The Fall of Riven Clan
The wind howled through the jagged mountains of the northern lands, carrying the scent of pine, smoke, and a faint metallic tang that no one yet understood. The village of Riven, nestled between cliffs and forests, slept uneasily beneath the shadow of the rising sun. Children played near the riverbank, women hummed in the kitchens, and the men of the clan prepared their morning exercises.
Kael Riven, barely seventeen, stood atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the village. His dark hair clung to his face, damp from the morning dew. His eyes, sharp and watchful, scanned the horizon. Years of training under Master Torin had sharpened not only his martial prowess but also his instincts. Something unsettled him today — an unease that gnawed at his stomach like a predator circling prey.
"Kael," Master Torin's voice came from behind, calm yet edged with authority. "Your senses are alive. Trust them. The world is changing faster than you realize."
Kael nodded silently. "I feel it, Master. Something… dark is approaching."
Torin's expression darkened. "Then today you will learn what it truly means to protect those you love. Keep your focus, Kael. Nothing else matters."
The First Shadow
By the time the sun breached the horizon, the village was bathed in golden light — and in that glow, the first signs of destruction arrived. Riders appeared on the cliffs to the east, mounted on black-horned beasts, their armor glinting in the sun. Dozens, then hundreds, advancing with terrifying precision.
Kael's heart skipped a beat. "Invaders…" he muttered.
Torin's eyes narrowed. "No… not mere invaders. This is the hand of someone who knows our weaknesses."
The village sounded the warning horns. Women screamed, children ran, and the men of Riven scrambled to defend their homes. Kael sprinted down the cliffs, landing with catlike precision, sword in hand. His movements were fluid, a deadly dance honed over years.
The first wave of attackers crashed into the village gates. Their weapons were unlike anything Kael had seen — curved blades forged in black iron, enchanted markings etched along the edges. Villagers fought with valor, but they were no match. Screams echoed through the air as fire spread from thatched roofs to timber walls.
Kael cut through the first few attackers, his blade a blur of silver. Every swing, every step, was instinct. But more kept coming, wave after wave, a tide of death that seemed endless.
The Massacre
By midday, the village lay in ruin. Smoke choked the air, mingling with blood and the stench of burning wood. Kael's lungs burned, his arms ached, yet he fought on.
He found his family — his younger sister, her dress stained with soot and blood, trapped under a fallen beam. He lifted it with a grunt, scooping her into his arms. "Stay with me," he whispered, his voice breaking.
But then, from the shadows, a figure stepped forward: a tall warrior clad in black robes, eyes glowing faintly red. A symbol was etched into the blade they carried — a mark Kael would recognize forever as the sign of the Obsidian Sect, the dark martial order rumored to conquer clans and enslave kingdoms.
"You cannot save them, boy," the figure said, voice cold as steel. "None survive the Ashes of the Heaven."
Kael roared, charging forward, but the warrior's speed was impossible to match. A single strike cleaved the air where Kael had stood moments before. Behind him, screams echoed as his sister and mother were dragged into the chaos, disappearing into the smoke.
The village elders fell, one by one. Master Torin fought valiantly, but even he was overwhelmed, finally disappearing beneath a hail of blades. Kael's world shattered — the clan he had sworn to protect was burning, dying, erased in a single morning.
The Aftermath
Kael lay against a charred tree, bloodied and shaking. Around him, nothing remained of the village but ashes, embers, and the moans of the dying. He had survived — barely — but everyone he loved was gone. His hands trembled as he clutched his sword.
A single thought consumed him: revenge.
He rose to his feet, eyes alight with fury, muscles taut, breath coming raggedly. The Obsidian Sect had shown him the price of weakness, and he swore he would never be powerless again.
And then he saw her — a lone figure amidst the ruins, silently moving through the smoke. Her eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause. Yura Vey. Her presence was fierce, calm, and full of unspoken strength. She had survived.
Kael's heart thundered. "Who are you?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Yura's lips curved faintly. "Someone who's going to help you burn the sky to ashes."
Kael's jaw tightened. A new path had begun — one paved with blood, fire, and vengeance. The Ashes of the Broken Heaven had claimed his past, but they would also forge his destiny.