The sun stretched lazily across the morning sky, its golden rays bathing the small village of Dawn in a soft, warm glow. Here, far from the bustling cities and royal capitals, life moved at its own gentle pace.
Children chased each other through the winding dirt paths, their laughter mixing with the chirping birds overhead. Hunters prepared their bows, their voices echoing as they joked about their next prey. The village smelled of fresh bread, burning wood, and wildflowers drifting from the nearby fields.
Among them, a boy ran—his black hair tousled by the breeze, his steps light against the dew-soaked grass.
"Arthur, wait up!"
A girl's voice chased after him, her breath uneven from running.
Arthur slowed, grinning as Lina, the chief's daughter, caught up to him. She clutched a wooden sword, its handle worn from countless practice swings. Her fiery red hair clung to her forehead as she panted.
"You always run ahead of me!" she huffed, crossing her arms.
"You're just too slow," Arthur teased, the corners of his lips lifting in a rare smile.
"One day, I'll beat you!" she declared, lifting her sword. "Father says if I train hard, I'll surpass you soon!"
Arthur shrugged. "Sure. I'll wait for that day."
They sparred often, though Lina was always the one who insisted on it. She was clumsy but determined, brave but reckless. And somehow… her presence kept Arthur from sinking too far into the heavy questions that sometimes drifted in his mind.
Questions like—where did I come from? Why was I alone?
The Chief—Lina's father—never had answers. He only had one memory: finding Arthur as a crying infant beneath the village's oldest tree.
"You are where you are now, and that's enough for me, boy," the Chief would say, ruffling his hair. "You don't need to chase the ghosts of the past. Build your future here—with us."
And for a time… Arthur believed him.
Maybe this could be his home.
Maybe he didn't need answers.
---
That evening, the village celebrated the Festival of Embers—a tradition to ward off evil spirits and honor the flames that kept them warm through winter.
The bonfires roared as the villagers danced, their faces glowing in the firelight.
Arthur sat with Lina and the Chief, watching the flames crackle, listening to the stories of old legends and gods he could barely understand.
But as he stared into the fire, a strange unease settled in his chest.
A whisper.
A flicker of something ancient and wrong.
He glanced at the Chief, who seemed to notice nothing. Lina only smiled as she roasted wild berries over the fire.
And then—the sky darkened.
Not with the gentle fall of night, but with thick, unnatural smoke.
A loud crack echoed, followed by panicked screams.
Arthur shot to his feet as flames erupted at the village's edge—spreading unnaturally fast, like the fire itself had a will.
Figures clad in black armor stormed through the gates, their insignia burned into their shields—a shattered sun.
The Church of the Broken God.
The Chief immediately drew his sword. "Take the children and run!" he roared, rallying the hunters.
Arthur grabbed Lina's hand, pulling her through the panicked crowd. "Come on! We have to go—"
But before they could escape, a column of flame blocked their path.
The fire parted, making way for a woman draped in crimson.
She walked slowly, deliberately, her spear trailing embers as she passed. The fires bent toward her, as if obeying her silent command.
Her gaze swept across the villagers with cold detachment.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't look away from her—the Crimson Witch.
Their eyes met.
And for a heartbeat, something deep within him stirred—like an ancient memory, like a chain rattling in the depths of his soul.
But the Witch turned away, unimpressed.
"Take the marked ones," she ordered. "Burn the rest."
The soldiers seized villagers at random, marking them as sacrifices.
Arthur lunged as one of the soldiers grabbed Lina, but a fist slammed into his stomach, knocking him to the ground. His vision blurred, his strength useless against trained killers.
Lina's voice broke as she screamed his name, her hand reaching for him as they dragged her away.
And then—darkness.
---
When Arthur awoke, the village was gone.
Ash coated his skin. Smoke clung to his lungs.
The homes were nothing but charred skeletons.
Silence was his only companion.
He stumbled to his feet, clutching his ribs as a dull ache pulsed behind his eyes.
His steps dragged him to the old tree—the place where his life had begun. He collapsed beneath it, his breath ragged.
"Why…"
His voice cracked, the weight of the world pressing down on him.
The Chief—gone.
Lina—gone.
Everything—gone.
And then…
A voice.
Not one he heard with his ears, but one that reverberated in his soul.
"Come… child of dragons… your trial awaits…"
His legs moved without his will, drawn toward the forest's depths.
He walked, guided by the voice.
Toward something he didn't understand.
Toward something ancient.
Toward the first step on a path soaked in fire and sorrow.
---
The boy named Arthur died that day.
From his ashes, a new name would rise.
Asrial.
The one who would shatter the world's oath.