Writer : Shadow
Supervisor : Darklord
Editor : Void Reaper
SETTING:
In the realm of Elenfyr, where magic flows like rivers and swords sing through the wind, peace is a fleeting dream. Long ago, the village of Emberhold stood as a symbol of harmony — protected by ancient traditions, powerful warriors, and a lineage of quiet strength. But darkness remembers what light forgets.
A decade ago, on the day of the Festival of Swords, Emberhold fell.
It was no accident of fate. Malrik the Hollow, once a promising mage of Emberhold, had been cast out for practicing forbidden magic. Twisted by exile and driven by vengeance, he returned with a horde of cursed beasts and black-cloaked sorcerers, razing the village in fire and shadow. What he sought that day was more than destruction — he hunted a secret, a relic whispered of in myths: the Ember Sigil.
Since that day, fear and silence gripped the land. Magic became both a blessing and a curse, and those who survived lived in the shadow of betrayal and ruin. Whispers say Malrik still hunts the Ember Sigil, for it is said to control the very threads of fate.
Prologue
Rael Drakenhart, with striking blue eyes and hair the color of stormy skies, was only two when the world ended.
He remembered almost nothing of that day — only flickers of fire, a warm embrace, and the sound of a woman humming just before everything turned to ash.
He awoke in the arms of a stranger. A grizzled old man, face marked by battle and sorrow — Master Thorne, now an 80-year-old human with flowing white hair and a long beard like snow-laden pine, once a warrior of legend. The man who would become his teacher, protector, and the only family he knew.
Chapter One: The Mountain Years
The forge crackled softly in the heart of the stone cottage nestled high in the Veilspire Mountains. Snowflakes drifted past the windows, but warmth clung to the walls like an old memory.
Rael stood barefoot on the timber floor, sweat on his brow, sword in hand. Before him, Thorne grunted in approval.
"You're slow on the recovery. Again."
Rael nodded and stepped back into stance. His blade—a simple steel practice sword—cut through the air once more, guided by instinct honed over years.
Thorne watched from the rocking chair, wrapped in a thick wolf-pelt cloak, his breath faintly labored. His once-imposing frame had thinned, and his eyes held the knowledge of too many winters. Still, his presence grounded the room like a pillar of iron.
"You're improving," he muttered. "Still sloppy. But that's the fire in you. It'll sharpen. Or it'll burn you."
Rael smirked. "So you've said. Every day. For the last ten years."
Thorne cracked a rare smile. "And yet you keep showing up. That means you're not as hopeless as you look."
Their evenings were often like this—swordplay, scolding, firelight, and rare bursts of laughter.
Thorne never spoke of Rael's past, and Rael had stopped asking. Deep down, he feared the answers.
Despite the solitude, Rael wasn't entirely alone. From time to time, visitors would brave the trek to Thorne's cottage.
One of them was Martha Windmere, an older woman with silver hair that flowed like moonlight and eyes that saw deeper than most dared look. Once a high-caste enchantress from the mystical House of Windmere, Martha was known across Elenfyr for her control over elemental aether. She now lived quietly in the woods beyond the ridge, her name still whispered in the halls of arcane scholars. She never admitted it, but she and Thorne shared a past forged in both war and regret.
Martha Windmere had taken an odd liking to Rael. Whenever she visited, she brought books, scrolls, and crystals — and with quiet mutterings and sharp looks, she began teaching Rael magic.
She never praised him, never smiled, but always stayed longer than she claimed she would. And when Rael struggled with a spell or flinched from a magical surge, her hand would gently steady his — just for a second — before she turned away.
Rael came to admire her deeply, though he'd never admit it out loud. She was the flame to Thorne's stone — unpredictable, powerful, and fiercely protective.