The Heir of Veiled Realms

Chapter 4: The Sword That Remembers

The sword pulsed in Kael’s hand, not just with heat, but with something deeper. Like memory. As if the blade itself was alive… and waiting.

The river steamed where his fingers touched the hilt. Flames curled beneath the water’s surface. The moment he gripped it, the forest seemed to hold its breath.

Then came the voice again. “I was forged for kings. Broken by betrayal. Buried in shame. Why would I answer to you, fire-born orphan?” Kael trembled.

“I didn’t ask for you,” he said.

The sword hissed. “Good. Those who ask rarely survive.” The world shifted.

The river vanished. The trees faded. Kael stood in a void of ash and smoke. And before him, a version of himself, older, stronger, colder, stood wielding the very sword he now held.

The older Kael wore black flame on his shoulders. His eyes burned like suns.

“You’ll waste it,” the echo said. “You’ll beg for peace when you should demand fire.”

“I don’t want war.”

“War wants you.” They clashed.

Every strike rattled Kael’s bones. The sword burned hotter in his hands the more he resisted, as if trying to consume him and forge something new from the ashes.

The final blow knocked Kael to one knee. Blood trickled from his nose. The echo raised the sword high.

And Kael whispered, “I don’t want power to destroy. I want it to protect what little I have left.”

The sword froze midair. The void cracked. Kael awoke by the river, the sword beside him.

Its metal shimmered, silver streaked with gold veins, shaped like fire frozen in steel. The hilt bore no gem. No royal sigil. Only one word now etched along the blade’s spine:

EMBERWRATH

When Kael touched the word, warmth filled his body, not wild, chaotic flame… but a tempered strength.

A voice, calmer now, murmured in his head: “You have inherited me, not claimed me. That is enough… for now.”

That evening, Kael built a small fire beneath a twisted pine. As night fell, he felt eyes on him.

Someone approached, slowly, cautiously. A girl, no older than sixteen, wearing threadbare travel clothes and carrying a satchel of herbs. Her face was smudged with soot, her eyes alert but not afraid.

“You’re the one with the flame,” she said simply.

Kael tensed. “Who are you?”

“Selune,” she replied. “I’ve been looking for you.” Selune was not just a traveler.

She was a seeker, a kind of wayfinder trained in forgotten magics, one of the last of a dying group that roamed the wilds, documenting sacred sites, lost relics, and “anomalous awakenings.”

“You were felt,” she said. “When the Temple burned. When the Echo Tree named you. When you drew that sword.”

Kael scowled. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Selune said. “But they’ll come for you soon. And I don’t want to see you killed before you matter.”

“Before I what?” She didn’t answer.

Instead, she took something from her satchel, a torn page from an ancient tome.

It showed a boy with fire in his hands, holding a blade of smoke and light. Behind him stood nine broken thrones. At the bottom, in faded ink: “The heirless flame shall reign where kings have burned.”

Miles away, the Ravenblades stalked the edge of the Forest of Echoes. Their scout, a sigil-wielder named Varn, crouched by scorched ground. “Flame touched this. Recently.” Their leader, Kera of the Shadows, smiled behind her crimson veil.

“He’s young,” she said. “Still afraid. That makes him fun.” The others grunted, five killers, each more beast than soldier.

“Alive?” one asked.

“For now.” Kera drew a dagger that dripped black mist.

“Let him show us what the Flame made him into.” That night, Selune sat with Kael, drawing glyphs in the dirt.

“These are warding marks,” she explained. “They’ll blur your location from those with blood-sense or shadow eyes.” Kael studied her.

“You talk like someone who’s seen this before.” Selune didn’t respond.

But when the fire flickered low, Kael noticed the scars on her arms, patterns like brands, as if she too had once been… tested. He didn’t ask. They both had ghosts. That night, Kael dreamed again.

But this time, it wasn’t just memories, it was someone else’s life. He saw:

A silver tower burning. A child screaming as masked figures tore apart a glowing sword.

Nine lords arguing in a circle, then turning their blades on a single kneeling man. Kael awoke gasping, Emberwrath pulsing beside him. Selune was already awake, staring at the stars.

“You saw something,” she said. “Didn’t you?” Kael nodded.

“I think… this sword has a history. A cursed one.” Selune looked toward the eastern horizon.

“Then we’d better find someone who knows how to break curses.” Elsewhere in the forest, a raven landed on a branch. Its eyes glowed red. It turned into a woman midair, landing softly in the clearing.

Kera stepped into the half-burned camp where Kael had stayed two nights before.

She crouched, picked up a glowing ember with gloved fingers, and grinned. “You’re getting stronger, little flame. But can you outrun the shadows?” She stood. And behind her, her blade whispered, hungry for ash.