The Heir of Veiled Realms

Chapter 5: The First Hunter

The wind changed. It carried the scent of ash, steel, and something colder, like a promise of death wrapped in silk. Kael and Selune had left the river behind at first light. The trees grew older here, thicker, roots like claws. Selune’s warding glyphs still shimmered faintly across their path, but Kael could feel it: they were being followed. And whoever it was… was closing in.

“Focus your breath.”

Selune moved like wind through leaves, her body in perfect harmony as she flowed through a series of steps, a mix of defensive stances and redirection strikes. Kael stumbled trying to copy her.

“Again,” she said. “You're a torch in the dark, Kael. That makes you a beacon, and a target.”

They had stopped in a grove ringed by protective runes. While Kael still struggled with traditional martial arts, his grip on Emberwrath was steadier. The blade responded to his intent, not wild bursts of fire, but small, controlled flares. He could light the edge of the blade with a soft burn, enough to sear but not consume.

He was learning to temper. But Selune was right: it wouldn’t be enough. Especially not against what came next.

He struck at dusk. A blur of motion. A shadow between trees. Then blood.

Kael barely deflected the first strike, a dagger aimed for his throat. The attacker flipped through the air, landing gracefully. He wore a dark crimson coat, his hair tied back, his face marked with ritual scars. His eyes burned silver. A sigil-user. One of the Ravenblades.

“Hello, Kael,” he said, licking the dagger clean. “I’m Riven. And you’re a very expensive boy.”

Selune stepped between them. “Ravenblade,” she hissed. “Blood-dagger class.”

Riven grinned. “Oh, you do know your schools. This will be fun.”

Selune cast a burst of light from her hands, temporarily blinding Riven, and shouted, “Run!”

But Kael stood his ground. “No,” he growled. “I’m done running.”

Emberwrath lit up in his hands, not a blaze, but a pulse of will. Flame wrapped the edge of the blade, flickering gold and red. Riven lunged, daggers flashing.

Kael met him, steel clashing with steel. Sparks flew. The battle was uneven. Riven was faster, more experienced, cruel. But Kael had resolve, and something else: the sword whispered to him. He twists pain. Feed him clarity. Kael shut out the fear. He focused on what mattered: protecting Selune. Surviving this. Becoming more than what Dustvale tried to crush.

When Riven tried to feint a strike toward Selune, Kael’s blade moved without thought.

A clean arc. Fire trailing behind. Riven screamed, one of his daggers melted in his hand.

Kael’s breathing was ragged. His vision blurred. But he held his ground.

“You’ve got teeth,” Riven muttered, backing away. “Didn’t expect that.” He vanished into shadow.

Kael collapsed to one knee. His hands shook violently. Selune knelt beside him, examining the sword.

“You burned your nerves,” she muttered. “That sword amplifies your emotions. Too much, too fast, and you’ll burn out your own body.”

“I didn’t care,” Kael said through clenched teeth. Selune looked at him, not with pity, but understanding.

“That’s what scares me.” Miles away, in a clearing lit by moonlight, Riven knelt before a tall figure cloaked in black feathers ,  Kera, leader of the Ravenblades.

She studied the blood on his hands. “You were wounded,” she said.

“Only my pride.”

“Was he worth the price?”

Riven nodded. “The sword listens to him. The flame didn’t reject him.”

Kera tilted her head. “Then the rumors were true.”

She turned to her second-in-command, a silent brute with eyes of stone.

“Double the bounty. I want him alive. But if we must… bring me the sword and his heart.”

Later that night, Kael and Selune sat near a cave where they'd taken shelter. She pulled out a small, enchanted map. Lines moved like rivers across it, forming temporary shapes and glowing points.

“This,” she said, “is one of the last maps of the Runic Pathways. Roads made before the Flame Age. They don’t appear on normal maps, they shift to hide from those unworthy.”

Kael traced a glowing point. “And where does this one lead?”

“To a place called the Sanctum of the Silent Root. A healer’s temple. The monks there studied sigil-bearers,  tried to help them master their powers without losing their minds.”

Kael stared at the flickering path. “Will they help me?”

“If they’re still alive,” she said, “they’ll try.”

Kael dreamed again. This time, he stood in a white field where flames rose from the grass like flowers.

A man waited there, hooded, armored in ash. The same golden-eyed figure from the Temple collapse. “You draw closer to the truth,” the figure said. “But not fast enough.”

Kael shouted, “Who are you?! Why are you watching me?” The figure stepped forward.

“You are not the first flamebearer. But you might be the last.”

He lifted his hand, and Kael saw a matching sigil burning across the man’s palm.

Then he was gone. And Kael awoke with his hand glowing.

Selune woke Kael early. “There’s a problem.” He followed her to the edge of the cave.

Above them, dozens of black-feathered birds sat in the trees, watching. One by one, they blinked.

And Kael realized they weren’t birds. They were familiars. Spies. The Ravenblades knew exactly where they were. Selune drew a breath. “We have to move. Now.” Kael tightened his grip on Emberwrath. And the forest… began to burn.