Chapter 1: The Spark of Innocence
The sun had barely risen, casting its pale light over the village-city of Eldrith, but the streets were already alive with the low murmur of merchants opening stalls, children running through alleys, and the distant clanging of blacksmiths at work. Smoke rose from chimneys like gray fingers reaching for the sky, carrying the scent of bread and firewood. It was a place of simplicity, yet beneath the cobbled streets and wooden walls, shadows lingered—whispers of a world that was never truly kind.
Raph walked through the marketplace, his small frame weaving between legs and baskets, his brown eyes wide with curiosity. Most children of his age were busy learning trades or running errands for their families, but Raph had always been different. He didn't just look at the world; he felt it, as if every vibration of the street, every heat of the sun, every murmur of fear or hope around him reached directly into his chest.
That morning, he felt it stronger than ever—a pulse, faint and dangerous, thrumming inside him. It wasn't like hunger or excitement. It was something else. Something that didn't belong entirely to the world he knew.
Raph had learned to hide it, though, because the villagers whispered of unnatural children, of cursed births. He had seen the way the butcher's wife clutched her apron when he passed, and how old men on benches shifted uncomfortably when he smiled at them. And yet, he smiled anyway. Smiling was safer than hiding entirely, even if the warmth in his chest screamed otherwise.
"Raph!" A voice called, sharp and impatient. It was Leron, his closest friend, always two steps behind mischief and trouble. "Stop daydreaming! The blacksmith's apprentice is waiting, and you promised you'd carry those iron ingots!"
Raph nodded, though he had no real intention of moving fast. He lingered near a fountain, tracing the patterns of light dancing on water. And then it happened.
A flicker of fire rose from the surface, small, unnatural, and warm against his fingers. His heart jumped, but the movement was instinctive—he pulled back, staring at the water that now hissed where flame licked its edges.
Leron's eyes went wide. "Did you see that?!"
Raph forced his usual smile. "See what?" he asked lightly, though his voice betrayed nothing of the awe—or fear—inside him.
The flame danced, then vanished as quickly as it came. But the sensation remained: a pulse of every Ember inside him, like a heartbeat of the world itself, thundering in his veins. Fire, Water, Earth, Space, Gravity, Light, Darkness—all of them, alive, raw, unshaped. He was not like other children. Not like anyone.
That evening, Raph returned home to the small wooden house he shared with his mother, who was kneeling by a fire that smelled faintly of herbs. Her hands trembled slightly as she stirred a pot of stew, and when she saw him, her face softened—though worry never left her eyes.
"You've been staring at the fountain again," she said gently. "Daydreaming too much, like always."
He nodded, offering his most innocent smile. "Just thinking, Mother."
She studied him, her gaze sharp despite her exhaustion. "Be careful, Raph. This world… it does not forgive those who are different."
Raph swallowed. He wanted to tell her about the fire, the pulse, the overwhelming warmth inside him—but even at seven years old, he knew the words would not keep her safe. The village had seen children like him before. They called them cursed. They feared them. And fear, he had learned, often led to death.
So he smiled, quiet and small, and sat to eat. But in the back of his mind, a thought pulsed, persistent and dangerous: I am not like them. I will not be like them. One day… they will see.
Outside, the streets of Eldrith hummed with life, unaware of the spark that had already begun to grow—a spark that would one day burn kingdoms, topple kings, and challenge the very balance of the world.
And Raph, small, smiling, and already burdened with the weight of all the Embers, simply stared out the window, feeling the dark whisper of destiny brush against his soul.
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