*Volume 1 - "The Silent Church"*
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The world smelled like death.
Kael stood at the entrance of the basement, his hand gripping the cold stone wall for support. Smoke coiled through the narrow stairway above him, thick and black, carrying the stench of burning wood and something far worse—flesh.
His legs wouldn't move.
*Move. You have to move.*
He forced himself up the steps, each one feeling like climbing a mountain. The sword in his other hand dragged behind him, its weight unnatural, wrong. The black blade scraped against stone with a sound like grinding teeth.
At the top, the trapdoor hung open. Beyond it, his world had ended.
The village was gone.
Not just damaged. Not just attacked. *Gone.*
Flames consumed everything. The church where Father Aldric had raised him—reduced to a skeleton of blackened beams, its bell tower collapsed into rubble. The market square where Old Merra sold her bread—now a crater of shattered cobblestones and scattered, burning debris. The homes of families he'd known his entire life—hollow shells bleeding smoke into the night sky.
And the bodies.
Kael's stomach lurched. He turned away, but there was nowhere to look that didn't show him another one. Villagers he'd laughed with yesterday. Children he'd helped teach to read. All of them...
"Father Aldric..."
His voice cracked. He stumbled forward, ash crunching beneath his boots. The church. He had to reach the church.
*"Stay in the basement, Kael. No matter what you hear. Promise me."*
Father Aldric's last words. His guardian, the man who'd found him abandoned as an infant, who'd raised him in the church, taught him letters and numbers and kindness—
Kael found him in the doorway.
The old priest lay face-down, his simple robes soaked in blood. One hand stretched toward the basement entrance, as if he'd been trying to protect it even in death. His staff lay broken beside him.
"No..." Kael dropped to his knees. "No, no, no..."
He reached out, but couldn't bring himself to touch the body. Couldn't make it real.
*This isn't happening. This is a nightmare. I'll wake up and Father will be making breakfast and everything will be—*
The sword pulsed.
Kael jerked his hand back, staring at the black blade. For a moment—just a moment—red light had traced along its edge, like veins of molten metal beneath dark stone. The weapon thrummed in his grip, almost alive, almost... *hungry*.
His fingers tightened around the hilt.
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*Six hours earlier.*
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"Kael! Stop daydreaming and help me with these crates!"
Kael blinked, shaking himself from his thoughts. Old Merra stood by her bread cart, hands on her hips, flour dusting her apron. Despite her stern expression, her eyes crinkled with warmth.
"Sorry, Merra." He hurried over, lifting one of the heavy crates. "I was just thinking about the festival next week."
"Festival." She snorted, but smiled. "You young people and your festivals. In my day, we worked from sunrise to sunset and were grateful for it."
"In your day, you were the most beautiful lady," Kael teased.
"Yes,but not for your father" She swatted his arm playfully. "Your father is so nice don't give him much stress.
Kael set the crate down carefully. "But father always yells at me."
"That's because your father caresses you." Merra's expression softened. "Speaking of which, shouldn't you be helping him at the church?"
"He told me to take the morning off. Said I work too hard." Kael grinned. "So naturally, I came to help you instead."
"Incorrigible." But she was smiling. "Fine, fine. Help me set up, then go enjoy your youth while you still have it."
They worked in companionable silence for a while, arranging the bread and pastries. The morning sun warmed the market square, and the village slowly came to life. Children ran between stalls, laughing. Farmers brought their goods. It was peaceful.
Ordinary.
Safe.
"Kael?" Merra's voice was quieter now. "You're a good boy. Your father raised you well. Never forget that, no matter what happens."
"What's going to happen?" Kael laughed. "We're in the middle of nowhere. Nothing ever happens here."
Merra opened her mouth to respond.
The bell rang.
Not the church bell—the warning bell. The one that hadn't rung in Kael's entire lifetime.
Everyone in the square froze.
"Raiders?" someone whispered.
"Impossible. We're too far from—"
The scream cut through the morning air.
Kael's head snapped toward the sound. Smoke was rising from the eastern side of the village. And there—figures in black, moving between houses with frightening efficiency.
"Get inside!" someone shouted. "Hide the children!"
Chaos erupted. People scattered, running for their homes. Merra grabbed Kael's arm, her grip surprisingly strong.
"Run to the church. Find your father. *Go!*"
"But—"
"*GO!*"
Kael ran.
His heart pounded as he sprinted through the suddenly unfamiliar streets. Smoke was everywhere now, thick and choking. He saw a house collapse in flames. Heard screams—so many screams.
And through it all, he saw *them*.
Figures in black armor, moving like shadows. Hoods covered their faces. They didn't speak. Didn't hesitate. They simply... ended things. A slash of a blade. A burst of energy—*Eidric power*, Kael realized with horror. These weren't ordinary raiders.
One of them turned toward him.
Kael caught a glimpse of eyes beneath the hood. Glowing red, like embers.
He ran faster.
The church was ahead. Still standing. The door hung open.
"Father!" Kael burst through. "Father, we have to—"
Father Aldric stood in the main hall, staff in hand. His usually gentle face was hard, lined with something Kael had never seen before. *Fear.*
"Kael." His voice was steady despite everything. "The basement. Now."
"But—"
"*Now!*" Father Aldric grabbed him, physically pulling him toward the back room. "Listen to me very carefully. You go down to the basement. You stay there. No matter what you hear. No matter what happens. You *stay*. Do you understand?"
"I'm not leaving you!"
"You are." Father Aldric's eyes—those kind, warm eyes—were suddenly fierce. "Because you *matter*, Kael.
The church door exploded inward.
Three figures in black stood silhouetted against the flames outside. One stepped forward, and Kael finally saw the red eyes clearly. Not contacts. Not a trick of the light. *Actually glowing red.*
"The church." The figure's voice was cold, professional. "Harboring forbidden artifacts, are we?"
"There's nothing here," Father Aldric said calmly. "This is a house of peace. Whatever accusations brought you here are false."
"That's for the king to decide." The red-eyed figure raised a hand, and Eidric energy crackled around it—dark purple, wrong somehow. "Step aside, old man. Or join the others."
Father Aldric didn't move.
Instead, he shoved Kael backward. Hard. Kael stumbled, falling through the doorway into the back room.
"*Run!*"
The trapdoor to the basement was right there. Kael could see it. Could see Father Aldric turning back to face the assassins, staff raised despite his age, despite having no chance.
Their eyes met for one last moment.
Father Aldric smiled. Sad. Proud. Apologetic.
Then he slammed the door shut.
Kael heard the lock click.
"No!" He threw himself against the door, pounding. "Father! *Father!*"
Sounds filtered through. Shouting. A crash. The crackle of Eidric energy, followed by a sickening thud.
Then screaming. The whole village, burning and dying above him.
And Kael could do nothing but stand there, fists bloody from pounding on the door, throat raw from screaming.
Until something called to him.
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It wasn't a voice. Not exactly. More like... recognition. Like two pieces of a broken whole suddenly aware of each other.
Kael felt it pulling at something deep in his chest, drawing him toward the far corner of the basement where Father Aldric stored old relics and forgotten donations.
His feet moved on their own.
Behind a rotted chest, beneath a dust-covered tarp, something waited.
The sword.
Black as midnight. The blade was longer than Kael and was tall, broad and heavy-looking. Ancient symbols were carved into the metal—or was it metal? It seemed to drink in the dim light, reflecting nothing.
The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, everything changed.
Power flooded through him—dark, vast, and utterly alien. It should have terrified him. Instead, it felt like waking up. Like he'd been sleepwalking his entire life and only now opened his eyes.
The fear didn't vanish. The horror of the screams above didn't fade.
But suddenly, impossibly, he knew he could *fight*.
The sword was weightless in his hand despite its size. Perfectly balanced. As if it had been made for him.
Or he had been made for it.
Kael climbed the stairs with the black blade trailing behind him, leaving a thin line in the dust. Above, the sounds had changed. No more screaming. Just the crackle of flames and the occasional collapse of timber.
Silence.
They were gone.
And everyone else with them.
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*Present.*
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Kael pushed himself to his feet, the sword hanging at his side. Father Aldric's body lay before him, cooling in the ash.
"I'm sorry," Kael whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I hid while you died."
The old priest didn't answer. Would never answer again.
Kael forced himself to look around properly, to take in the destruction. To understand what had happened.
This wasn't random. Wasn't some accident or natural disaster.
Every building had been systematically destroyed. Every person killed. The efficiency of it was horrifying. This was *deliberate*. This was...
"Murder," Kael whispered.
His gaze fell on claw marks gouged into a nearby wall. No—not claw marks. *Sword strikes*. Deep, precise cuts that had cleaved through stone.
Whoever did this had power.
A sound made him spin around, sword raised.
Someone was alive.
He ran toward the noise, hope and fear warring in his chest. If someone survived—if anyone—
He found her behind what used to be the baker's shop.
Old Merra lay against the wall, clutching a wound in her side. Blood pooled beneath her, far too much blood. Her face was pale as chalk, her breathing shallow and wet.
"Merra!" Kael dropped beside her, pressing his hand against the wound. Useless. He knew it was useless. "Hold on, I'll—I'll find help, I'll—"
"K-Kael...?" Her eyes focused on him with difficulty. "You... you're alive..."
"Don't talk. Save your strength."
"No strength... left..." A weak cough. More blood. "Listen... the men who came... they wore... black..."
"Black? Like soldiers?"
"Assassins..." She shuddered. "King's... assassins..."
The word hit him like a physical blow. "The *king*? King sent assassins here? Why? What did we—"
"Don't know... they said... accusations... forbidden activities..." Her hand gripped his wrist with surprising strength. "One of them... hooded figure... red eyes... he led them..."
Red eyes. Kael burned the detail into his memory.
"They thought... everyone was dead..." Merra's eyes were glazing over. "Hide, Kael... hide and... run..."
"I'm not running." The words came out harder than he intended. Colder. "I'm going to find them. Every single one."
"Don't... throw your life..."
"They threw away everyone's lives!" His voice cracked. "Father Aldric. Your grandson. The Theris family. Little Anna who just learned to write her name. They're all *dead*, Merra. Someone has to—"
But she was already gone.
Her hand slipped from his wrist. Her final breath rattled out in a sigh, and then she was just another body among the ruins.
Kael stood slowly. The sword felt heavier now. Or maybe he did.
Around him, his village burned. The only home he'd ever known. The only family he'd ever had.
All of it, gone.
For what? "Forbidden activities"? What did that even mean? His village was nothing—farmers and craftsmen and peaceful families. They had no secrets, no power, nothing worth killing for.
Unless...
His gaze drifted to the sword in his hand. The black blade seemed to drink in the firelight, reflecting nothing. Dark as a moonless night. Ancient and terrible and wrong.
Had they been looking for this?
The thought felt right and wrong at the same time. If they'd wanted the sword, why not search for it? Why kill everyone? Why burn everything?
Unless they didn't know what they were looking for. Unless they were just following orders, destroying a village on someone's accusation, never questioning whether it was justified.
Red eyes. Black clothes. King's assassins.
Kael turned toward the road leading out of the village. Toward the capital city, three days' travel north. Toward answers.
Toward revenge.
The sword pulsed again, that strange warmth spreading through him. It should have been disturbing. Should have scared him. Instead, it felt like permission. Like the weapon was saying *yes*.
*Yes, hunt them.*
*Yes, make them pay.*
*Yes, become what you need to be.*
"I don't care how long it takes," Kael said to the burning ruins, to the dead, to the sword, to himself. "I don't care what I have to do. I will find the man with red eyes. I will find everyone who did this. And I will make them understand what they took from me."
The sword's glow intensified, red veins crawling along the black blade like cracks in reality itself.
For just a moment, Kael thought he heard something—a whisper, ancient and vast and approving.
Then it was gone, and he was alone with the dead and the flames.
He didn't look back as he walked toward the village gate. Looking back wouldn't change anything. Wouldn't bring them back. Wouldn't heal the wound in his chest that felt like it would never close.
All he could do now was move forward.
And make sure that wound became a weapon.
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**END CHAPTER 1**
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Next: Chapter 2 - "The Girl Who Sees"