Snow fell like scattered feathers, soft and quiet over the thatched rooftops of Emberfall, a sleepy village cradled in the shadow of the Cradle Peaks. Smoke drifted from chimneys. The world was quiet and seemed at peace. But Ash knew better.
He stood at the edge of the frozen lake, barefoot on cracked ice, holding a charcoal pencil in one hand and a worn sketchbook in the other. His fingers were numb, but he didn't feel it. His breath misted, and in its ghostly curl, he saw it again— the dream.
A colossal dragon of golden flame, roaring in agony, its body pierced by obsidian spears. A crown of fire splitting the heavens. His own reflection staring back at him, with glowing ember eyes.
Ash blinked, he watched the dream vanish into the mist of air.
"Still drawing weird stuff?" came a familiar voice.
He turned to see Tomas, his best friend— broad-shouldered, loud, and loyal. A hunting spear slung across his back. His coat was lined with deer fur and stitched with love by a mother who still thought they were ten.
Ash gave a half-smile. "Just… dragons."
Tomas squinted. "You and your fire-breathing obsessions. Come on, old man Orric said we're late for kindling duty. We wouldn't want him getting mad at us again now would we?"
"No we would not." Ash said with a smile as he closed the sketchbook carefully. Its pages were filled with dragons— not the monstrous beasts from bedtime threats, but regal, wounded creatures. Some looked almost human. Some bore symbols he didn't remember drawing.
Dragons had not been seen for years, there were so few of them that the sky longed for their massive wings that once broke the clouds. Yet somehow despite never seeing one before, he managed to draw so many.
They walked together through snow-laden paths, toward the village square. The festival of Hollow Hearth was approaching— a time when villagers honored the Old Flame, a dying myth to most. They believed once, long ago, a great fire watched over the world. It kept the winter at bay. It listened to the whispers of people. And loved those who had been cast away. Until it was betrayed.
Now they lit lanterns for luck, carved sun symbols into logs, and prayed not to freeze before spring. There were times winter would last all of spring, people barely survived the harsh cold. But Ash had been one of the lucky few to live long enough to contribute to the circle.
As Ash helped stack firewood near the central pyre, a cold gust swept through the village, it seemed unnaturally bitter. The flames in the lanterns flickered. The chickens screeched in their cages. The snow turned gray in the air.
Emberfall seemed to grow quiet enough to hear a pin drop, Ash could almost pick up something from the wind.
Then he felt it. A sting in his chest— like something hot coiled behind his ribs.
He dropped the firewood abruptly.
"Ash?" Tomas frowned. "You okay?"
Ash clutched his shirt and staggered back. The burning grew sharper, brighter— as if a spark had ignited inside him. A glow pulsed beneath his skin, just over his heart.
Before Tomas could speak again, a scream rang out from the watchtower.
"Raiders!"
The alarm bell sounded— harsh, jagged. A second scream followed. This time, cut short.
Chaos erupted. Villagers ran, children cried, and shadows darted between trees at the forest's edge. Figures in cloaks— tall, lean, with strange weapons and glowing silver masks— emerged like wraiths. They moved like shadows, silent and incorporeal. Fire spread unnaturally fast behind them.
Tomas unslung his spear. "Stay back, Ash!"
But Ash didn't hear. The pain in his chest was now a firestorm, blinding his senses. The cold no longer affected him, instead he was burning up from the inside out. His breath quickened, and as one of the masked raiders turned toward him, he saw something impossible:
The attacker flinched.
They stepped back, as if they'd recognized him.
Then Ash's vision went white.
The air around him exploded in a burst of heat. The snow surrounding him melted instantly. Fire bloomed in a perfect ring around his body, and the nearest raider was hurled back into a wall— his body tumbled to the ground, unmoving.
Ash stood in the eye of the inferno, unharmed.
Everyone froze.
The villagers stared. Tomas stared. Even the attackers hesitated.
From the edge of the trees, a voice whispered in an ancient tongue.
A woman stepped forward, clad in violet and black armor, her eyes glowing like moons. Her silver hair trailed like mist behind her, and two long daggers hung at her side.
She looked at Ash, and said just one word:
"Found you."