The wind carried the scent of iron and ash across the barren plains.
Once, these lands had been alive with the sound of marching feet and the clash of steel — now, only ruins remained. Crumbled stone pillars marked the old stronghold of the Battle Tribe, half-buried in black sand, glowing faintly under the pale twilight sky.
Kael Dravaryn stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the valley of bones where his ancestors once fought. He had white hair streaked with black, ember-red eyes; forearms dark like living shadow. His hands — darker than the rest of his pale skin — flexed unconsciously, as if remembering battles he had never fought.
"You're thinking too much again."
The voice came softly from behind him. His younger sister, Lira Dravaryn, walked up the slope, a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. Her silver hair shimmered in the wind — one of the last signs of their bloodline.
Kael gave a faint smile. "You sound like Mother."
"Someone has to," Lira said, crossing her arms. "You've been standing here since dawn. The Elder's waiting to bless you before you leave. Don't tell me you've changed your mind?"
He looked out again at the dark horizon where the sun struggled to rise beyond the Rift. "No. I'll go. Even if it means leaving what's left of us behind."
She sighed. "There's barely anything left to leave behind, Kael."
That was true. Their tribe, once proud and feared, was reduced to a handful of scattered families — living ghosts hiding from the rest of Eclipsera. In every other realm, the Battle Tribe was remembered only as monsters of war, cursed by their own power, and forearms dark like shadow.
And yet, Ebonfang Academy had sent an invitation — the first in centuries.
Their home was a modest stone hut, built among the ruins of the old fortress Valorith. Smoke rose from the hearth where their mother, Serin Dravaryn, prepared the morning meal. Her once-black hair had turned almost white, streaked with silver like moonlight on snow.
When she saw Kael enter, her hands froze over the fire.
"So," she said quietly, "it's time."
Kael nodded and said. "The Elder is waiting."
Serin's expression softened with sadness. "Your father dreamed of this day. That one of his sons might walk beyond the ash. But…" She hesitated. "Ebonfang Academy is not kind to our kind. They will see you as a relic — or a threat."
"I know," Kael said simply. "But if I don't go, our tribe dies forgotten."
Lira sat beside their mother, fidgeting with a pendant shaped like a broken sword. "Just don't get yourself killed. You're bad at pretending to be normal."
Kael smirked faintly. "I'll manage."
Serin stepped closer, placing a hand on his shadow-darkened forearm. "This power… it runs deep, Kael. The world fears it for a reason. Promise me you'll use it to protect, not destroy."
He bowed his head. "I promise, Mother."
Outside, the wind grew harsher as Kael approached the Hall of Ashes — the last standing temple of their people.
Inside, torches flickered weakly against carved stone walls depicting warriors with blackened arms, wielding blades of light and flame. At the center sat Elder Varuun, the last surviving sage of the Battle Tribe. His eyes were cloudy with age, but his voice still carried the weight of thunder.
"Kael Dravaryn," the Elder intoned, "son of the fallen house of Valorith. Step forward."
Kael knelt, bowing low. "Elder."
Varuun studied him for a long moment. "So the academy calls once more. Strange, that after five centuries of silence, they would seek one of us."
"I'll find out why," Kael said. "And I'll regain the power once we had."
The Elder's lips curled into a faint, proud smile. "Ah, the fire still burns. Good. The world may fear us, but it was forged by our blood. Never forget — the shadows in your arms are not a curse, but a legacy."
He lifted a staff carved with runes that glowed faintly blue, and placed its end on Kael's chest.
The runes flared — not with light, but with a deep hum that resonated in Kael's bones. The old blessing of the Battle Tribe.
"By the ashes of the fallen, and the flame that endures,
Walk with honor, child of Valorith.
Let the world tremble not at your rage — but at your resolve."
Kael rose slowly, feeling the weight of the blessing settle into him.
"I will not fail them, Elder."
"Good." Varuun's gaze turned distant. "But remember — Ebonfang Academy is not merely a place of learning. It is a mirror. It will show you the truth of what we once were — and what we must become again."
Kael bowed deeply, then turned toward the temple doors.
Outside, the wind had shifted. The horizon glowed faintly with the silver of morning.
His mother and sister stood waiting by the old road that led toward the Twilight Rift, where the academy's spires shimmered faintly in the distance like obsidian thorns.
Serin embraced him tightly, her voice trembling. "May the ancestors watch over you."
Lira punched his shoulder lightly. "Don't forget to write — unless you get too famous."
Kael chuckled. "You worry too much."
"Someone has to," she repeated, smiling through her tears.
He took one last look at the ruins — the shattered walls, the silent graves, the wind whispering through stone. Then he turned away.
"The world may have forgotten the Battle Tribe," he thought, "but I'll make them remember."
As he began his journey toward Ebonfang Academy, the first rays of dawn broke through the dust-filled sky — pale, fragile light over a land of shadows.
And somewhere beyond that light, destiny waited