Blood Of FirstBorn

The world burned behind Kael Nightthorn, but he did not look back.

His feet pounded against the damp forest floor, soles torn from running through root and rubble, lungs wheezing from ash and cold air. His tunic clung to his bloodied torso, shredded by stray blades and clawed branches. Yet the boy kept running. Not because of courage—he didn't feel brave—but because he had nothing else left to cling to.

The screams of his village haunted the silence behind him. He hadn't even screamed when his father died. He couldn't. He had to protect Lira.

Lira…

Cradled against his chest, his little sister clung to him like a scared kitten. Her face buried beneath the fold of his cloak, her breathing faint but steady. He kept one hand on the back of her head, shielding her from the cold, the wind, and the memory of fire.

They had been running for hours now, far past the northern ridge, beyond the last of the hills the villagers used for berry-picking. The world had changed. The trees looked older here. Wilder. Even the air felt thick—like something ancient was watching.

Kael finally collapsed near the mouth of a glade, falling to his knees with a gasp. His body screamed for rest. His legs twitched, sore and bruised. But Lira was safe.

He wrapped her in what was left of his cloak, then leaned against a moss-covered stone that jutted from the earth like a buried ruin.

The mark on his hand pulsed again—bright and red, as if molten iron had been poured into his veins.

The seal.

He didn't know what it meant. But it had awakened the moment he watched his father fall… and when it did, he saw things. Heard whispers no human should hear.

"The last line… the blood of kings, tainted by old pacts…"

That voice, neither male nor female, ancient yet sharp as a blade, echoed again in his head. It hadn't left since that night.

"What am I?" Kael whispered aloud, his eyes turning toward the mark. The sigil shimmered—a jagged spiral interwoven with runes he couldn't read. It glowed beneath his skin like fire under ice.

Then, for the first time since the attack, Kael cried.

---

By nightfall, Kael had built a crude shelter using branches, leaves, and desperation. Lira slept beneath it, wrapped in warm leaves and cloth. She stirred occasionally but hadn't spoken since the massacre.

Kael sat just outside, sharpening a broken dagger on a flat stone. His ears twitched at every sound—owl hoots, rustling leaves, or distant growls. The forest was alive. And not in the way he knew.

He felt it. The shift. Like the world had peeled open to show a glimpse of something older.

Kael's mind drifted back to the old stories—the Forbidden Vaults, the Era of the Firstborn, the betrayal of the gods. Everyone dismissed them as fairy tales.

But now…

The mark on his hand flickered again.

"Still alive, I see."

Kael jerked up, dagger in hand.

A figure stood a few feet away, cloaked in shadows. They wore a tattered traveler's robe, half-covered in vines and dirt. A hood masked their face, but their voice was calm. Amused.

Kael stood between the figure and his shelter. "Come any closer, and I'll kill you."

The figure chuckled softly. "A bold threat. You've got fire, boy. But not the kind you understand yet."

Kael didn't lower his dagger. "Who are you?"

The figure raised both hands slowly. "A Watcher. Or used to be. You can call me Sylen."

Kael narrowed his eyes. "A Watcher? You mean those monks who record history?"

"Not quite. That's what we pretend to be." Sylen chuckled, lowering his hood.

Beneath it was a man—ageless, with silver hair and golden eyes. His skin was pale, his jaw lined with faded tattoos that shimmered faintly. Not human. Not fully.

"You carry the mark of the Firstborn," Sylen said. "And they're already hunting you."

Kael froze. "Why?"

"Because," Sylen said, kneeling beside the fireless camp, "you weren't supposed to awaken it. Not yet. Not without guidance. The Order knows what's in your blood, Kael. And they fear it."

Kael's grip on the dagger tightened. "I don't understand."

"You will. But if you want to survive, you need to stop thinking like a villager and start acting like the heir of a forgotten war."

---

That night, under the pale light of a shattered moon, Sylen told him of the Firstborn.

The children of gods and mortals, born in the First Era, wielders of divine power. Betrayed by their creators. Hunted by the Order of Veyruin. Sealed away, erased from history.

But not all of them were gone.

Some left behind bloodlines.

Some awakened when the world needed them most.

Kael was one of them.

And the mark was only the beginning.

---