Adorned with a crown made of red stones. Stones that also covered his necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets. He wore a black cape wrapped around his neck, embroidered with the same stones and gold threads that engraved symbols and drawings in their native dialect. Most importantly, he was Marked, just as his wife was.

  His tribe, the K’in people of the Hercynian Forest, were peaceful, with a select group of warriors born with the blessings of fire. These warriors were marked at birth; some markings were so intricate they could easily be mistaken for tattoos. For the K’in, a newborn who was marked meant weeks of celebration: alcohol, meats, drugs. To them, a marked child signified protection.

  Arn’s mark was a pair of black markings across his head that looked like horns. At birth, no one truly knew what the markings meant; it took training and even near-death experiences to discover the abilities of the chosen children. Normally the dormant power awakened between 10 and 15 years old. Arn awoke his at age 2. His father always told the story of how his uncle’s ugly face scared him so badly that, in seconds, the infant turned into a hundred-pound baby with skin as tough as iron, coated in black onyx-like ore. They couldn’t get him out of his Ignus state for hours. Feeding him was nearly impossible until his mother finally calmed him.

  Mai’s marks were on her chest and looked like a flame covering most of her neck. She had no funny story. She was known as the most skilled warrior in the tribe, able to fully control her power at age 5. She and Arn had been rivals since they could remember. She held the upper hand, of course with a thousand victories to his one. Mai could control the heat stored inside her body and create fire explosions with it. The elders always doubted her; she was playful and, in their words, “very stupid” about how she used her powers instead of treating her role as the most powerful chosen of her generation with seriousness. She marked trees near the elders’ homes with engravings resembling excrement, stole the prince’s jewelry, flirted with the prince, and worst of all, married him.

  The elders tried to convince Arn to call off the marriage, but Mai and Arn embarked on several journeys together to improve their tribe’s standing with the government and other tribes. Soon enough, the flames of their love had already been burning long before anyone, except Arn’s and Mai’s family knew. Within months of Arn being titled chief, he proposed to Mai, and they threw one of the biggest weddings the small village had ever seen.

  This was not welcomed by the elders, but Mai and Arn didn’t care. Their love burned bright, and the whole village celebrated. The two strongest warriors marrying would only bring prosperity, they all thought.

  Arn grabbed his child and walked out of the small hut where they lived, ducking under the door and pushing aside the curtains that divided home from outside. He raised his arms with the child held high and exclaimed to the clan:

  “To you, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, ancestors, and gods. I present my child, the first of his name: Arryn Wynd, born of the winds of fire, loved by the flames, carved into the tree of life by the primordial fire of the world.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  He slowly lowered his arms and walked back inside.

  “Arn, bring me my child right now before I get up and kick your ass.”

  Arn laughed as he approached Mai. “Dear, this is great news. I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold my excitement back.”

  Suddenly the sound of wind sliced through the forest.

  A tall figure dressed in black, wearing a colorful mask cracked down the middle, raised his hand. With his pointer finger up. In a millisecond, a gust of wind shot forward, too fast for the untrained eye to track, too fast even for sound to catch up. A whistle followed, then a loud explosion.

  Everything stopped.

  Arn’s fast reflexes kicked in as he felt the heat rising around him. He moved the child from his chest, near his heart, down to his stomach. His eyes turned black as ash, his skin shifting to onyx, spreading across his body. but not fast enough. The gust of wind had pierced his heart. His now-hardened body stood there, lifeless, arms still outstretched toward Mai, holding Arryn out to her.

  Behind Arn’s corpse, the clash of metal rang out. Sparks flew as the enemy readied their weapons. clicks of buttons, strange staves with tubes and containers that sparked red light when used.

  One soldier, dressed similarly to Arn but less flamboyant, yelled: “Everyone, grab your weapons and protect your king!”

  The tribe numbered about 300, with 30 warriors of all ages, each with different abilities, all sworn to Arn. Now they gathered around the hut sheltering Mai.

  Mai stood frozen for what felt like minutes, hours. Her twin flame had vanished; she felt their connection sever. Her skin slowly turned deep red, eyes blackening. She looked at one of the men and said, “Take him, Chak.”

  She walked past him as her white gown began to burn away. Her eyes were completely black, pupils a deep, lively red like the fire raging through her body.

  Without questioning, Chak took the child. He looked around and saw the enemy slaughtering his people. Knees and arms broken, limbs amputated, some subdued by multiple soldiers with weapons pointed at them, releasing air, water, earth, or silencing them completely.

  “We don’t stand a chance,” he thought.

  He understood then that this was the only way. He looked at Mai and said, “Dear Mai, may the sun always shine on you.”

  Mai met his eyes, tears evaporating as they touched her burning skin. “I accept your light, brother. Make sure he learns of his people. Make him a proud warrior, like his father, and his father before him.”

  Another loud boom echoed through the forest. In a sudden movement faster than the projectile’s travel, Mai raised her hand near Chak’s head. The piercing round of air penetrated her skin instead.

  She stood and walked toward the silent figure.

  A rush of wind and dust hit her back. She glanced behind to see Chak running from hut to hut, gathering what he thought necessary. To the naked eye he was a shadow flickering in and out, leaving only wind behind.

  Chak searched Arn's hut for the one thing knew he needed: a small notebook adorned with gold laces and fire stones.

  “Found it,” he whispered.

  He left the hut and looked around. From the bushes, more figures emerged. Dressed in heavy, dense attire, faces covered by masks, hands gloved, bodies in jackets and pants that made them look armored. They began circling the tribe.

  To Chak’s trained eye as a warrior of the Hercynian tribe, their “ordinary” weapons were anything but: staves with strange mechanisms.

  With a burst of energy in his legs, he leaped skyward, securing the child to a cradleboard as he landed.

  The black figure broke his silence in a burst of anger: “Shoot at him, imbeciles! What do you think you’re doing!”

  He pointed upward, his fingers in the same position as before, aiming to hit Chak dead center.

  “HOW DARE YOU!” Mai’s scream tore through the village. A burst of combustion erupted around her, an explosion powerful enough to destroy everything in a sixty-foot radius.

  Chak paused for a moment, looking back at the blast. “Mai…” he whispered.

  Projectiles began flying at him, striking bark, narrowly missing. He held the child close, wrapped securely, and took off again, not looking back at the life he would never have again.