The moon hanging over Liraeth resembled a silent observer, cloaked in a silver veil that bathed the night in an ethereal glow. Its faint light cast long shadows over the narrow streets, shrouding the small town in the illusion of peace. Yet this harmony was fragile, like thin glass on the verge of shattering.
In the distance, the first blaze surged skyward, like a celestial serpent roused from its slumber. Crimson-gold flashes illuminated the heavens, a warning to those still slumbering in false comfort. Moments later, a scream tore through the silence, a wail of grief heralding the end of an era.
In a modest house on the outskirts of town, Caelum awoke, not to sound but to an unshakable sensation—a bone-chilling cold that pierced him to his core. He didn't understand what compelled him to rise until his door was flung open with violent urgency.
"Caelum!" His mother, Lorienne, called out, her voice a tolling bell echoing through an empty corridor.
Stumbling into wakefulness, he emerged from his room to find his mother's shadow standing stiffly, illuminated by the fiery glow outside. Her face, usually soft and brimming with warmth, now bore sharp lines of fear she had never shown before.
"We must leave. Now." Her hand seized his wrist, cold and trembling, like a stone pulled from a frozen river.
They fled their home into the night, only to find Liraeth transformed into a waking nightmare. The buildings Caelum had known so well—where he had played, laughed, and dreamed—were now ash, consumed by raging flames. Soldiers of the Valderion Empire marched amidst the destruction, like entities untouched by beauty or humanity.
Lorienne led Caelum through narrow alleys where darkness mingled with rising smoke. But their hope for escape was shattered when a black shadow emerged at the alley's end. A soldier of the Empire stood there, his form larger than life in glinting black armor. A longsword gleamed in his hand, reflecting the firelight—a cold, merciless instrument of judgment.
"Run, Caelum!" Lorienne's voice cut through the night sharper than any blade.
But Caelum couldn't move. His body froze, bound by an invisible force. He could only watch, a spectator in the cruelest of tragedies.
Lorienne stepped forward, her frail frame braving the shadow of death. In her hand was nothing more than an old wooden staff—a futile symbol of resistance against steel and cruelty. Yet it was enough to halt the soldier's advance, if only briefly.
The battle ended as fate had decreed. The soldier's blade pierced through her, blood spurting forth like ink upon the canvas of night. Her body crumpled to the ground, her fall drowned by the roaring flames.
"No!" Caelum's scream tore through the air, transcending sound itself, becoming something deeper—a cry filled with despair, hatred, and an unspoken oath.
Yet in her final breath, Lorienne still thought only of her son. Her bloodied lips whispered faintly, "Go, my child... live..."
With a shattered heart and tears streaming down his face, Caelum obeyed. Each step felt like a thorn driving deeper into his soul. Behind him, Liraeth continued to burn, its remaining screams weaving a grim symphony that would haunt his dreams forever.
When he finally reached the forest beyond the town, his body gave out. He collapsed to his knees in the muddy ground, gasping for breath, his mind consumed by visions of Lorienne. But amidst the darkness surrounding him, something within him began to shift.
The pain he felt gradually transformed into something sharper, colder, and more enduring. A small flame ignited within him, far more dangerous than the fire that had consumed Liraeth.
"For Mother... for Liraeth..." he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper to the night itself.
Then he lifted his gaze to the sky, where the moon now resembled a gaping maw staring into hell. His eyes, now alight with newfound resolve, narrowed as he spoke, "I will have vengeance. This world will know pain."
And with those words, a boy became the seed of hatred. The flames that devoured Liraeth had been extinguished, but the fire within Caelum had only just been lit—a fire that would not die until everyth
ing in its path was reduced to ashes.