Chapter One – Ashes of the Beginning
Poverty was bitter, with the taste of iron lingering in the mouth, yet it was warm beside my mother and sister. We fought against dust and despair, living on crumbs of hope, believing this was our eternal fate.
But destiny does not knock—it breaks the door down. On that day, the nobles decided we were not human, but a plague crawling beneath their feet. They did not send armies, nor declare war, but unleashed a crimson cloud of death, as if the sky itself bled its wrath upon us.
I was at the edge of the forest searching for food when I saw the light devour my home. I heard my little sister's laughter turn into eternal silence, and I saw my mother embrace her with her frail body, as if she could shield her from the end. Our neighbors froze in an instant, transformed into statues of ash—without resistance, without sound. It was not a battle… it was cleansing.
That is how our lords described us: a plague to be reduced. Yet we were the ones who sowed their fields, wove their clothes, and built their palaces. The last thing that lingered in my ears was my mother's scream, then emptiness.
I survived because death forgot me in that moment, but it left me something more precious than life: a purpose. I was no longer the son of poverty, nor the son of the village. I am the son of ashes. I will never bow again. I will become the true plague, and I will make their tyranny a sickness that devours them from within.
This is not a tale of endurance… it is an epic of vengeance.
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