Shadows of light

"Sometimes, destiny doesn't knock-it brands you and drags you into the fire."

The scent of iron and woodsmoke clung to the air like a curse.

Kael of Eldor stood knee-deep in the icy river just outside the village, his hands numbed from hauling bucket after bucket into the barrels lined along the shore. His arms ached, his back stung from the strain, and his temper simmered just beneath the surface.

The sun dipped lower across the tree-crested horizon, bathing the hills in a soft golden fire that made the whole world seem more beautiful than it had any right to be. But the ache in Kael's bones refused to let him appreciate it.

He wiped a strand of damp hair from his forehead and glanced back at the village. From this angle, Eldor looked like a fragile thing-wooden fences, moss-covered roofs, thin wisps of chimney smoke. Humble. Peaceful. Powerless.

He sighed.

This wasn't how he imagined life would go. At seventeen, he was still just Kael, the orphaned nephew of a carpenter, destined for long days of chopping timber, hauling water, and repairing roofs after the autumn storms. No sword. No prophecy. No calling.

Just... life.

"You're staring at the hills like they'll grow wings and fly away."

Kael turned.

Merin stood at the riverbank, hands on her hips, her brown hair tied back with a faded green ribbon. She wore her usual flour-dusted apron and a teasing smirk that never failed to find his nerves.

"Maybe they will," he said. "And I'll be right behind them."

"You? Abandon Eldor?" She scoffed. "Not unless those hills come with free bread and hot baths."

He smirked in spite of himself. "I could live with that."

Merin stepped closer, kicking off her shoes to dip her toes into the water. "You're quiet today. Brooding more than usual."

Kael didn't answer at first. He stared into the rippling water, the way the current caught the last strands of sunlight and twisted them into gold.

"I don't know," he said finally. "It feels like... something's changing. Like something's coming."

Merin gave him a sidelong look. "That's just harvest season."

"No," he said, his voice distant. "Bigger than that. I don't know how to explain it. It's like the air's watching."

She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe the river spirits are flirting with you."

Kael laughed, and for a brief moment, the unease in his chest eased.

But then it happened.

A pulse.

Not in the water, not in the air-but in him. A sharp, burning jolt that surged through his chest like a struck bell. His knees buckled, and he staggered back into the river, gasping.

"Kael?" Merin rushed forward. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer.

His shirt clung to his skin, and just above his heart, something glowed. Through the soaked fabric, a mark began to emerge-spiraling lines of golden light, etched like fire beneath his skin.

Kael cried out and fell to one knee, clutching his chest.

The mark pulsed again.

It was alive.

By nightfall, the entire village knew.

Kael sat by the hearth in his uncle Bren's cottage, wrapped in a wool blanket that smelled of smoke and cedar. The mark still glowed faintly beneath his tunic, though the pain had subsided into a low, rhythmic pulse-like a second heartbeat.

The village council-five elders who had ruled Eldor with gentle patience for decades-sat in a half-circle around him. They had brought lanterns, and their wrinkled faces flickered with firelight and worry.

"I told you," Kael muttered, his voice hoarse. "I didn't do anything. It just... happened."

Mother Eira, the oldest of the five, leaned forward on her cane. Her silver hair was braided with tiny green feathers-symbols of wisdom in the old ways. Her eyes were sharp, but not unkind.

"Describe the moment again," she said gently.

Kael swallowed. "The sky shimmered, just for a second. Then the pain hit-like something was burning inside me. And then the light appeared."

"Did you hear anything?" another elder asked. "Voices? A name?"

Kael hesitated. In truth, he had heard something-a whisper in a language he didn't know. A woman's voice. But it had faded before he could grasp the words.

"I don't know," he said instead.

The council fell into hushed discussion, voices low and tense.

"This hasn't happened in three generations," one whispered.

"Could be a mistake."

"Could be the prophecy."

Kael's hands tightened around the blanket.

"What prophecy?" he demanded.

Mother Eira's eyes met his. There was no amusement in them now. Only memory.

"There is a tale," she said softly, "passed down from the Temple of Light. A child marked by the Balance. One who will rise when the world begins to tilt toward shadow. Not to rule... but to choose."

"To choose what?" Kael asked, his throat dry.

"Which side survives."

Later that night, Kael sat alone by the river. The moon reflected silver across the current. The mark on his chest had stopped pulsing, but it still glowed faintly, even through his tunic.

He didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to be now? A boy marked by prophecy? A weapon in someone else's war?

He looked down at his hands. They were calloused, scraped, strong. But they didn't feel like a hero's hands. Just a carpenter's apprentice. Just Kael.

Then the dream came.

It hit him like falling into cold water.

He stood in a field of ash.

The sky burned crimson. Cities lay in ruin. Bones crumbled beneath his feet. But amid the desolation stood a woman of light-tall, graceful, radiant with power that hurt his eyes to behold. Her hair flowed like molten silver, and her eyes... her eyes were not human. They were ancient, luminous, unknowable.

She reached for him.

Her fingers brushed his, and the mark on his chest blazed like a sunrise.

And then-

A scream.

A scream of agony as shadow tore through her body, dragging her into a chasm of black. Kael screamed her name.

He didn't know what it was.

But in the dream, he knew her.

He loved her.

He woke up with a gasp, clutching his chest.

The fire in the hearth had long gone out. Outside, wind howled across the treetops. He sat up slowly, heart racing.

The mark still glowed.

And somewhere far to the east-in a sacred temple carved from the bones of the oldest mountain-a girl opened her eyes, startled by the same dream.

Her name was Liora.