he dawn came late to the mountain valley. It crawled across roofs blackened by the night's rain, crept through shutter cracks, and died again in smoke rising from the forges of Eirn Village. The air always smelled of metal and damp earth here, of people surviving one more day.
Inside a crooked shed by the road, Kael Hayden swung a hammer in rhythm with his heartbeat. Sparks leapt, dimmed, and vanished. He was sixteen but carried the posture of someone twice that age—broad-shouldered from years at the anvil, quiet from years of listening more than speaking.
The steel under his hammer glowed orange. He turned it carefully, setting the edge straight. One wrong strike meant wasted iron, wasted pay, and wasted medicine for his mother.
"Kael," her voice called from the doorway, soft as the morning fog. "You didn't sleep again."
He looked up. His mother stood wrapped in a gray shawl, eyes hidden beneath its shadow. When light touched her face, something inside that shadow shimmered—a fleeting glint of gold before she turned away.
"I'm fine," he lied, setting the hammer down. "Dreams don't kill."
"They can," she said. "Some dreams are warnings."
He smiled faintly, trying to ease her worry. "If the heavens want to warn me, they should try talking when I'm awake."
Her lips curved into the ghost of a smile, but she didn't answer. Instead she crossed the room, adjusting a pot of simmering herbs. The liquid inside glowed faintly, like trapped moonlight. Kael's stomach twisted; that glow always came before her coughing fits.
He dried his hands on a rag and poured her a cup. "Drink this. It'll help your lungs."
She took it but didn't drink. "You shouldn't waste your earnings on me."
"And let you cough yourself to death? Not a chance."
Outside, thunder rolled where no clouds should be. Both froze. Kael stepped to the window. The sky above Eirn was clear, the mountains gilded in soft gold. Yet lightning flashed—white-blue and soundless—over the eastern ridge.
His mother whispered something under her breath, words he didn't recognize. When he turned back, she was holding a small jade scale between her palms. It gleamed faintly, veins of light crawling across its surface like living veins.
He frowned. "You always carry that thing."
"It's not a thing," she said sharply, then softened. "It's… a reminder. Of who I was, before Eirn."
"You never tell me about before."
"Because there's nothing worth remembering." She slipped the scale into her sleeve and tried to smile again. "The sect recruiter will arrive soon. You should present yourself. You're old enough."
Kael snorted. "And leave you here?"
"I'll manage."
He shook his head. "No. Not while you're sick."
Her eyes—those hidden, shimmering eyes—studied him. "You sound like your father."
He froze. She rarely spoke of him, and when she did, her voice carried equal parts warmth and fear. "What was he like?"
"Too curious for his own good," she murmured. "And too proud to kneel, even before the heavens."
Before he could ask more, the air in the room shifted. The herbs in the pot stopped bubbling. The jade scale pulsed inside her sleeve.
Kael felt it before he saw it—a heat blooming under his collarbone, sharp as molten iron. He gasped and yanked open his tunic. A faint pattern of scales spread across his skin, golden lines curling into a sigil he didn't recognize.
"Mother—!"
"Don't move!" She caught his hand, pressing her own against the mark. Her fingers glowed gold, the light searing but soothing. "I thought I sealed it… I thought—"
"What is it?" His voice cracked.
"Your father's sin," she whispered. "And your burden."
Outside, thunder crashed again, closer now. Dust rained from the rafters. The jade scale shattered, its fragments rising into the air like sparks. The room filled with a sound that wasn't sound at all—a deep, ancient breathing, as if the world itself inhaled.
Kael's mother turned toward the door. "They've found us."
"Who—"
"Run, Kael!" She pushed him back. The air rippled, and for the first time in his life, he saw the truth beneath her human form. Lines of golden energy crawled along her arms; her shadow stretched across the wall, shaped like wings.
Lightning split the sky. The hut exploded in light.
Kael was thrown backward into the yard. His ears rang, his vision filled with smoke and fire. Through it, he saw her silhouette standing amid the flames, hair streaming, eyes blazing gold. She raised a hand, chanting words that made the air vibrate.
A circle of sigils formed around her feet, burning brighter and brighter—until it collapsed inward. The light consumed her.
"Mother!" He stumbled forward, coughing through ash and smoke.
Silence. Only a single ember floated where she'd been. It drifted down and settled on his chest, sinking into the mark there.
The world dimmed. The thunder faded. He fell to his knees, breath shaking.
Then—
"So the hatchling stirs."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Deep, cold, and ancient, it slithered through his thoughts like smoke.
"Who's there?" Kael whispered.
"You bleed the blood of fire, yet you crawl among ash. Wake, child of the chained sin."
He staggered to his feet, scanning the burning yard. No one stood there. Only the shadows twisted, forming shapes—wings, scales, eyes—that vanished when he blinked.
His collarbone burned hotter. He tore open his tunic. The mark glowed bright enough to blind, then dimmed again, leaving behind faint, golden scales that faded as his heart slowed.
He pressed his hand over it, trembling. "What are you doing to me?"
No answer. Just a whisper at the edge of hearing:
"Find me… before they do."
A gust swept through the yard, carrying the scent of charred wood and ozone. The forge collapsed behind him with a sigh. Kael stood among the ruins, the sky above turning from dawn to gray.
He stared at the horizon where the lightning had struck earlier. Somewhere beyond those ridges lay the truth—the father he'd never known, the secret his mother had died to protect, and the voice now nesting inside his dreams.
He knelt, scooped a handful of ashes from the ground, and let them slip through his fingers. "I'll find you," he murmured. "And I'll find her."
A low rumble answered from the clouds, like distant laughter.
As he turned to leave, the wind carried a whisper only the mountains heard:
"The seal is broken."
Far above, unseen, a colossal eye opened briefly in the storm, its pupil a burning ring of gold.