A chill wind clawed at the window pane, even eight years past. It was deep winter when Kael, a child of ten seasons, first felt the terrible current within him. His mother, Elara, had taken the few scraggly goats to pasture, leaving him alone with a sputtering hearth. Cold bit at his fingers. He imagined a larger, hungrier flame, a roar of heat to chase away the frost. Then the world buckled. The iron stove crackled, not with kindling, but with a raw, blistering heat that warped the metal. A spark, then a lick of fire, not from wood, but from the very air. It pulsed, a miniature sun, too bright, too fierce for the small cabin. Kael gasped, recoiling from the sudden inferno he hadn't meant to unleash. Soon, he learned. His thoughts could twist iron, churn soil, conjure hungry flame. A rock hovering, an entire section of the packed dirt floor rippling like water. He found a strange, terrifying joy in the nascent power, the sheer impossibility of it all. “Mama, look!” he'd cried that evening, Elara returning with the herd and their scruffy hearth-dog. A cluster of dry branches danced, weightless, in the air beside him. Elara’s face was a mask Kael had never seen. No wonder, no joy, only a profound, bone-deep weariness. Her hand trembled as she reached for the floating wood, her gaze fixed on something far beyond the cabin walls. ‘Kael,’ she said, her voice a rough whisper. ‘You must promise me. Never use this. Never, ever, in front of another soul.’ ‘Why?’ Kael, usually so obedient, felt a childish pout tighten his lips. This magic was fascinating, like a secret game. Elara warmed a cup of sour milk, stirring slowly. For the first time, she spoke of the world beyond Ember Ridge, the vast, broken lands beneath their isolated peak. ‘Below,’ she began, ‘live people called the Architects.’ She said the Architects were heirs to the First Spark, a lineage stretching back to the Great Sundering, when the world fractured. They held immense, inherent power, masters of earth and flame, metal and stone. They ruled the scattered pockets of humanity, protectors and tyrants alike, their power both shield and chain. Others, born of mixed blood, were called Spark-Bound. They too carried a flicker of the First Spark, but their abilities were lesser, their destinies bound to service. Kael, she explained, was one of these Spark-Bound. From a father he’d never known. If he ventured down, she warned, the Architects would find him. They would see his power, no matter how small, and claim him. He would become a tool, a resource. ‘The Architects are shepherds, Kael,’ Elara whispered, clutching his hand. ‘And Spark-Bound are like the crucible-hounds they raise. Sometimes, they might offer a scrap, even affection. But they will just as soon sell you, or send you into the ash-wastes to fight their battles.’ The powerful Architects, she said, never truly sated, fought endless wars among themselves for fragments of forgotten technology, for veins of rare ore, for more land. And in these conflicts, Spark-Bound were the fodder. Like a shepherd sending a hound into the jaws of a cinder-wolf, while standing safely behind. Her face, etched with despair, was a sight Kael would never forget. ‘Kael, do you want to stay with Mama? A long, long time?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Then hide this power. Else, they will come. They will take you. And you will never see my face again.’ ‘I promise! I won’t use it. Not ever, outside of here!’ Eight years later, the promise still bound him. Even after Elara succumbed to the gray-lung, her breath rasping away beneath the same iron stove, Kael remained on Ember Ridge. He tended the goats, lived alone, watched the distant valleys for any sign of those who might claim him. He refused to become their hound. --- “Fools.” Kael slammed the cabin door shut. Frost-rimed air stung his lungs. Dawn had barely broken. Young Joric and Finn from the lower settlement, their faces red with cold and false bravado, had pounded on his door. They accused him of Old Thane’s death, claiming Kael had lured the old man to the ash-wastes, a sacrifice for the Scorch-fang beast that had taken him. The signs of the beast’s attack were clear enough for any who cared to look – deep gouges in the shale, the tell-tale scorch marks of its breath, a single, fused claw shard. Yet they pointed fingers, their eyes narrowed with resentment for the quiet hermit on the hill. Kael hadn’t bothered to argue. A quick, brutal lesson in humility, a reminder of his strength without once invoking his true power. Joric nursed a split lip, Finn a bruised ego. They wouldn’t trouble him again today. He knew their game. Next time he descended to barter pelts for grains, they would try to cheat him, lower his prices, short his rations. He would simply remind them again, with a stern hand and a steely glare, to deal fairly. A tiresome cycle, one he’d lived through countless times. A sudden, sharp rap jolted Kael from his thoughts. Not the timid tapping of a lost goat, nor the familiar aggression of the villagers. This was firmer, almost… polite. Kael let out a slow breath, opening the door a crack. “Who in the ash-wastes wants trouble now?” Standing there was not Joric or Finn. A man, perhaps in his late forties, cloaked in dust-caked woven canvas. His smile seemed awkward, apologetic. “Ah, my apologies, young one. I am a traveler. I sought a night’s shelter, but it seems I’ve come at an… inopportune moment.” A traveler. Kael blinked. Eighteen years, and never once had he seen a true wanderer on Ember Ridge. The notion that someone would simply pass through this desolate land, rather than cling to a fortified settlement, stunned him. He stepped aside, a hesitant gesture. “No, no. Come in. Merely some unpleasantness.” The formal tone, a relic of Elara’s teachings, felt strange on his tongue. When had he last used such words? Not since he realized the villagers, Old Thane included, were mostly self-serving and mean-spirited. It had been a long time indeed. “If you’ll permit me.” To truly guard his secret, Kael should have turned the stranger away. Yet he felt a strange pull. He yearned for conversation that wasn’t laced with accusation or thinly veiled threats. And if this man proved malicious? Kael felt a cold confidence in his ability to handle him. “Have you eaten?” “Not yet.” “Nor I. Join me.” Kael gestured to the rough-hewn table. He laid out a clay jug of fresh goat’s milk, a slice of hard cheese, porridge made from dried grains, a chunk of rock salt, and strips of smoked goat jerky. Elara had taught him: treat guests with utmost care. A well-fed guest rarely thought to harm their host. “It is a meager offering, this place.” “Meager? This is a feast! Thank you, truly.” The traveler wasn’t merely being polite. He ate with a ravenous hunger, as if weeks had passed since his last proper meal. Yet, even in his haste, his manners were impeccable – a stark contrast to the villagers. He didn’t speak with a full mouth, turned his head when drinking. Perhaps Valerius noticed Kael’s own careful gestures. After a long sip of milk, he offered a kind remark. “You possess fine manners, young man. Your parents taught you well.” “My mother did.” A slight pause. Kael’s mention of only Elara seemed to register. “And… is your mother in the settlement? This cabin seems for one.” Kael nodded, his voice level. “She passed from illness, some seasons ago.” A brief shadow crossed the traveler’s face. He bowed his head, making a strange, sweeping gesture Kael had never seen. “My condolences. To raise such a fine son, she surely dwells with the First Spark in the Aetherium.” “I hope so.” Once, the mere thought of Elara’s passing had ruined his appetite, brought fresh tears. To speak of it now, with a stranger, almost calmly… had he grown into an adult? Or had time simply dulled the edges of that agonizing loss? Feeling a sudden, heavy gloom, Kael steered the conversation away. “Sir, what brings you to such a remote place?” “I heard word in a nearby settlement. An old man spoke of a Scorch-fang beast troubling his village, seeking a Spark-Wielder to deal with it. I decided to offer my services. I am confident in my abilities.” “Alone?” A man in his middle years, not yet old, but past his prime, claiming he would face a mutated beast without obvious weapon or escort? Kael’s astonished expression earned another awkward smile from the traveler. “I am Spark-Bound. I served the Forged Dominion for sixty years. Most beasts are no match for me.” The word ‘Spark-Bound’ jolted Kael. His muscles tensed, his body humming with a primal alarm. A being from Elara’s fearful stories, a servant of the powerful. But the tension quickly faded. Valerius’s gaze held no hostility, only a quiet weariness. Kael relaxed his rigid stance. “Something amiss?” “It’s just… my first time meeting a Spark-Wielder. And you don’t look like you’ve worked sixty years.” “Spark-Wielders age slower, live longer than ordinary folk. I am seventy-five cycles old. For a Spark-Bound, this is my natural progression. I’ve heard powerful Architects can live for two or three centuries.” Kael studied Valerius, amazed by the revelation. Outwardly, the man looked no different from any strong, well-preserved person from a lowland settlement. He possessed a sturdy build, a healthy, sun-weathered complexion. There was no tell-tale mark, no glowing aura, nothing to distinguish him as a Spark-Bound. This was vital information. A fragment of a chain, that had bound Kael’s chest for so long, suddenly broke. It meant he could walk among people, even in a crowded city, and as long as he kept his power suppressed, no one would know his truth. “Being Spark-Bound is truly incredible.” “Incredible? No, not at all! People like you are far more so. To live in such a wild place, where beasts like the Scorch-fang roam, without reliance on a Spark connection? I could never imagine it.” Valerius was mistaken. This was the first time such a dangerous beast had threatened Ember Ridge. Not since Kael had been born, at least. If not for that, Elara, without any Spark connection herself, could never have raised him here. She was the truly incredible one. “I neglected my manners,” Valerius said, extending a hand. “My name is Valerius. Once of the Forged Dominion, now Valerius the Wanderer. And you?” “Kael. Just Kael. Of Ember Ridge.” “A good, solid name.” “You mentioned serving the Dominion. Does that mean you no longer do?” “My vassal contract officially ended a moon past. The Dominion offered to keep me until my dying breath, but… I wanted to see the lands, before the ash claims me. I was bound to one Core-City since I was fifteen.”

Echoes in Ash