TITLE:ASHES OF THE BLACKAN:

Episode 1: Born in Shadows The storm outside screamed like a thousand dying voices. In a crumbling manor atop the cliffs of Durn Hollow, a boy sat hunched beside a dead fire. His name was Kalen Dravik — though even then, few dared say it aloud. Kalen had lived in the manor since he could remember. It smelled of dust, blood, and cold stone. And it belonged to his aunt — Lady Mavora Dravik, the wicked woman who had raised him. If "raised" could even be the word. Mavora believed in strength, not love. She taught Kalen to fight by throwing him into pens with starving wolves. She taught him obedience by locking him for days in iron cages when he failed her impossible demands. "A Blackan bows to no one," she would hiss in his ear, sharp nails digging into his shoulders. "But only if they make the world kneel first." By the time he was ten, Kalen had stopped crying. By fifteen, he had learned to smile when he was struck, to sharpen hatred into something colder than anger: power. On his sixteenth name-day, Mavora gave him a gift: a sword black as a moonless night, and a task. Kill the village elder — a man who had once defied their family — and claim his place among the Blackan Order. Kalen said nothing. He only gripped the sword and walked into the storm. The village of Hearthmere lay silent under the hammering rain. Lanterns flickered behind shuttered windows. No one dared come out at night, not when the Blackan walked. Kalen found the elder's home easily — a crooked little hut by the well. Through the window, he saw an old man rocking by a fire, muttering prayers to forgotten gods. A part of Kalen hesitated. He could feel the man's life — fragile, small — like a candle ready to go out. "Strike fast," his aunt's voice whispered in his mind. "Strike hard. Show no weakness." Kalen kicked in the door. The elder rose, fear wide in his milky eyes. His mouth opened — to beg, to reason, to plead. Kalen would never know. The black sword sang through the air. When he walked away, blood slicked the stones behind him. The rain washed it away before he reached the manor gates. Mavora waited in the grand hall, draped in shadow. She said nothing as Kalen knelt before her, offering the sword. Blood still dripped from the blade. A slow, cruel smile curled her lips. "You are ready," she said, voice like a blade scraping stone. "The Blackan shall know your name." Kalen stood. Inside, something small and human whimpered. But he crushed it underfoot, as he had been taught. From that night forward, Kalen Dravik was no longer just a boy. He was a Blackan — feared, whispered about, cloaked in darkness. Yet somewhere, deep beneath the layers of cruelty and pain, a faint ember flickered. It would take years before anyone would see it. Years — and the courage of strangers — to remind him what it meant to be more than a weapon. But for now, Kalen walked the path of shadow, believing it was all he deserved. And the storm roared on. [End of Episode 1]