Chapter Two: The Path of Ashes
The woods were quiet. Too quiet.
Kael pushed through the undergrowth, his cloak tattered, his shoulder stiff where the axe had bitten him. Days had passed since the fight. He had hunted, drunk from streams, slept in the hollow of trees, but the silence never left him.
At night, he still dreamed of black fire. Of his mother's whisper. Of his father's roar cut short.
By the third morning, hunger gnawed at him so deeply he could barely stand. He stumbled into a small clearing, where moss carpeted the ground and sunlight slanted through the trees. He meant only to rest—just for a moment. His body sagged against a fallen log, eyelids heavy.
"You'll waste away if you fall asleep like that, boy."
The voice snapped his eyes open.
An old woman stood at the edge of the clearing. Her hair was long and silver, her back bent, but her eyes—pale and sharp—glittered like stars beneath her hood. She leaned on a twisted staff, its wood carved with faint sigils Kael didn't recognize.
Kael lurched upright, hand going instinctively to his sword. "Who are you?"
The woman chuckled, the sound like dry leaves. "A traveler, same as you. Though perhaps not as lost."
He narrowed his eyes. "You shouldn't be here. These woods aren't safe."
"Oh, I know," she said lightly, stepping into the clearing as if she had no fear at all. "There are slavers, soldiers, worse. And then there's you."
Kael stiffened. "What do you mean?"
The woman tilted her head, studying him with a gaze that felt like it pierced straight through his skin. "I smell fire on you. Not the kind from a torch. Older. Wilder. Dangerous."
Kael's throat tightened. "If you know what I am, then you should keep your distance."
"Why?" Her smile was thin, but not unkind. "Because you fear yourself? Or because you fear I will?"
He said nothing. His fists clenched.
The old woman came closer, settling herself on the fallen log across from him. She leaned her staff against her knee, folding wrinkled hands. "Tell me, boy. What keeps you walking? Hunger? Rage? Or something else?"
Kael stared at the dirt, jaw tight. After a long silence, he whispered, "I swore an oath. That I would live. That I'd carry my parents' blood forward. And that I'd make those who did this pay."
"Vengeance, then." She nodded slowly. "A sharp blade, but one that cuts both ways."
Kael looked up sharply. "What would you have me do? Forget them? Forget my people? Live like a hunted animal until they find me again?"
Her pale eyes softened. "No. Not forget. But perhaps… grow. Do more than survive. Do more than burn."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
The woman leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Tell me—when you freed those wolfkin, what did you feel?"
Kael's chest tightened at the memory. "I lost control. I scared them. They looked at me like a monster."
"And yet you freed them," she said. "You gave them something no soldier, no king, would have given. Hope."
"Hope?" He laughed bitterly. "They fear me."
"They fear the fire," she corrected. "But they saw what you did with it. They'll remember. And word will spread. A man who is not man, who breaks chains and burns slavers. That story will travel faster than you ever could."
Kael went still.
The woman's smile deepened, faint and knowing. "You think yourself cursed. I see something else. A chance. The old kingdoms call you abomination. Very well—then be the banner for all who share that name. The cast out, the broken, the forsaken. Give them a place where no crown can touch them."
The words struck Kael like a hammer. His vow echoed in his mind: If the world will not make a place for me, I will carve one from its bones.
A place. A home.
Not just for him. For all.
He met the old woman's gaze. "You speak as if it's possible."
Her laughter was soft, almost kind. "Anything is possible, boy. Especially for one born of shadow and flame."
Kael's jaw clenched. "I don't even know where to begin."
"Begin with one step," she said simply. "One ally. One refuge. One fire, banked carefully until it grows. Do this, and you will not just survive—you will shape the world."
Silence stretched. Kael felt his heart pounding, his blood stirring. The path ahead seemed impossibly vast, but for the first time since the night of fire, it wasn't empty.
He rose slowly, gripping the sword at his side. "If I do this… I'll need strength. Allies. A place to build."
The old woman nodded. "Then seek them. You'll find more than you think waiting for you."
Kael's eyes hardened with resolve. "I'll do it. I'll build a place where no one like me is hunted. Where no one is caged. A nation for the forsaken."
The woman smiled, faint and secretive. "Good. Then your path begins."
When Kael blinked, she was gone. The clearing was empty but for the whisper of wind in the trees.
He stood alone once more, but this time, the silence felt different. Not hollow. Full of promise.
Kael turned his gaze north, where the mountains loomed. His fist tightened on the sword hilt.
"Then I begin."
And he walked into the woods, the first steps of a path that would lead to fire, to blood, to a kingdom born from ashes.
The mountains rose like jagged teeth against the horizon, their peaks shrouded in mist. Kael had walked for days since the old woman vanished, her words echoing in his head with every step.
A place. Allies. A fire carefully banked until it grows.
At first, those words had felt impossible. He was only one man, half-starved and alone. Yet as he pressed northward, the land began to change. The woods gave way to valleys, wide and sheltered, with streams that cut silver threads through the green.
Here, the air was different—cooler, fresher, untouched by the stink of cities or the banners of kings.
Kael crested a ridge one morning and stopped short. Below stretched a small valley, cradled by forested hills. A river wound through its heart, spilling into a clear pond that glittered like glass. Flat meadows stretched along the banks, ringed with trees sturdy enough for timber but not so dense they strangled the light.
For the first time since his village burned, Kael felt something stir in his chest. Not grief. Not rage. Hope.
"This…" He whispered aloud, voice rough. "This could be it."
It wasn't much. No walls, no houses, no people. Only land. But it was his discovery. And in the shadow of the mountains, it felt safe—hidden from the eyes of kings and soldiers.
He descended into the valley, testing the soil with his boots. Rich, soft, damp. Good for crops, if tended. The river water was clear enough to drink. Small tracks crisscrossed the mud: deer, boar, rabbits. Game enough to live on.
For the first time, Kael let himself imagine it: huts here along the water, smoke rising from hearths, laughter echoing between hills. Not yet a kingdom, but a beginning.
His stomach growled, shattering the vision. He hadn't eaten more than scraps of roots and berries in two days.
"All right," he muttered, pulling his sword free. "Food first. Dreams later."
He followed the river north, searching for tracks. By midday, he found a trail of hoofprints pressed deep into the mud. Deer. He crouched low, following the trail into the trees. His father had once taught him how to hunt, though those lessons had ended too soon.
The prints wound deeper into the forest, then vanished into a tangle of brush. Kael stilled, listening. The forest was quiet, save for the whisper of wind. Too quiet.
A sharp scream broke the silence.
Kael froze. It wasn't human. The cry was high-pitched, guttural, followed by the clash of something heavy against stone. Another cry followed, this one deeper, desperate.
He sprinted toward the sound.
The trees opened into a clearing, and Kael's breath caught.
A group of small figures huddled against a boulder—goblins. Five of them, their green skin slick with sweat, crude spears clenched in their hands. They snarled and jabbed at the air, but their prey was far beyond their strength.
Towering over them loomed a beast Kael had never seen. It stood twice the height of a man, its body a mass of sinew and bone plates. Its head was wolfish but twisted, its jaws lined with jagged teeth that dripped saliva. Eyes like glowing coals burned in its skull. A direfang.
The goblins jabbed their spears, but the monster swatted them aside with bone-plated claws. One goblin screamed as it was flung into the trees, body limp. The others pressed tighter against the rock, cornered.
Kael's pulse thundered. He could walk away. The goblins were strangers, outcasts like all others, despised and hunted by men. Saving them would mean nothing.
But the old woman's voice echoed in his mind: Begin with one ally. One fire, carefully banked.
Kael drew his sword.
"Over here!" he shouted.
The direfang's head whipped around, eyes locking onto him. It snarled, a sound that rattled his bones. Then it charged.
Kael braced, sword raised. The beast struck like a boulder rolling downhill, claws flashing. Steel met bone with a crash that numbed his arms. He staggered, barely dodging a snapping maw. Hot saliva sprayed his face.
He ducked low, slashing at the beast's belly. His blade glanced off hardened plates, sparks flying. The direfang roared, spinning, its tail whipping across his chest and hurling him into the dirt. Pain flared, air rushing from his lungs.
The goblins cried out, their guttural voices sharp with fear.
Kael pushed himself up, coughing. His hands trembled. His strength alone wasn't enough.
The fire stirred.
No, he thought. Not again. Not like the slavers.
But the direfang lunged again, and Kael had no choice. He let go.
The black fire roared from within, scales crawling across his arms, his eyes burning red. He surged to his feet, meeting the beast's charge with a roar of his own. Flame burst from his mouth, searing across the direfang's plated hide. The stench of charred flesh filled the air as the beast screamed, thrashing.
Kael drove forward, sword blazing with shadowfire. He struck between plates, burying the blade deep in the beast's chest. Black flame poured into the wound, and with a final, agonized howl, the direfang collapsed.
Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of burning flesh.
Kael staggered, panting, the fire still writhing under his skin. He clenched his fists, forcing it down, forcing his eyes to dim. Slowly, the scales receded. He dropped to one knee, chest heaving.
The goblins crept forward, their spears raised warily. They circled the fallen beast, then turned their wide yellow eyes on Kael.
For a long moment, none spoke. Then one—a wiry goblin with a scar across his jaw—stepped closer. He pointed at Kael, then at the direfang's smoking corpse.
"You kill," he said in broken Common. His voice trembled, but not with fear. With awe. "You strong."
Kael wiped blood from his mouth, meeting the goblin's gaze. "I'm not your enemy."
The goblins exchanged looks, chattering in their own tongue. Then the scarred one nodded. He thumped his chest with a clawed fist. "Come. Village. You come."
Kael hesitated. Goblins were known for their cunning, their traps, their grudges. To walk into their village was to put his life in their hands.
But the old woman's words burned in his mind: One ally. One step.
He sheathed his sword, grimaced through the pain in his ribs, and nodded. "Lead the way."
The goblins grinned sharp-toothed smiles and gestured for him to follow. Together, they vanished into the forest, leaving the carcass of the direfang smoldering in the clearing.
Kael walked behind them, every step heavy but steady. The valley was his place. The goblins—perhaps—could be his first people.
The path of ashes had begun to take shape.
The goblins moved swiftly through the forest, weaving paths that Kael would never have found alone. They slipped beneath leaning trees, across mossy stones, and through narrow gullies until the air grew thick with the smell of smoke.
The path opened suddenly into a hidden hollow.
Kael's eyes widened. Before him sprawled a goblin settlement, tucked so cleverly into the hills it would be invisible to anyone passing above. Rough huts made of wood, bone, and hide clustered around central firepits. Rope bridges hung between trees, and crude watchtowers bristled with sharpened stakes. Goblins bustled about—carrying water, sharpening weapons, skinning game. Children scurried underfoot, their shrill laughter rising in the air.
It was not grand. It was not beautiful. But it was alive.
The goblins who had led Kael let out shrill whistles, and heads turned across the village. Conversations fell silent. Dozens of yellow eyes fixed on him as he followed the scarred one into the heart of the camp.
Murmurs broke out immediately.
"Human?"
"No… smell wrong."
"Fire eyes. Dangerous."
Kael kept his chin high, though every instinct told him to rest his hand on his sword. His fire simmered just beneath the skin, but he forced it down. These weren't slavers. They weren't soldiers. He couldn't afford to lose control here.
At the largest hut, built against the roots of an ancient oak, the scarred goblin halted. He barked something in their own tongue, and a curtain of hides was pulled aside.
From within stepped an elder.
She was hunched but tall for her kind, her green skin wrinkled with age, her long ears hung with bone charms. Her eyes, however, were bright and keen. She leaned on a staff capped with a shard of obsidian that glimmered faintly in the firelight.
The scarred goblin bowed deeply, then gestured at Kael. "Direfang. He kill. Saved us."
The elder's eyes narrowed, scanning Kael up and down. When she spoke, her voice was low and rasping but carried weight. "Human… but not human. What are you?"
Kael met her gaze. "A traveler."
The elder chuckled, showing yellow teeth. "A traveler who burns monsters to ash." She stepped closer, sniffing the air around him. Her expression sharpened. "Demon blood. And something else. Old. Strong."
Kael's hand twitched toward his sword, but he forced it still. "If I meant you harm, I would have left your hunters to die."
The words hung in the air. The crowd murmured, some nodding, others hissing distrust.
At length, the elder tapped her staff on the ground. "You will eat with us. Speak with us. Then we will decide."
Kael inclined his head. "I accept."
That evening, Kael sat near the largest firepit, a rough bowl of stew in his hands. The goblins ate noisily around him, tearing into meat and roots. Some glared openly, others whispered to each other, and the children peeked from behind huts with wide eyes.
The scarred goblin—the one who had first spoken to him—sat beside Kael, gnawing on a bone. He thumped his chest. "I am Raguk. You fight strong. Fire strong." He grinned a jagged smile. "Not all humans kill goblins. Maybe… you not so bad."
Kael nodded slightly. "Kael," he said simply.
Raguk barked a laugh and elbowed him hard enough to jostle the stew. "Kael! Strong name."
Across the fire, the elder watched him with hawk-like focus. At last, she leaned forward. "Why are you here, Kael? Not just for meat."
The question cut deeper than she knew. Kael's first instinct was to tell her. To speak of the valley he had found, the vision burning inside him—the dream of a nation for the forsaken, safe from kings and chains.
But caution coiled tight in his chest.
These goblins had welcomed him—for now. But goblins were not known for loyalty to outsiders. If he revealed too much, would they mock him? Drive him away? Or worse, sell his secret to the nearest human lord?
Kael forced his face calm. "I wander," he said. "I've lost everything. I'm only looking for food. Shelter. A place to rest before I move on."
The elder studied him long and hard. Then she gave a slow nod. "Perhaps that is true. Perhaps not." She leaned back, raising her staff. "For tonight, you are guest. Tomorrow, we see if you are more."
The goblins grunted approval, and the tension eased. Laughter and music soon filled the night air as they passed around bone flutes and drums.
Kael ate quietly, but his thoughts churned.
He watched the goblins dance around the fire, their movements wild and unrestrained. He saw children chasing each other through the huts, their shrill laughter rising to the stars. He saw weary hunters smiling for the first time that day.
It was rough. Primitive. But it was community.
His chest ached as he remembered his own village—the songs at dusk, the smell of bread baking, the safety of belonging.
The old woman's words returned to him: Begin with one ally. One step.
Kael's hand tightened on his bowl. He could almost see it. Not just goblins, but wolfkin, orcs, elves cast out by their kin. A place where they might sit together around a fire without fear of kings or slavers.
But he stayed silent. The dream was too fragile yet. These goblins were not ready. He was not ready.
For now, he would eat. He would watch. He would learn.
And when the time came, he would decide whether the goblins of this hidden hollow would be the first stones of his kingdom—or only a step along the way.
The night passed with uneasy peace. Kael lay in a crude hut of woven branches, sleep broken by the rustle of goblins outside and the faint crackle of fire. Dreams plagued him—visions of his mother's grave, of wolfkin eyes full of fear, of black fire consuming everything he touched.
When dawn came, he rose and stepped into the cool air. The goblin village stirred slowly. Hunters prepared their spears, children scampered after them, women worked hides by the fires.
For a moment, Kael allowed himself to imagine: this valley he had found, alive like this. Fires burning, voices raised in laughter, a people unafraid.
Then the sound shattered it.
A horn blast. Harsh. Too loud to be goblin.
The village froze.
From the hills came the thunder of boots. A score of armed men spilled into the hollow—bandits, their armor mismatched, blades flashing. At their head strode a burly man with a wolf pelt draped over his shoulders, his scarred face twisted in a sneer.
"Well, well," he shouted, his voice carrying over the huts. "The rats have built themselves a nest!"
The goblins hissed, children dragged into huts, hunters rushing to form a line with crude spears. But fear showed in their eyes. They were outnumbered. Out-armed.
The bandit leader raised his blade. "Burn it all. Kill any that fight. We'll take the rest as slaves."
Kael stepped forward before the elder could. His sword slid free with a hiss of steel.
"You'll find nothing easy here," he growled.
The bandit's eyes flicked to him. He blinked, then barked laughter. "And what's this? A human siding with vermin?" His men jeered. "Cut him down first."
They surged forward.
The goblins braced, but Kael moved faster. Black fire coiled up his arms as he swung his blade in a wide arc. Shadows flared, searing through the first rank of bandits like paper. Men screamed, dropping their weapons, their armor blackened.
Kael roared and drove into them. Steel clashed. He struck, parried, struck again, fire trailing every swing. His body moved like instinct—dragon strength lending weight to his blows, demon fury burning in his veins.
Yet he did not lose himself this time. The fire was there, hungry, eager, but he held the reins. He guided it, not the other way around.
Bandits fell one after another. Goblin hunters, emboldened, surged forward at his side. They jabbed spears into staggered foes, their shrill cries echoing across the hollow.
The bandit leader snarled, shoving through his faltering men. He swung a heavy axe, sparks flying as Kael caught it on his blade. The man's strength was monstrous, but Kael's was more. He shoved him back, fire licking along his sword.
"You're no man," the leader spat.
"No," Kael said, eyes blazing red. "I'm worse for you."
He drove his blade through the man's chest. Black fire erupted, devouring him from within. His scream cut short as he collapsed, smoking.
The surviving bandits broke. They fled into the hills, leaving their dead smoldering behind them.
For a long moment, silence reigned. Smoke drifted from charred corpses. The goblins stared at Kael, weapons still raised.
Then Raguk stepped forward. Slowly, he thumped his chest. "Strong."
One by one, other goblins followed, pounding their chests, voices rising in harsh cries. "Strong! Strong!"
The elder approached last, leaning on her staff. Her keen eyes fixed on Kael, unreadable. At last, she inclined her head. "Today, you saved us. Today, you are no guest. You are war-chief."
Kael blinked. "War-chief?"
Her voice carried to all the goblins gathered. "This village stands under your command. Our spears, our lives, given in loyalty. We are yours, Kael of fire."
The words struck Kael harder than any blade. For the first time since his home burned, he wasn't alone. He had people—people who looked at him not with fear, but with respect.
He could no longer hold back.
Kael lifted his sword high, the firelight gleaming off its runes. His voice rang out across the hollow.
"Then hear me. I saved you because I see more than a village of goblins. I see a future. A place where none of us—goblin, wolfkin, demon, or dragon—live in cages or chains. A place where the forsaken can belong. Not hiding. Not running. Living. Together."
The goblins listened, silent, their yellow eyes wide.
Kael's voice hardened. "The kings of men call us monsters. Let them. We will build a nation stronger than theirs. A nation born from ashes, for all who have none. That is my vision. And if you follow me, I will make it real."
For a heartbeat, the hollow was still.
Then Raguk raised his spear high. "Kael! War-chief!" he bellowed.
The cry spread like wildfire. "War-chief! War-chief!"
Kael stood in the firelight, chest heaving, the chants of goblins echoing through the valley. For the first time, his vow felt more than words. It felt real.
The nation of the forsaken had begun—with goblins as its first stone.