1 day before the incident (1247 AC)
Axel woke to the abrasive noise of his little sister's laughter. It carried through the thin walls like the call of a bird, shrill and relentless. Lyra had no respect for the other people in the house, especially on the weekends.
He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. The firepit had long since gone cold, and the morning air cut sharp through the shutters. His body wanted sleep, but the sound of his sister chasing their hound through the hall made it impossible.
"Axel!" she shouted, bursting into his room without knocking. "Get up!"
The white hound, Casper, bounded in after her, paws skidding on the floorboards, tail knocking into his bedframe. Axel sat up and scowled. "You're a menace."
She stuck her tongue out at him and darted away before he could throw a pillow.
He dressed slowly, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. The smell of porridge drifted from the hearth downstairs, mingled with the faint metallic tang that always seemed to cling to Hollowfang. The relic blade rested across the family shrine in the corner of the main room, wrapped in black cloth.
His father was already awake, seated cross-legged before the blade in silent prayer. His mother stirred the pot at the fire. Lyra crouched on a stool, grinning at him as if she had already won some game he didn't remember playing.
It was a morning like any other.
After eating breakfast, Axel walked outside to their pond. He sat on a rock and let the morning stillness wash over him. The Veythar clan's home was beautiful—one of the finest locations in the countryside. His family were descendants of the Hollowed Ones, master swordsmiths and warriors. For a time, sitting there, he almost believed the bloodline still carried its old honor.
When he stood, a little too fast, blood rushed to his head. His vision blurred, and he had to steady himself until it cleared. He laughed under his breath. Idiot. You could have knocked yourself out on a rock.
Back inside, his father Kaelen was still before the shrine, lips moving in prayer. Kaelen was a devoted worshiper of the Harbinger of Ash, the one said to have forged Hollowfang for Axel's great-great-grandfather, Azeron.
Azeron had been a legendary swordsman of his age, unmatched by any who faced him. The story went that during the Great Blade War (1153 AC), his sword shattered in battle against a Law-bearer. When all hope seemed lost, the Harbinger hurled a hollowed blade through his enemy's heart. As the foe disintegrated into ash, the god descended, took up the weapon, and placed it in Azeron's hands. Guard it, the Harbinger commanded, even after death.
Axel never believed this tale. To him it was myth, but to his father it was sacred truth.
He approached the shrine and glanced at the blade. "Does it speak to you today, Father? Or is it the god who never answers?"
Kaelen's eyes did not move. "The blade. It sees you, Axel. It wants you to wield it soon."
Axel rolled his eyes. "How would you know? Everything you hear is just in your head, old man."
His father's gaze hardened. "I know. And it is our duty. The Veythars must protect this sword, alive or dead."
He paused, then added, "Your brother Taren is heir to the Veythar crest. But you are still important. Our future rests on you as well."
Axel frowned, confused. He wasn't the eldest. Hollowfang would never pass to him. Why would he matter to the clan's future?
He retreated to his room to think, but hours later his brother's voice called him back outside.
"You still don't have any real fighting experience, do you?" Taren said with a knowing smirk.
"No, and you can't even wield Hollowfang yet either," Axel shot back.
Taren's eyes narrowed. "That doesn't matter. You'll learn. I've fought my share of battles, and starting today, I'll teach you."
Excitement jolted through Axel. At last, a real duel with his brother.
They went to the weapon shelter and chose wooden swords carved from emberwood. So hard it was said to resist even steel. Perfect for training, but merciless on the body.
"Go to the field," Taren said. "We are warriors. You'll find your footing soon enough."
Axel raised his sword awkwardly. He'd sparred with his father before, enough to know the basics. But before he could ready himself, Taren dashed forward and struck him hard in the ribs. Axel fell to the ground with a cry, clutching his side.
"That was aggressive!" he barked.
"Do you think an enemy will show you restraint?" Taren loomed above him. "You're slow. Your stance is weak. You should be stepping back, not falling over."
Axel climbed to his feet, gripping the sword tighter. This time he watched Taren's circling steps, waiting. His brother lunged again, blade angled from the side. Axel blocked, the crack of wood echoing across the field. He shoved forward, slamming his hilt into Taren's temple.
Taren staggered back, dazed. Then he laughed. "Not bad."
They sparred until their bodies were stiff like stones, then limped inside as dusk fell.
The house was warm with the smell of supper. Elandra had finished cooking by the time they sat. They filled their plates: a thick broth simmered all afternoon in the black iron pot, carrots, turnips, and parsnips melted soft, strips of venison giving the stew its body. With it came a dark rye loaf baked that morning by their cousin, crust bitter but inside nutty and rich, torn apart and dipped into the broth. Goat's milk cheese, slightly sour, was crumbled sparingly rationed, so Lyra couldn't eat it all. The adults drank watered-down mead, golden-sweet against the cold night, while Axel and Lyra had wooden cups of well water.
They spoke of their day, their laughter mingling with the crackle of the fire. But as the plates emptied, Kaelen's voice lowered.
"In the village today, I heard a merchant speak of an iron army marching near Greyvale. Best we take precautions until they pass."
"They won't come here, will they?" Elandra asked, her hands tightening on her cup.
Kaelen shook his head. "We're a forgotten clan. There's no reason they'd trouble us."
The family ate in silence after that, but Axel noticed how his father lingered by the shrine before bed, his prayers longer than usual.
That night, Axel wished them all goodnight and went to sleep, unaware it was the last time.