Year: 32 AC | Aeryn's age: 10
The early autumn sun filtered weakly through the canopy of ancient oaks surrounding the Emberwake lands. Aeryn wandered near the forest's edge, restless from another day of court lessons and formalities. The weight of his mother's fading health and the heavy silence from his father's old allies pressed on him, though he didn't fully understand why.
Curiosity and a longing for warmth pulled him farther from the hold. Without his guards as they were occupied elsewhere. He didn't notice. His small feet found a narrow path leading deeper into the woodlands, where mossy stones jutted like old bones and the air smelled of damp earth and forgotten stories.
Ahead, partly hidden by vines and time, he discovered a small stone structure — a shed, or perhaps a long-abandoned guard's outpost. Its door hung crooked on rusted hinges, the walls covered with creeping ivy.
Inside, the air was cool but not cold. Dust motes danced in the slanting light. Aeryn's eyes caught sight of a dark stone fireplace, its hearth empty but still strangely inviting. The chill of the day stirred a primal longing for fire and comfort.
He gathered dry wood from the nearby floorboards and kindling scattered outside. As he knelt to light a small flame, a shard of splintered wood grazed his palm, drawing a thin line of blood. The scent of iron mingled with smoke as the fire flickered to life.
Suddenly, the flames seemed to glow with a light not quite natural — an ember burning with a soft golden hue, warm and alive.
Aeryn stared, mesmerized. The warmth spread beyond his skin, reaching deep into his chest where something inside stirred — a long-dormant fire awakening. In that moment, visions flashed behind his closed eyelids: the faces of his ancestors, the sharp clang of swords, the whispered promises of loyalty, and the weight of ancient oaths.
When he opened his eyes, the fire burned steady, the shed feeling less empty, as if it had waited all these years for him.
Unaware, he traced a finger over the burn on his palm, a faint glow marking the spot — a mark of the catalyst, the first true awakening of the Emberwake legacy within him.
_______
That night, back at Storm's Heart Hold, Aeryn barely spoke. He sat by the hearth, staring into the flames as if searching for something. Caela watched him from across the room, her own face drawn and pale, wearied from months of illness. Her hands trembled slightly as she sewed, but her eyes never left her son.
Selene, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in him. "What happened?" she asked in their shared chamber later that night.
Aeryn hesitated. "I found something. A place… I think it was waiting for me."
His sister tilted her head. "That's a strange thing to say."
"I know," he whispered. "But I felt… them. Our blood. Like they were trying to show me something."
Over the next few days, Aeryn returned to the shed in secret. Each time he lit the fire, the flickers whispered lessons — not in words, but in sensations, instincts, fragments of memory not his own. He could feel the grip of a sword with surer hands, the weight of command in his voice when he spoke to the guards.
During training, Ser Davin Tarth noted it first. "He moves different now. Like he's remembering something."
Mylara, observing from the balcony, said nothing aloud — but her gaze lingered. The boy's blood was deep, and the fire in it was no simple Emberwake legacy. Something ancient stirred.
Aeryn kept his visits to the shed a secret. Not from malice, but instinct. He knew — deeply — this was not something to be shared.
One night, standing alone before the fire, he spoke aloud to the flames. "What are you? Why me?"
The fire crackled. For a moment, he thought he heard a voice — not in his ears, but in his bones.
"Because you are ready."
It was not his father's voice, nor anyone living. But it rang with the weight of legacy. He did not sleep that night, and when he rose the next morning, the shadows under his eyes did nothing to dim the ember's light.
Meanwhile, the court began to shift. With Maeron's absence, Caela — though weakened — still held enough sway to keep the house's lords in line. But whispers had begun. Old vassals, emboldened by the lack of a ruling lord, began probing for weaknesses.
Aeryn noticed the way Ser Wyric, a bannerman of House Buckler, spoke louder than needed in the hall, questioning the direction of patrols. Lady Fell's courier lingered longer than necessary after each visit, taking note of guard movements.
Caela, sickened but sharp, summoned Mylara. "They'll press harder soon. I cannot keep them at bay."
Mylara nodded. "Then perhaps it is time the heir is seen — as more than a child."
The opportunity came at the first frost of the season. A minor dispute had broken out between two minor vassals — land rights over shared grazing territory. Caela named Aeryn arbiter.
It was a small matter. Yet when Aeryn stood before the hall, with Ser Davin beside him and Mylara watching from the shadows, the nobles quieted.
His voice, while young, held command. His ruling was fair — and carried a weight that the men could not easily contest.
Later, Ser Davin confided to Mylara, "I felt something when he spoke. Like… I'd follow him into fire."
Mylara only nodded. "So would I."