Chapter 1: A Quiet Dawn

The first rays of sunlight crept over the eastern hills, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. Thorne stood at the edge of a freshly plowed field, his calloused hands resting on the worn wooden handle of his hoe. He took a deep breath, savoring the crisp morning air laden with the scent of damp earth and sprouting wheat.

At seventeen, Thorne was all lean muscle and sun-bronzed skin, his shaggy brown hair constantly falling into eyes the color of storm clouds. He stretched, working out the kinks in his back from a long night's sleep on the lumpy straw mattress he shared with his younger sister, Lira.

The village of Oakvale spread out behind him, a collection of thatched-roof cottages and well-tended gardens nestled in a verdant valley. Smoke already rose from a few chimneys as the village stirred to life. In the distance, he could hear the gentle bleating of sheep and the crow of a rooster welcoming the new day.

Thorne turned back to his work, falling into the familiar rhythm of breaking up clods of earth and uprooting stubborn weeds. His mind wandered as his body moved, dreaming of lands beyond the sheltering hills that encircled Oakvale. Sometimes traders would pass through, bringing exotic goods and tantalizing tales of far-off kingdoms and strange magics. But such thoughts were flights of fancy – his place was here, tending the land as his family had for generations.

"Thorne! Break your fast, son!" His father's voice carried across the field, pulling him from his reverie.

Thorne planted his hoe in the soft soil and made his way back to their modest cottage. The rich aroma of porridge and woodsmoke greeted him as he ducked through the low doorway.

Inside, his father, Aldric, was ladling steaming porridge into wooden bowls. A bear of a man with a thick beard streaked with gray, Aldric's weathered face creased into a smile as Thorne entered. "There's my strong lad. Eat up now, there's work to be done in the woods today."

Lira sat at the rough-hewn table, her small fingers nimbly weaving stems of lavender into a fragrant braid. At twelve, she was the spitting image of their late mother – all copper curls and bright green eyes flecked with gold. She looked up at Thorne's entrance, her face lighting up with a smile that never failed to warm his heart.

"I dreamt of mother last night," Lira said softly as Thorne took his seat. "She was singing that lullaby, the one about the silver moon."

A comfortable silence fell over the family as they each remembered Elowen, taken by fever five winters past. Aldric cleared his throat, his voice gruff with emotion. "Your mother's watching over us still, little one. Now eat up, both of you. We've trees to fell and herbs to gather before midday."

As Thorne spooned the hearty porridge into his mouth, sweetened with a precious drizzle of honey, he felt a deep contentment. This was his world – simple, perhaps, but filled with love and the honest satisfaction of a day's hard work.