THE BLOODLINE OF HADEZ

‎The village of Arodan stirred awake with the sun, its crooked rooftops bathed in a soft golden glow. Merchants wheeled their carts into the square, shouting prices before their stalls were even set. The air was alive with the smell of fresh bread, roasting chestnuts, and iron heated in the forge. ‎ ‎Hadez swung his hammer down against glowing steel, sparks bursting into the morning air. His arms, strong from years at the anvil, moved with a rhythm born not of joy but of necessity. To the villagers, he was nothing more than the quiet apprentice of Master Kael, a young man with storm-gray eyes and a silence that made him seem older than his years. ‎ ‎But inside, Hadez carried restlessness. He dreamed of places he had never seen: high towers crowned in firelight, a voice whispering his name in a tongue no villager spoke. He often woke before dawn, drenched in sweat, heart pounding like a war drum. ‎ ‎“Boy!” Master Kael’s gravelly voice snapped him back. “Strike, don’t drift into dreams. Steel doesn’t shape itself.” ‎ ‎“Yes, Master,” Hadez muttered, tightening his grip. ‎ ‎He struck again, but his gaze strayed to the crowd. Among the villagers, a cloaked figure caught his attention. She moved differently—graceful, deliberate, with a poise that didn’t belong among muddy cobblestones and shouting merchants. ‎ ‎The girl paused at a fruit stall, her fingers brushing delicately over apples as though they were jewels instead of fruit. When she turned, the hood slipped slightly, and sunlight kissed her face. ‎ ‎Hadez froze. ‎ ‎Her eyes were green, vivid and sharp like cut emeralds. She was beautiful in a way that unsettled him—too flawless, too refined for a place like Arodan. And yet, there was something else in her gaze: curiosity, as though she were studying him in return. ‎ ‎Their eyes locked. ‎ ‎Hadez’s chest tightened, a strange recognition stirring. He lowered his hammer without realizing it. ‎ ‎The moment shattered when shouts rang out. A thief darted through the crowd, knocking into the cloaked girl. She staggered, clutching her basket. ‎ ‎Hadez moved before thought. He vaulted the forge railing, cutting the thief off. The man swung a dagger, but Hadez caught his wrist mid-air and twisted. Bone cracked. The dagger clattered to the ground. With a shove, the thief tumbled into the dirt. ‎ ‎The crowd gasped, then applauded. The merchant rushed forward to reclaim his purse. ‎ ‎But Hadez barely noticed. He turned to the girl, his voice rough from disuse. ‎ ‎“Are you hurt?” ‎ ‎She looked up, eyes wide beneath the hood. For a heartbeat she seemed startled by the sound of his voice. Then her lips curved into a faint smile. ‎ ‎“No,” she said softly. Her voice was melodic, refined, not like the villagers at all. “Thanks to you.” ‎ ‎Hadez shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He was not used to thanks, especially not from strangers with voices like music. ‎ ‎“You should be more careful,” he said, trying to sound stern. “This square isn’t safe for someone like you.” ‎ ‎“Someone like me?” Her brows lifted, amused. ‎ ‎Heat rose in his face. “I—I only meant… you don’t seem… local.” ‎ ‎Her smile widened, teasing. “And you don’t seem like a blacksmith’s apprentice.” ‎ ‎Hadez blinked. “What do you mean?” ‎ ‎“Your hands are strong, but your eyes…” She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “They don’t belong to a forge. They belong to… something greater.” ‎ ‎Hadez’s heart stumbled in his chest. No one had ever spoken to him like that. ‎ ‎Before he could reply, a sharp voice rang out across the square. ‎ ‎“Seraphina!” ‎ ‎The girl stiffened, color draining from her face. ‎ ‎A knight in royal livery was pushing through the crowd, eyes scanning with urgency. ‎ ‎She pulled her hood low, panic flashing in her eyes. “I must go,” she whispered. ‎ ‎“Wait—” Hadez began, reaching out. ‎ ‎But she was already slipping back into the throng of villagers. He caught only a last glimpse of her emerald gaze before she vanished. ‎ ‎The knight’s voice thundered again. “Princess Seraphina!” ‎ ‎Hadez’s breath caught. Princess? ‎ ‎He stood rooted in place, heart racing, mind reeling. The girl he had saved, the girl who had seen straight through him, was no villager at all. She was royalty. ‎ ‎And though he did not yet know it, the fate of his hidden bloodline had already entwined with hers.