Rise of the Forgotten

The streets of Solrune were alive with anticipation as the Day of Awakening began. Market stalls stood abandoned, save for the occasional hurried merchant trying to make last-minute sales. Children laughed and ran, their voices ringing through the cold morning air.

But Ash Revenhart sat alone on the worn stone steps of the orphanage, his head bent low, eyes locked on the slick cobblestones. The weight of the world pressed against his chest, and he couldn’t bring himself to look up, not yet.

“Today’s the day,” he whispered to himself, almost in disbelief. Today was supposed to be different. He had hoped for so long that he might finally receive the mark, like the other children. The mark that would grant him a place in the world. A Mark of Origin.

But as he glanced up, he saw them—the others. Children from all over the city, running, laughing, their bodies glowing with the fresh, radiant symbols newly etched into their skin. The marks were as varied as the colors of the sky. Red, blue, gold. All of them spoke of power. All of them told a story of purpose.

And Ash? He had nothing.

He looked down at his palm, the smooth skin completely bare, just as it had always been. No flame. No water. No light. Nothing.

“Freak.”

The voice came from behind him, sharp and familiar. Ash didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Velka Aurin, a noblewoman’s daughter and fire-wielder, the one who always found ways to make him feel small. Today was no different. She approached him, her eyes cold, the flames dancing in her fiery red hair.

“Aren’t you going to join the rest of the children?” she mocked, her tone dripping with condescension.

Ash didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The silence between them had become its own weapon, and over time, it had hurt her more than any words could.

Her eyes narrowed as she stood over him. “Still unmarked?” Velka scoffed. “Maybe you should just go back to the shadows where you belong. People like you… you’re just an accident, a mistake. The gods didn’t even bother to give you a gift.”

Ash’s fingers clenched, his teeth gritted in frustration, but he forced himself to stay calm. His heart felt heavy, like it was sinking deeper with every passing second.

“They say the unmarked are cursed,” Velka continued, her voice taking on a cruel edge. “That’s why they don’t belong here. No wonder you don’t even bother trying to fit in. It’s probably for the best.”

Ash’s eyes burned, but he didn’t speak. What was the point? She would never understand.

The Mark of Origin wasn’t just a gift. It was a declaration. A mark on your skin that determined your worth. The marks defined you. The Dominions—the powerful noble houses—were run by those who had received the strongest marks. Those who were unmarked, like Ash, were forgotten. Invisible. Unimportant.

And the world would remain that way, Ash thought bitterly, until he was finally free of it.

The taunting voice of Velka faded into the background as his thoughts spiraled. He focused on the cold breeze against his skin and the quiet hum of distant laughter. It wasn’t meant to be this way. He had always dreamed of being more than this. He couldn’t stay like this forever.

Just as the sounds of the festival began to fade, a shrill scream shattered the air, followed by a loud crash that rattled the cobblestones underfoot.

Ash snapped to attention, his heart racing. The scream had come from the orphanage. Without thinking, he leapt to his feet, eyes wide. The orphanage—his home—was being attacked.

The once quiet courtyard erupted in chaos. Ash saw several figures running from the building, panic in their eyes, but most of them were children too young to understand the danger.

“Help! The flames!” one of the children cried, coughing and wheezing as smoke billowed into the sky. Ash bolted toward the door of the orphanage, but before he could reach it, an explosion of fire surged from within, throwing him back against the stone wall.

Heat seared the air, and the flames seemed to come alive, spreading quickly across the wooden beams and stone walls. The sky turned dark with ash, blocking out the light as the fire consumed everything in its path.

"NO!" Ash shouted, stumbling forward, his feet slipping on the wet ground. He reached for the door but couldn’t get close. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the next. The flames were too strong, too hot. It was as if the very earth had turned against them.

“Everyone, RUN!” The Matron’s voice echoed from inside the burning building. “Get out! Escape!”

Ash felt his heart twist. He needed to do something. He had to help. But how could he? He had no mark, no power to fight the fire, nothing. He was just… weak.

“Help!” The voice of one of the younger children reached him, desperate and frightened. Ash turned in the direction of the call, his mind frantic.

In that moment, something inside him snapped. He couldn’t let them die. He couldn’t let them burn.

With a surge of instinctive energy, Ash ran toward the inferno. The heat clawed at his skin, the smoke thick and blinding. But he couldn’t stop. Not now.

The next few minutes were a blur. Ash scrambled through the smoke-filled hallways, pulling children out of the building, one by one. He could barely see through the haze, but he moved faster than he ever had before. The flames licked at his heels, but he didn’t stop.

Suddenly, a beam fell in front of him, blocking the exit. The fire roared in anger behind him, but there was nowhere left to run.

Ash froze.

“Help me,” a voice whispered in the dark.

He turned, searching the smoke, but found nothing. And then, in the corner of his eye, something shimmered. It wasn’t fire. It wasn’t light.

It was dark. A shadow. A shape, emerging from the very air itself.

“Child of ash… Do you seek strength?”

It wasn’t just a voice—it felt like a command, a presence that pressed against his very soul. Ash’s instincts screamed at him to run, to avoid whatever it was, but something inside him stirred. He could feel the pull, like an ancient magnet drawing him closer to the unknown.

He swallowed hard, trying to speak but finding his throat dry. “Who are you?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air shimmered, and then the figure materialized before him—a faint silhouette, dark and shifting, its form constantly changing. It was neither human nor creature, a being born of shadow and smoke, its eyes glowing faintly like distant stars.

“I am Eidros,” the figure said, its voice reverberating in his mind, not through his ears. “I am the Veil that you seek. The power that is forgotten.”

Ash’s mind raced, trying to comprehend the meaning of the words. “Veil? Forgotten? What do you mean?”

Eidros’s form flickered like the dying embers of a fire. “The Veilcraft, the power that was sealed away long ago. It is yours now, should you accept it. A power unlike any other, a force of shadow, of void. But heed this warning—each time you wield it, a piece of your soul will be taken.”

Ash’s heart pounded. A power, an ancient force. But at the cost of his soul? Could he risk it?

“You must decide, child of ash,” Eidros continued, its voice growing softer, almost pitying. “Will you rise, or will you fall? Your fate, and the fate of all, lies within the Veil.”

The flames around Ash crackled louder, the heat unbearable. He could hear the cries of the children behind him, the Matron’s voice shouting for help. His mind raced.

He had no choice.

“I accept,” Ash said, his voice filled with a sense of determination he hadn’t known before. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

A dark, swirling energy surged from Eidros, surrounding Ash in an instant. It felt like liquid fire, but cold—unlike anything he had ever experienced. It penetrated his very being, filling him with an overwhelming power that made his heart race even faster. His vision blurred, and for a moment, it felt as if his body was being torn apart. But then, just as quickly, the sensation stopped.

Ash gasped, stumbling backward as the world seemed to snap back into focus. His body felt different. Stronger, yet… wrong. His hands trembled as dark veins spread up his arms, almost like tattoos. His chest tightened, the overwhelming sense of power mingling with an icy dread.

“It is done,” Eidros said. “Now, you are Veilborn. The path of shadow is open to you, but remember—the cost will always be with you.”

Ash nodded, trying to steady his breathing. He could feel the power within him, swirling, waiting to be unleashed. He couldn’t afford to waste time. He had to save the others.

With newfound determination, Ash pushed the beam aside with ease, the weight of the debris no longer a challenge. As he made his way to the door, he felt a strange sense of control over the darkness within him. His thoughts sharpened, and the smoke seemed to part around him as if the air itself respected his presence.

But the fire… it still raged. And Ash knew he couldn’t stop it on his own—not without fully understanding the power he now held.

A voice pierced the air. “Ash! You need to get out, now!” It was the Matron, coughing through the smoke.

Ash’s eyes scanned the room, searching for the children who were still trapped. He spotted them, huddled near the back of the building, too frightened to move. Without a second thought, he dashed toward them, his mind still racing. The heat pressed in from all sides, and the flames roared as if alive, trying to engulf everything.

He reached the children and pulled them into his arms, one by one, moving with a speed and agility he had never known. Each child felt as light as air, and yet their lives weighed on him with every step he took.

He reached the exit, but as he did, the flames seemed to surge forward, blocking the way. Ash didn’t hesitate. He felt the darkness inside him stir, and with a thought, he unleashed the Veil. A black, shadowy energy exploded from his hands, spreading out in a swirling vortex that seemed to consume the fire itself. The flames recoiled, the shadows closing in on them, swallowing the heat and light.

Ash’s chest heaved as he kept the energy contained, focusing every ounce of his will. His vision blurred again as the power pushed against him, trying to take over. But this time, he held firm, pushing the energy back, forcing it to obey.

The flames began to die down, retreating before the shadow, and Ash stepped through the clearing, carrying the last child to safety.

As the group emerged from the burning ruins, the smoke began to clear, revealing the extent of the destruction. The orphanage was gone. Nothing remained but ash and charred wood.

The Matron, coughing violently, stumbled toward Ash. Her face was streaked with soot, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you saved them. How did you…?”

Ash’s hand trembled as he let the Veil fade, his mind still reeling from the experience. “I… I don’t know. But I couldn’t just let them die.”

The Matron’s eyes softened with a mix of awe and fear. “But what did you do, Ash? What power is this?”

Before he could answer, a voice echoed from behind them. “The power of the forgotten.”

Ash spun around to see a figure standing in the distance, their form obscured by the rising smoke. The figure stepped forward, revealing themselves to be a tall, hooded man, his face hidden in shadow. He wore robes that seemed to ripple with the same darkness Ash had felt when he first encountered Eidros.

“It seems,” the man said, “that the Veil has chosen you after all.”