Chapter 1: Ash And Sky

Raen woke up to the smell of smoke. It was sharp and bitter, stinging his nose as he stirred in his bed.

His room was dark, but an orange light flickered against the walls, casting strange shadows that danced like restless spirits.

He blinked, disoriented, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was wrong.

The air felt heavy, and the faint crackling sound in the distance made his stomach twist.

He sat up, his blanket falling to the floor. The smell grew stronger, and the orange light grew brighter.

Raen's bare feet touched the cold wooden floor as he stood, his body tense. He moved to the window, his hands trembling as he pushed the curtains aside.

The sight outside made his breath catch in his throat.

The village is on fire?

Flames roared through the night, devouring houses and trees alike. Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, blotting out the stars.

The heat hit him even from a distance, and the air was filled with the sounds of chaos—screams, cries, and the relentless crackling of fire.

Raen's heart raced as he stumbled back from the window, his mind struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Raen!" His father's voice boomed from downstairs, sharp and urgent. "Raen, get down here now!"

Raen didn't hesitate. He grabbed his boots, fumbling to put them on as he rushed out of his room.

The stairs creaked under his weight as he descended, his heart pounding louder with every step.

His father stood at the bottom, his face pale but determined. He held a dagger in one hand, its blade glinting in the firelight that seeped through the cracks in the door.

"What's happening?" Raen asked, his voice trembling.

"No time to explain," his father said, his tone firm. "You need to run. Head north, toward the forest. Don't stop for anything, do you understand?"

Raen shook his head, panic rising in his chest. "But what about you? What about Mom?"

His father's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Raen saw the fear in his eyes.

But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a steely resolve. "I'll find your mother. But you need to go. Now."

Raen wanted to argue, to stay and help, but the look in his father's eyes silenced him.

He nodded, his throat tight, and turned toward the door. His father grabbed his arm, stopping him for a moment.

"Be brave, Raen," he said, his voice softer now. "No matter what happens, keep running."

Raen swallowed hard and nodded again. His father released him, and Raen pushed the door open, stepping into the nightmare outside.

The heat hit him like a wall, and the air was thick with ash and smoke.

He coughed, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he stumbled forward. The village was unrecognizable.

Houses that had stood for generations were now nothing but burning skeletons, their roofs collapsing in showers of sparks.

The streets were filled with people running, screaming, their faces twisted with fear and pain.

Raen's heart ached as he recognized some of them—neighbors, friends, people he had known his entire life.

He saw Old Man Garret trying to drag his wife away from their burning home, their faces blackened with soot.

He saw little Lila, the baker's daughter, crying as she clutched her doll, her dress singed and torn.

And he saw bodies—too many bodies—lying motionless in the streets, their lives snuffed out by the flames or something worse.

He forced himself to keep moving, his father's words echoing in his mind.

Run. Don't stop for anything.

But it was hard.

Every step felt like a betrayal, like he was abandoning the people who needed help. His chest tightened with guilt, but he kept going, his legs carrying him toward the edge of the village.

As he ran, he noticed something that made his blood run cold.

Among the chaos, there were figures—men, cloaked in black, their faces hidden behind masks.

They moved calmly through the destruction, their movements deliberate and unhurried.

They didn't seem to care about the flames or the screams. They were like shadows, untouched by the chaos around them.

One of them turned, and Raen froze. The man's mask was featureless, smooth and white, with only two slits for eyes.

But it was the eyes themselves that terrified Raen.

They were cold, lifeless, like the eyes of a dead fish. The man stared at him for what felt like an eternity, and Raen felt a chill run down his spine.

Then the man turned away, as if Raen wasn't worth his time.

Raen's legs finally obeyed, and he started running again, his heart pounding in his chest.

He didn't look back. He couldn't. He focused on the path ahead, on the trees that loomed in the distance. The forest was his only hope, his only chance of escape.

But before he could reach it, a scream pierced the air—a scream he recognized.

"Raen!"

It was his father.

Raen skidded to a stop, his breath catching in his throat. He turned, his eyes scanning the chaos until he found him.

His father was standing in the middle of the street, facing one of the cloaked men.

The man held a sword, its blade gleaming in the firelight, while his father clutched his dagger, his stance defensive.

"Run, Raen!" his father shouted, his voice strained. "Go!"

Raen hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground. He wanted to help, to do something, but fear held him back.

He watched in horror as the cloaked man lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision.

His father tried to block the attack, but the dagger was no match for the sword. The blade struck true, and his father crumpled to the ground.

"No!" Raen screamed, his voice breaking. He took a step forward, but his father's words echoed in his mind.

Run. Don't stop for anything.

Tears blurred his vision as he turned away, forcing himself to keep moving. His legs felt like lead, but he pushed through the pain, the grief, the fear.

The forest was close now, the trees stretching toward the sky like grasping fingers.

The smoke was thicker here, choking him with every breath. His lungs burned, and his eyes watered, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. He had to keep going.

But just as he reached the edge of the forest, a hand grabbed him from behind.

Raen struggled, kicking and thrashing, but the grip was too strong. He was dragged back, his feet scraping against the ground.

He screamed, his voice raw, but no one came to help. The cloaked men surrounded him, their masks hiding any emotion, any humanity.

One of them stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. He raised a hand, and Raen felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck.

Darkness crept into the edges of his vision, and his struggles grew weaker. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the symbol on the man's cloak—a black sun, its rays twisting like flames.

---

When Raen woke up, he was in the town square. The air was thick with smoke, and the ground was littered with debris.

The once-familiar square was now a scene of devastation, the buildings reduced to smoldering ruins.

A platform had been erected in the center, and Raen realized with a sinking feeling that he was standing on it.

His hands were bound, and his body ached. He tried to move, but a sharp pain in his neck made him gasp.

He reached up, his fingers brushing against something hot and rough—a brand, seared into his skin. The pain was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the fear that gripped him.

The cloaked men stood around the platform, their masks hiding their faces. But one of them stepped forward, his presence commanding.

He was taller than the others, his cloak adorned with the same black sun symbol. He raised a hand, and the crowd fell silent.

"People of this village," he began, his voice cold and emotionless. "You have been chosen. Your lives, your homes, your very existence—all of it serves a greater purpose. The Black Sun Syndicate does not destroy without reason. We cleanse. We purify. And from the ashes, a new order will rise."

Raen's stomach churned as the man spoke. His words were twisted, his tone almost reverent. He spoke of destruction as if it were a gift, a necessary sacrifice for some greater good. Raen wanted to scream, to protest, but his voice caught in his throat.

The man turned to Raen, his lifeless eyes boring into him. "You," he said, pointing a gloved finger. "You have been chosen for the Sol Ritual. Consider it an honor."

Raen's heart raced as two of the cloaked men grabbed him, dragging him to the center of the platform. He struggled, but his strength was no match for theirs.

They forced him to his knees, his head bowed. He could feel the heat of the brand on his neck, the pain a constant reminder of his helplessness.

The leader stepped forward, holding a strange object—a twisted, blackened rod that seemed to pulse with dark energy. He raised it high, and the crowd watched in silence.

"Let the ritual begin," he declared.

Raen's vision blurred as the rod came down, striking the platform with a deafening crack. The ground beneath him seemed to tremble, and the air grew thick with a strange, oppressive energy.

He felt a searing pain in his chest, as if something was being torn from him. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and his mind began to fog.

"Hush now, my child, the stars still gleam,

Though skies are gray and ashes stream.

The drums of war may shake the night,

But here, with me, you'll be alright."

Memories flashed before his eyes—his father's face, his mother's face, the village as it once was. But they were twisted, distorted, as if seen through a broken mirror.

Colors swirled around him, blending into a chaotic mess of light and shadow. He tried to hold on, to focus, but the darkness was too strong.

"Oh, sky so vast, oh, sky so wide,

You've seen the tears the earth has cried.

The ashes fall, the fires burn,

Yet still, the stars will take their turn."

As the ritual reached its peak, Raen felt himself slipping away. The pain, the fear, the grief—it all faded into nothingness. The last thing he heard was his mother's voice, singing a lullaby he hadn't heard in years. It was soft, soothing, and for a moment, he felt at peace.

"So close your eyes, my little one,

The battle's roar will soon be done.

For in the sky, beyond the ash,

A brighter light will break the clash."

Then the darkness swallowed him whole.