Chapter 1 — The Kingdom of the Forgotten: Mirevale
This is Mirevale. The Kingdom of the Forgotten.
They lived with quiet purpose. The people of Mirevale did not need marks, magic, or glory to live. Farmers tilled the fields, merchants arranged their wares, and children ran through the streets laughing, free from fear. Arguments were loud, but never cruel. Life here was ordinary, and that was enough.
The sun warmed the cobblestone streets as Kael walked through the town square, a small sack of iron scraps resting against his shoulder. He was bringing it to his father's forge, like he did almost every morning.
"Kael! Morning!"
He turned and smiled. "Morning, Mister Halren."
"Helping your father again today?" the man asked, adjusting the crates on his cart.
Kael nodded. "Like always."
Children ran past him, their laughter bouncing between the stone buildings. One nearly collided with his legs.
"Hey, slow down," Kael said with a smile. "You'll break something."
The children laughed back and kept running.
Same as always. And Kael liked it that way.
Kael lived on the edge of town, where fields gave way to forest. His family's house was small but warm. His father's forge rang with steady clanging from morning until evening. Not weapons. Tools for farmers, nails for homes, hinges for doors. His mother hummed softly as she tended her garden, hands smelling of soil and herbs.
Every morning, Kael helped his father sharpen tools. Every afternoon, he helped his mother water the plants. Sometimes, when there was nothing else to do, he wandered the fields or forest paths he had known since childhood. Not to train, not to grow stronger, just to feel the breeze and listen to the birds.
People liked Kael. He helped farmers lift heavy crates, fixed fences when he could, and watched children while their parents worked. He listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak, his words were gentle.
"You're too kind, boy," old Mira once said as he helped her carry water.
Kael scratched his head. "I just like helping people."
She laughed softly.
At the center of Mirevale stood a modest castle, home to a king who did not shine with magic or marks. They called him the Hero of the Misfits. Kael had seen him a few times, walking the streets without guards, speaking to people as equals. Kael did not see a legend. He saw a man who wanted people to live without fear, and that was enough.
Travelers occasionally passed through. Merchants with wagons of goods, wandering craftsmen, a rare adventurer whose glowing mark drew eyes. They spoke of distant lands, monsters, wars, and battles that shaped kingdoms. Kael listened politely and forgot everything once they left. The stories sounded exhausting.
By late afternoon, Kael climbed the old watchtower overlooking the kingdom. It was worn and cracked, no longer used for defense. From the top, the town stretched below him.
Fields rolled beyond the walls. Forests stood quietly at the edge of the land. Smoke rose gently from homes as people prepared for the evening. Beyond the horizon lay the rest of the world.
Kael glanced at it once, then turned away.
"Doesn't concern me," he muttered.
All he wanted was this. A quiet kingdom, a warm home, a family that laughed together at dinner, neighbors who knew his name. That was enough.
"Kael! Dinner!"
His mother's voice carried through the air.
"I'm coming!" he called back, running home, heart light, feet moving without worry.
As long as Mirevale stayed the same, that was his only wish.
This is Mirevale, the Kingdom of the Forgotten. A place where people lived simply, and where even for a boy like Kael could feel that the world was safe, if only for a little while.
(End of Chapter 1)