Bloodline of Ash

--- Chapter One – The Silence That Burns They called her cursed, but none of them knew the truth. The wind moaned like a grieving widow through the skeletal trees that bordered the edge of Ashenmoor. Nyra stood at the forest’s edge, her black cloak tangled in the wind like smoke. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t blink. She only watched. Watched the way the villagers avoided her path. Watched how the children turned their faces away. Watched how no one dared to speak her name out loud. Seventeen years old. Seven years silent. She had not uttered a word since the fire—since the screaming, the smoke, the sky split open in flame. Her family had burned, the house turned to cinders, but Nyra had walked out untouched. Unharmed. Unforgiven. Since that night, silence had become her language. The villagers had other names for her. > “Witch.” “Cursed girl.” “Ashblood.” They spoke them behind their hands. Nyra heard them all. But what could their words do that her silence couldn’t? Her quiet was sharper than their insults. It was her armor. --- Her path never changed. She passed the crumbling chapel with its shattered windows and dying ivy. She crossed the withered meadow where nothing grew, not even weeds. And then she reached the stream—the one place that still felt untouched by time. There, she sat on a flat stone, pulled a worn piece of charcoal from her cloak, and opened her sketch journal. She drew. Every day. Not because it calmed her. Because it reminded her she still existed. But today, her hand trembled. A strange ripple danced across the stream’s surface—delicate at first, then sharp. Not the wind. Not an animal. Something else. She looked down. Her reflection stared back—pale, sharp-eyed, dark-haired. But behind her in the water… a shimmer. A shape. Nyra turned sharply. Nothing. Just trees. But the air felt heavier. Thicker. Like the sky was holding its breath. Then it came. A voice. Deep. Cold. Male. > “You’ve been hiding long enough.” Nyra rose slowly. Her fingers tightened around the charcoal stick like it was a blade. Her lips parted—but no sound came. Not even now. The figure stepped out from the trees. A boy—at least, he wore the shape of one. But his presence bent the air, rippled the ground. He was wrong. Off. Ancient. Eyes like dying stars stared into hers. > “You’re the last of the Ashblood,” he said. “They’ve started hunting your kind again.” She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But something inside her shifted. The silence… cracked. --- That night, she didn’t return to the village. The moon hung low and sickly, like a warning in the sky. She stood barefoot in the cold, in the heart of the forest, her journal forgotten by the stream. And she screamed. Not with her voice—but with her power. The earth trembled. The trees bowed. The shadows fled. She didn’t know what she was calling. She didn’t care. The fire inside her—dormant for seven years—awakened. Not in chaos, but in control. Nyra had never spoken a word since the fire. But tonight, the silence spoke for her. And the world finally listened. --- 🔥 End of Chapter One