-handed.
Mira, the baker's daughter, grinned at him from her stall. "Don't think I didn't see you skip breakfast again."
"I didn't skip—" Luka started, then thought better of lying. "Thanks."
"Eat it before it goes cold. And tell your mother she still owes me for last week's rolls!" Mira called, already turning back to another customer.
Luka took a bite, savoring the warmth. The crust flaked in his mouth, mingling with the faint tang of the smoke-laced air. For a moment, everything was simple. Just another day in Ashveil.
He delivered Harren's letters through the morning — the Guard barracks, the market stalls, the small schoolhouse where children recited their letters louder than necessary. Each person had their own routine, their own space in this rebuilt town that clung stubbornly to life on the edge of the frontier.
It wasn't perfect. The wooden palisade was barely higher than two men stacked on each other's shoulders. The Guard roster was thin. Aetherlamps flickered more often than they stayed lit. But Ashveil was home.
By midday, Luka's route took him past the east gate, where the open plains stretched until the sky met the earth. The grass out there was waist-high, swaying in a restless rhythm. Everyone knew better than to wander too far.
"Shift change already?" Luka asked the guard at the gate.
The man — Garrin, with a half-healed scar across his temple — shook his head. "Scouting party's late. They should've been back by now."
Luka frowned. The scouts didn't miss schedules unless something was wrong. "Think they ran into…?"
Garrin didn't answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the plains.
Luka moved on, but unease curled in his stomach.
By the time he reached Harren's shop to return the empty satchel, the sun had begun its slow slide toward the horizon. Luka lingered outside, looking west where the light spilled gold over the rooftops. He should've gone straight home. His mother hated when he was late. But the quiet weight in the air told him something was coming — and his feet carried him back toward the east gate.
That was when the shouting started.
He broke into a run.
From the top of the wall, Garrin was bellowing orders. The other guards scrambled to crank the winches that lowered the iron grille.
"Invaders?" Luka called up, breathless.
"Not human," Garrin barked.
Luka felt his pulse spike.
Shapes emerged from the plains, weaving between the grass — not walking, but gliding, as if the ground barely touched them. They were dark, but not in color alone. They seemed to swallow the fading light, their edges blurring into the air around them. The grass they passed through turned brittle, curling in on itself.
Black Invaders.
Luka had only seen them from a distance before, shadows skirting the horizon. But now they were close enough for him to see the hollowness where eyes should've been, the way their limbs bent wrong, like broken branches forced to move.
The grille slammed down with a heavy clang. The first Invader hit it a heartbeat later, the impact rattling the gate's frame.
"They never come this far in daylight," Garrin muttered from above. "Something's pushing them."
The guards drew weapons — spears with silver-edged tips, crossbows loaded with gleaming bolts. They fired in bursts, the bolts hissing through the air and sinking into the creatures with a faint blue flash. The Invaders shrieked, retreating a few paces, but more poured in from the grass.
Luka should've gone home. He knew that. But his legs stayed rooted to the ground as the air grew heavier, the sound of the shrieks worming into his ears.
One of the Invaders slipped past the others, sliding low along the wall. It was small — smaller than Luka — but moved with a predator's intent. He realized too late that it wasn't aiming for the gate. It was aiming for the gap at the base of the west fence.
Before anyone could react, it was inside the walls.
People screamed. The guards on the wall couldn't get a clear shot without hitting their own. Luka sprinted after the thing, weaving between stalls as it darted toward the heart of the town.
He cut across the market square, his breath ragged. He had no weapon, no plan — only the knowledge that if the Invader reached the schoolhouse, it wouldn't stop until it was full.
The creature lunged from behind a cart. Luka barely rolled aside, hitting the cobblestones hard. His shoulder screamed in protest.
It came at him again.
And something in him broke.
Not the kind of break that spilled blood, but the kind that tore through his chest like an uncoiled spring. His vision narrowed, the world around him falling into sharp, unnatural clarity.
The air… shifted.
He didn't move — the space between them did.
One moment, the Invader was leaping at him. The next, it was on the ground several paces away, screeching as dark light burned along its form. Not flame, not lightning — something deeper, a glow that bent shadow around it.
Luka stared at his hands. That light — that spark — had come from him. He felt it like a second heartbeat, pulsing hot and wrong in his veins.
The Invader writhed once, then stilled.
The street was silent except for Luka's breathing.
When he looked up, Garrin and two other guards were standing there, weapons half-raised. But they weren't looking at the dead Invader. They were looking at him.
Garrin's expression wasn't relief. It was fear.
"What… was that?" one of the guards muttered.
"I—" Luka started, but the words stuck in his throat.
The spark still thrummed inside him, faint but undeniable. It felt… alive. Watching.
"That wasn't Radiance," Garrin said quietly. "And it sure as hell wasn't anything a human should have."
The words sank into Luka like ice.
Around them, people began to whisper.