The rain followed Kael all the way to Red Hollow.
By the time he reached the outer gate, soaked to the bone and trembling from more than just the cold, the guards barely gave him a second glance. Just another half-starved orphan limping in from the wilds.
The town itself was little more than a cluster of crooked wooden buildings pressed together like drunks holding each other up. Lanterns flickered on porches. Chimneys coughed weak smoke into the grey sky. The scent of damp straw and old blood mixed with the aroma of bread from a nearby bakery.
Kael didn’t stop.
His boots squelched through puddles as he made his way to the old tavern in the center of town — The Hollow Drum — a place where gossip moved faster than coin.
Inside, it was warmer, dimly lit by orange lamps hanging from thick chains. The crowd barely noticed him slip in. Miners, mercenaries, and wandering drunks crowded the tables, their voices low and grim.
He found a seat near the back, close to the hearth, where his shaking hands could warm.
And he listened.
Across the room, two soldiers sat hunched over mugs of ale, speaking in hushed tones.
“You hear what happened out near the Ashfield stretch?”
“Whole company went silent. No bodies recovered, just gear... and some freakish carving in the dirt.”
“Some say it was bandits. Others say it was one man. A hooded ghost.”
Kael’s stomach twisted.
“A mark,” the first whispered. “A circle split like a wound.”
He didn’t dare move. They were describing exactly what he saw.
Only he knew it wasn’t a ghost.
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Upstairs, inside the barracks of Red Hollow, Captain Deyna stared at a report in silence.
She was a woman built from steel and shadow — sharp eyes, sharper mind. Her dark armor bore scars from wars she didn’t talk about. The report in her hand described the Ashfield massacre in simple terms:
“No survivors. Unexplained slaughter. Mark found. One symbol. No sign of attackers.”
Deyna closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.
“This isn’t the first time,” she murmured.
She opened a locked drawer and removed a smaller scroll, yellowed with age. Unrolled it.
There it was again — the same mark. The same circle. The same jagged line.
Back at the tavern, Kael’s vision began to blur again.
The symbol. It kept flashing in his mind. Every time he blinked, it burned brighter behind his eyelids.
Suddenly, a voice cut through his daze.
“The mark follows you.”
Kael jumped, turning toward the source.
An old woman sat across from him now, though he hadn’t seen her approach. Her eyes were clouded white with blindness. Her cloak was stitched with bone charms. She smelled of dust and firewood.
Solma.
A prophetess… or a madwoman, depending on who you asked.
“You touched it, didn’t you?” she asked softly.
Kael said nothing.
“Good,” she smiled without warmth. “That means it has begun.”
“What has?” he finally whispered.
“The Awakening,” she said.
“You carry its spark. And others are watching.”
Before he could ask what she meant, her chair was empty.
She was gone.
Later that night, far beyond Red Hollow, in a place where torches glowed blue and whispers carried in stone halls, the Brotherhood of Sleep stirred.
Cloaked figures stood around a burning sigil carved into the ground — the same symbol Kael found.
“One has touched it,” said the leader. His voice was hoarse, like dead leaves in wind.
“Then the Sleeper stirs.”
“We must find the boy. Before the Masked One does.”
Kael stood alone outside the tavern now, staring up at the bruised sky.
He had questions.
He had fear.
But most of all—
He had no idea that his name would soon become known across kingdoms.
And no idea what would be required to survive it.
Solma sees beyond the veil.
Captain Deyna is starting to suspect the truth.
And Kael? He’s barely scratching the surface of what’s waking up inside him.
Up next: Chapter 3 – The Echo Dream.
A.N.
Who (or what) do you think left the mark at Ashfield?
