Chapter 1: The Forgotten Village
The roof was crumbling.
Kael stared at the decaying beams above his head, each one a fracture waiting to happen. Mist seeped through the cracks, curling in the cold morning air like smoke. The straw beneath him prickled through the thin cloth of his blanket, hardly softer than the dirt-packed floor it rested on.
Beside him, his older brother snored loudly, a rhythmic rasp like a forge hammer on rusted metal.
Through the thin wooden walls of their one-room shack came the muffled voice of their mother—half-scolding, half-mumbling—followed by the dry click of their father's pipe tapping against stone.
Kael didn't move. Didn't blink. Tomorrow was firewood day, and if he didn't rise before the others, there'd be no space left on the gathering trip. No coin, no supper, and another string of curses from his mother.
He closed his eyes and let the ache settle into his bones.
His name hadn't always been Kael. The village children used to call him "Mute Boy" or "Ash Rat." It was Old Barret, the half-blind village scribe, who gave him a proper name—two loaves of stale barley bread in exchange for a name fit for a story.
He was ten years old now. Small. Soot-streaked. Quiet. Another forgotten boy in a forgotten village nestled between the jagged bones of the Ashvale Mountains.
But Kael listened. He remembered. And he dreamed.
While the other children chased chickens and fought over firewood, Kael dreamed of towers carved from white stone, of cities floating above clouds, of the ancient stories Old Barret whispered after too much wine—stories of Scribes, of Spiritbinders, of men who bent the world to their will.
He never spoke of his dreams. Not here.
In Ashvale, dreaming was dangerous.
If you've read this far, you're already part of the journey. Why not make it official with an "Add to Library"? Kael would appreciate it—even if he doesn't know what a library is.
Besides… whispers of a looming war between East and West—spells and spirit—are already stirring beneath the surface.
The day it all changed began like any other.
Kael returned from the hills with a bundle of kindling across his back and a satchel of wild berries tucked under his shirt—his little sister's favorite. But something was different.
A stranger sat outside their shack.
He wore silk robes—creased from travel but clean—and a silver ring too polished for a place like this. He was plump, soft-handed, and far too well-fed to belong in Ashvale.
"Kael," his mother called from the doorway. "Come greet your uncle."
Uncle?
Kael froze, staring at the man. A vague memory surfaced—honeyed plums, a warm laugh—but it felt like a dream he couldn't quite touch.
"You've grown," the man said with a smile. "Still have your father's eyes."
Kael bowed stiffly, saying nothing.
Inside, voices lowered. Words like "Order," "testing," and "candidate" filtered through the cracks in the walls.
Then came a name: The Celestbound Covenant.
The stranger, his uncle, had joined a sect whispered about in tales—an order older than kings, said to wield the forces of spirit and sky. Every five years, they returned to the lowlands seeking new blood. Boys and girls between seven and twelve could take the trial. Pass, and you became one of them. Fail, and you still went home with silver.
Kael's father resisted at first. He didn't trust sects, or cities, or anything beyond soil and sweat.
But the final words broke his silence:
"One silver coin per month, even as an outer initiate."
That was more than anyone in Ashvale earned in a season.
They agreed.
The stranger left behind a pouch of coins and a bottle of wine older than Kael. "Feed the boy well," he said. "In a month, I'll return."
When the month passed, Kael stood by the cart with a small pack tied in fraying rope. His father gripped his shoulder once.
"Be obedient," he said. "Don't pick fights you can't win."
His mother hugged him hard. "Eat. Sleep. Survive."
Kael climbed aboard.
He didn't look back when the wheels turned.
Only forward.
I'll return, he thought. Not with silver. Not as a beggar. I'll return with power.
What Kael didn't know was that silver would soon mean nothing at all.
His journey would lead not to riches—but to blood, fire, and ascension.