Chapter One: The Spark
The rain fell like whispers over the crumbling rooftops of Ember Hollow, a forgotten village nestled between the lifeless hills and the everburnt plains. Once lush with wildflowers and music, the land now bore scars of fire and betrayal. Only ruins remained, scattered like broken promises across the dark soil.
Mira stood alone on the charred steps of the old town hall, the hem of her coat soaked and heavy. She was the last of her bloodline, the Ashborn—those who had once wielded the flame of the ancients. But now the flame was gone. Extinguished. All that remained were ashes.
But something stirred in the wind.
She knelt beside the monument that bore the names of the lost—her mother's name etched in fading letters. As she brushed off the soot, her fingers trembled. Her people had perished in the Great Scorch, an inferno no one survived. No one but her.
Behind her, the wind whispered again.
"Mira..."
She turned sharply, hand on the dagger she wore beneath her sleeve. No one should've known that name—not here. Not now.
From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in soot-stained black, eyes like molten coal.
"The fire may sleep," the stranger said, "but it never dies."
Would you like Chapter Two next, or would you like me to expand Chapter One into a longer version?