The first time Kael Thornhart heard the raven, the forest was burning.
Smoke rolled over the red cliffs of Cinder, thick enough to stain the sky. Rangers dashed along the palisades shouting orders while villagers formed bucket lines from the well. The blaze wasn't from war or raiders — it was the Ashenwild, alive and angry again.
Kael stood at the edge of the treeline, bow in hand, boots sunk in soot. His mother had told him to stay inside. He didn't listen — not when half the rangers were out there, his father's friends, and the wind carried cries that weren't all human.
He drew an arrow, eyes narrowing toward the smoke. Then he heard it.
A single cry, sharp as metal and soft as sorrow.
He looked up and saw a raven circling above the burning trees. Its feathers shimmered silver in the firelight, its wings unnaturally large. When it looked down, its eyes weren't black — they were the pale gray of moonlight.
Kael forgot to breathe.
The bird dipped suddenly, vanishing into the smoke.
Something in Kael's chest tugged — not fear, not curiosity, something deeper, a call that didn't come from his own mind. Before he could think, he was running, ducking under branches, chasing the cry through the burning forest.
Flames licked along fallen logs. Sparks clung to his cloak. He leapt over a stream and stumbled into a clearing where the fire hadn't reached yet. There, caught in a snare, the raven struggled — one wing twisted, blood soaking its silvered feathers.
Kael dropped his bow and knelt beside it. "Easy, easy now…" he whispered, cutting the snare with his knife. The raven hissed weakly but didn't strike. Its eyes locked on his, and for a heartbeat, the world fell silent.
A warmth flooded through Kael's veins. The forest sounds dulled, and he could feel the creature — its pain, its fear, its defiance.
Then came a voice, not heard but felt:
Why help me, human?
Kael flinched. "Who—?" He looked around, but the voice was inside him.
"I don't know," he said aloud. "Because you're hurt."
The raven's gaze softened. Strange answer.
The warmth deepened until it pulsed in his chest. Then — a flash of light, brief and bright as a star, linking them both.
Kael gasped and stumbled back. The raven stretched its wing — healed. It beat the air, rose above him, and circled once.
You've touched the old magic, the voice whispered. And it will not let you go.
Then the raven flew north into the smoke.
Kael stood alone, trembling, his hand glowing faintly with a silver mark shaped like a feather.
Behind him, the forest burned. Ahead, destiny stirred.