THE EMBER THRONE OF VAELOR

Chapter 1: The Last Ember The kingdom of Vaelor had not seen a dragon in over a thousand years. Children still whispered their names around campfires. Old storytellers claimed the dragons once soared across crimson skies, their wings blotting out the sun while rivers of molten fire carved mountains into valleys. But to everyone living today, dragons were nothing more than legends. Only one thing remained from that forgotten age. The Ember Throne. It stood deep within the royal palace, hidden beneath layers of enchanted stone and guarded by the most powerful mages in the kingdom. No king had dared sit upon it for centuries. Ancient writings warned that only the true heir of the First Flame could awaken its power. Every ruler who ignored the warning had either vanished, gone mad, or died before sunrise. So the throne remained untouched, collecting dust while the kingdom slowly forgot why it had ever been feared. Far from the capital, beyond the Silver Hills and the Whispering Forest, lay the small village of Ashbrook. It was a quiet place where the loudest sound each morning came from the blacksmith's forge. Clang. Clang. Clang. Kael tightened his grip on the hammer and brought it down again. Sweat rolled across his forehead despite the cool mountain air. Sparks burst like tiny stars every time metal met steel. "Again," growled Garrick, the old blacksmith. Kael sighed. "I've been swinging this hammer since dawn." "And you'll keep swinging until the sword stops looking like it was forged by a drunken goat." Kael chuckled. "That's oddly specific." "I once knew a drunken goat." "You what?" "It wasn't very good at smithing either." Kael laughed, shaking his head as he lifted the glowing blade back into the furnace. The forge was all he had ever known. Garrick had found him eighteen years ago wrapped in a soot-black blanket outside the workshop during the fiercest storm anyone could remember. There had been no note. No family crest. No clue where he came from. Only a strange pendant hanging around his neck. It was a smooth piece of black metal shaped like a flame. Unlike ordinary iron, it never grew cold or hot. It simply remained warm, as if a tiny heartbeat slept inside it. Many traders had offered fortunes for it. Kael refused every one. Something deep inside him insisted the pendant belonged to him alone. Garrick noticed him touching it again. "You still hoping it'll tell you who your parents were?" "Maybe." The old man looked away. "Sometimes the past stays buried because it's safer that way." Before Kael could answer, the village bell rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Not the signal for market. Not a wedding. Danger. The laughter vanished from the forge. Villagers rushed into the streets. "What happened?" "Bandits?" "Wolves?" A young hunter sprinted through the square, struggling to catch his breath. "Monsters!" Silence. "From the forest!" Panic spread instantly. Parents grabbed children. Shopkeepers slammed their doors. Farmers abandoned carts full of grain. Garrick reached beneath his workbench and pulled out a heavy war hammer. "Stay behind me." Kael frowned. "I can fight." "You can barely finish a horseshoe." "I've improved." "You've improved enough to lose more gracefully." Before Kael could protest, a deafening roar echoed across the valley. The ground trembled. Trees swayed violently. Then they appeared. Three enormous wolf-like creatures burst from the forest. Their fur was black as coal. Their eyes glowed bright red. Smoke drifted from their mouths with every breath. "Shadow Wolves..." whispered Garrick. "I thought they were extinct." "So did everyone else." The beasts charged. One leaped straight through a wooden fence as if it were paper. Another crashed into a wagon, sending fruit flying across the road. The third headed directly toward a little girl frozen in fear. Kael didn't think. He ran. "KAEL!" Garrick shouted. Too late. The wolf lunged. Kael grabbed a long iron bar from a nearby cart and swung with all his strength. The metal struck the creature across its jaw. Instead of breaking bone— The iron shattered. The beast barely flinched. Its burning eyes fixed on Kael. It smiled. "Oh..." Kael whispered. "That's... not good." The Shadow Wolf sprang. Just before its claws reached him— A silver arrow pierced its shoulder. Then another. Then five more. Royal soldiers poured into the village, dressed in polished armor bearing the golden phoenix of Vaelor. "Protect the civilians!" "Drive them back!" The battle exploded into chaos. Steel clashed against claws. Magic lit the streets with blue fire. One soldier was thrown across a rooftop. Another disappeared beneath snapping jaws. Kael pulled the frightened girl behind an overturned cart. "Stay here." "What about you?" "I honestly haven't figured that part out." He searched desperately for a weapon. His eyes landed on a sword lying beside a fallen knight. He sprinted toward it. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt— The pendant beneath his shirt grew hot. Not warm. Hot. Blindingly hot. A pulse of heat surged through his body. The sword burst into brilliant orange flames. Everyone froze. The soldiers. The villagers. Even the Shadow Wolves. The fire did not burn Kael. Instead, it swirled around him like a living storm. One of the wolves whimpered. Another backed away. An elderly royal mage stared in disbelief. His face drained of color. "No..." he whispered. "It cannot be..." Kael looked at the blazing sword in his hand. "I... I didn't do this." The old mage dropped to one knee. "The Flame has awakened." High above the clouds, beyond mortal sight, something ancient opened a single golden eye. After a thousand years of silence... ...the dragons had felt the call.