The blood of the first king

The sun hung low over the hills of Ashfall Village, painting the fields gold. Sixteen-year-old Kael Ashborn sprinted through the forest, his bow clutched tightly in his hands. Behind him came the thunder of hooves. "Kael!" shouted his best friend, Rowan. "Slow down!" Kael laughed. "You'll never catch me!" The boys raced between ancient trees whose roots twisted through the earth like sleeping serpents. Kael reached a clearing first. As he turned to celebrate his victory, something strange caught his eye. A symbol. Carved into a stone hidden beneath the roots of an ancient oak. He knelt. The mark looked familiar. A crown surrounded by dragon wings. The moment his fingers touched it— A surge of heat exploded through his body. Images flashed before his eyes. A golden throne. Armies kneeling. Dragons soaring across burning skies. And a voice. Ancient. Powerful. Waiting. "The heir has returned..." Kael jerked backward. The vision vanished. His heart hammered in his chest. "What was that?" he whispered. Far away, beyond the mountains, dark clouds began gathering. And deep within the Iron Empire, a hooded figure slowly opened his eyes. "The bloodline..." he murmured. "After a thousand years... it awakens once more." End of Chapter 1.