The village of Tharnweald was never meant to be more than a forgotten dot on the edge of the world. Nestled between towering black mountains and an endless sea of mist, the people of Tharnweald lived in the shadow of legends older than memory itself. Every child grew up hearing tales of the Hollow King, a figure woven from fear and myth, said to rule over the hidden lands deep within the Ashen Peaks.
But those were stories for the fireside—until the night the mountain moved.
Talia stood at the edge of the village, her breath steaming in the cold air. She pulled her hood closer around her head as the wind howled through the dark trees. Her father always told her never to wander past the last of the oak trees, but tonight, something pulled her forward, past that invisible line. Something in the air was different, and it wasn't just the biting wind that carried the scent of burning pine.
In the distance, a dull glow began to flicker over the ridge of the nearest mountain, lighting the clouds in angry hues of red and orange. Talia squinted, her heart pounding in her chest. It wasn't a sunrise—it was too early for that. Besides, the sun had never risen in the north.
Behind her, the village bell began to toll, a slow, heavy sound that reverberated through the valley. The bell had only one purpose: to warn of danger. But danger from what?
"Talia!" a voice called from behind her. She turned to see Merrick, the village blacksmith, sprinting towards her, his broad frame silhouetted by the dim light of the distant flames. His face was tight with fear. "Get back to the village! Now!"
"What's happening?" Talia asked, stepping backward but keeping her eyes locked on the ridge.
"The Hollow King…" Merrick's voice broke as he spoke the name. He paused for a moment, catching his breath, his eyes wide. "The mountain… it's opened."
Talia's blood ran cold. The Hollow King. The words themselves were a curse.
"Stop staring and move!" Merrick grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the sight. But even as she stumbled back toward the village, Talia couldn't shake the feeling that the mountain was watching her—that something ancient had awakened.
The Gathering Flame
The village square was already full of people by the time they arrived. Every face was marked by panic, their gazes fixed northward. At the heart of the square stood Eldric, the village elder, his weathered hands gripping his staff tightly. His voice was steady, but the fear was plain in his eyes.
"Everyone, listen to me," he began, his deep voice cutting through the murmurs. "This is no ordinary fire. The Hollow King's realm has opened, and what comes from it… is beyond anything we can face alone."
A murmur of fear rippled through the crowd. Talia had always thought of the Hollow King as nothing more than a tale to scare children, but now, with the fire blazing on the mountain and the eerie feeling hanging in the air, she wasn't so sure.
"What do we do?" someone shouted. "How do we stop it?"
Eldric's face tightened. "There is only one way to seal the mountain. The Flame of Souls must be lit."
The crowd fell silent. Talia felt a jolt of recognition at the mention of the Flame. Another legend, another impossible task. The Flame of Souls was said to be a fire born from the essence of life itself, capable of binding spirits, sealing portals, and, in the darkest of times, destroying kings. But no one knew where to find it—or even if it still existed.
A voice broke the silence. Rowan, a young hunter, stepped forward from the crowd, his bow slung across his back. "Where is it, Eldric? Where do we find the Flame?"
The elder looked toward the north, his gaze fixed on the flaming peak. "The Flame rests in the heart of the Vale of Embers, beyond the mountains. It was hidden there long ago, locked away by the first of the firekeepers. If the Hollow King rises, it is the only thing that can stop him."
Talia's heart raced. She had heard stories of the Vale of Embers. A cursed land where ash fell from the sky like snow, and nothing ever grew. The few who dared enter the Vale never returned.
"Who will go?" Rowan asked, his voice steady, though the tension was clear.
Eldric's eyes passed over the crowd before landing on Talia. "The Flame of Souls will only answer to one who carries the mark."
Talia blinked, confused. "The mark?"
"You've felt it, haven't you?" Eldric's voice was soft now, barely a whisper. "The call of the flame. The pull of something ancient, something older than this world. You have been chosen, Talia."
All eyes turned toward her. Talia's heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to protest, to deny the elder's words. But deep down, she knew he was right. The strange warmth she had felt in the air, the flickering visions that had haunted her dreams for weeks, the feeling that something was watching her from the mountains… It had all been leading to this.
"I don't understand," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm just a girl. How can I stop this?"
Eldric stepped forward, placing a weathered hand on her shoulder. "You are more than you know. You are the last of the Flameborn, the bloodline of the firekeepers who once guarded the mountain. The power of the Flame runs in your veins."
Talia felt the weight of the words settle on her. Flameborn. It couldn't be true—she was no hero, no warrior. She was just Talia, a girl from a forgotten village. But there was no time to doubt. The mountain was burning, and the Hollow King was waking.
"I'll go," Talia said, her voice firmer now, though her hands trembled. "I'll find the Flame."
Rowan stepped beside her, his expression resolute. "You won't go alone. I'll go with you."
And so, as the fires of the Hollow King's mountain raged in the distance, Talia, Rowan, and a small band of villagers set out into the night, toward the Vale of Embers. The journey ahead would be perilous, and none of them knew if they would return.
But Talia could feel the Flame stirring within her, and for the first time, she realized that the power of legends was real. The Hollow King would rise again—but this time, she would be ready.