Chapter 1: Ashes of the Past
Chapter 1: Ashes of the Past
The mud of Oakhaven tasted the same as it did three days ago, but to Kael, the flavor no longer sparked fear. It was just dirt.
He limped past the village well, his clothes reduced to shredded rags, his skin mapped with briar scratches and dried, dark crusts that might have been his own blood, or something else's. The villagers recoiled. They expected the shivering, hollow-eyed boy who had fled into the Blackwood to find a place to die. Instead, they saw a ghost walking with the heavy, rhythmic gait of a predator.
"Well, look what crawled out of the trash heap," a voice boomed.
Thane, the blacksmith’s eldest son, stepped into the path. He was twice Kael’s size, flanked by two cronies who had spent years using Kael as a living punching bag. Thane reached out, grabbing Kael’s matted hair. "You owe us three days of entertainment, rat. Where’ve you—"
Kael didn’t flinch. He didn't even blink. He looked up at Thane with eyes that seemed to have seen the bottom of a grave and found it boring.
"You’re touching me," Kael said. His voice was different, no longer a tremor, but a low, sandpaper rasp. "I’d stop. For your sake. I’d hate for your mother to have to feed you through a straw because you were too stupid to read the room."
Thane’s face purpled. "You little—"
Before Thane could swing, Kael moved. It wasn't a hero's strike; it was a butcher's efficiency. He lunged forward, grabbing Thane’s throat with one hand and his belt with the other. With a burst of violent, unrefined strength, he drove Thane’s head downward.
CRACK.
The sound of Thane’s face meeting the stone edge of the watering trough echoed through the square. Water splashed, instantly turning pink. Kael didn't let go. He hauled Thane up by the hair and slammed him down again. And again.
The village fell into a deafening silence, save for the wet thud of bone on stone. Kael finally let the unconscious bully slump into the mud. He leaned over, tilting his head with a mockingly curious grin.
"What's the matter, Thane? I thought you were the tough one," Kael whispered loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear. "Is your skull made of glass? I barely tapped it."
He looked at the other two boys. They scrambled backward, tripping over their own feet. Kael didn't chase them. He just smiled, a jagged, terrifying expression, and walked toward the small, rotting shack on the edge of town where his stepfamily lived.
Night fell, but the darkness didn't last.
Kael stood at the edge of the treeline, his back to the ancient, whispering oaks of the Blackwood. In his hand, he held a guttering torch. He had spent the last hour silently barring the doors and windows of the shack from the outside. He had listened to his stepmother’s drunken snoring and his step-siblings’ soft breathing.
He tossed the torch.
The dry thatch ignited instantly. The fire took hold with a hungry roar, turning the night into a distorted orange noon. Within minutes, the screams began, high, thin wails of realization and terror.
Kael watched. He didn't feel the heat. He didn't feel guilt. He felt a strange, cold clarity. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of hard bread he’d stolen from the larder before lighting the match, and took a slow, deliberate bite.
"Told you I'd brighten the place up," he muttered to the burning house.
The village was waking up now. Shouts of "Fire!" rang out. People ran with buckets, their shadows dancing wildly against the trees. Kael stayed in the darkness of the woods, a shadow among shadows, watching the world that hated him turn to ash.
Through the smoke and the chaos, the rhythmic jingle of harnesses and the heavy roll of iron-rimmed wheels approached. A rich, reinforced carriage, flanked by a few weary-looking sellswords, rounded the bend of the forest road. It lurched to a halt as the driver saw the inferno.
The carriage door cracked open. An elderly man in fine silks, Master Elias, stepped out, his face pale as he took in the sight of the burning village. His eyes wandered from the flames to the treeline, landing directly on a ragged boy standing perfectly still.
Kael didn't run. He didn't hide. He stepped into the light of the fire, his face smeared with soot, his expression one of bored amusement. He looked at the horrified merchant and gave a sharp, cocky nod.
"Right on time," Kael called out over the roar of the fire. "You looking for a guard? I think I've just cleared my schedule."
Elias stared, frozen by the sight of the boy who looked like he had personally invited the devil to dinner.
As Elias opened his mouth to speak, a high-pitched scream from inside the burning house cut through the air, and Kael’s grin only widened as he pointed toward the road ahead. "Best keep moving, old man. The neighbors are having a bit of a crisis, and I don't think they're in a mood for guests."
