Thrones do not fall with a sound… but with an echo only the cursed can hear."
— from The Chants of Ruin
_______________________________________________
On the rooftop of one of the city's houses, Eryn Krye, a ranked member of The Echo faction, sat still and precise, as though his entire being was attuned to something unseen. The air around him was dead silent, disturbed only by a faint wind brushing against the strands of his hair. The cloning technique demanded this perfect stillness.And at last… the meeting began."Grana is our next target. Not just any land — it is the headquarters of the factions. If we take them down, the kingdom itself will follow. The king, his ministers, and his personal advisor have but one goal: to save their own skins.""And that's not all…""Valtheir is alive… walking upon that fertile ground."But suddenly, the connection to his clone was severed — a crushing blow from Zaherald. Yet the gathered intel was enough to prepare for what lay ahead… unless it was part of a greater trap.Eryn rose at once, dashing across the rooftops. Trespassers in the empire's walls were never spared, but for a core member of The Echo, this was nothing.He halted before an alley, ending in a cracked stone wall, cold air clinging to the stones. It looked abandoned — a dead end. Eryn closed his eyes and whispered, as if reciting the vow that once bound him to this cause:"I fight… so that no new generation is born in chains like those I've shattered."A door opened. He stepped through silently.Behind that wall lay a hidden city.He hurried down the stairs, locking the door behind him. The place brimmed with life, yellow lanterns casting light over stone walls and wooden floors. Maps of old battles and war gear littered the room. His destination was the war hall — a chamber dominated by a solid wooden table built for strategic councils.And there, to his surprise, stood Valdern Valtheir, leader of The Scalded — a faction born of those cursed with blood-soaked torment in ages past, survivors of rituals meant to break men. He was the first ever to endure the cursed blood and live, having once been tortured for refusing to let the empire arrest his mother.Also present were:Iron Vall, co-leader of The EchoCyn Arkein, the strategist and cryptic language expertRiva Nymera, known as the Feathered Shadow, silent and unseen even by the cursed, her senses sharper than bladesMiro Alsyn, the Faceless One, a master of disguise whose real face no one rememberedKieran Jaide, the last True Listener, able to detect cursed energy through walls, carrying a relic stone gifted by a vanished people.Eryn offered a nod in greeting."What news do you bring?" Iron Vall asked.Eryn stepped to the table, his face grave."It's worse than we feared," he began, recounting everything he'd overheard.And when he reached the part about Zaherald declaring "Valtheir lives", every gaze in the room snapped toward Valdern.He understood at once — they meant to end him. For the humiliation of his rebellion, for defying their power, for being spared by the blood that should have damned him, for still walking free.
Iron Vall's brow tightened, his fist clenched. But he reined his fury in — never one to let emotion cloud his focus.
"None of this will happen," he growled, steady as stone.Then, addressing the gathered leaders:
"Eryn, Arkein, Riva — spread this to the other commanders. We meet again at nine sharp, by my order as leader of The Echo."
Without hesitation, the three vanished into the shadows with curt nods.
After a long, heavy silence, Valdern finally spoke.
"Iron… I'm leaving now."
Iron Vall only replied:
"We meet at nine."
Valdern waved, vanishing into the streets.
At his home, Raigen and Hilda waited.The moment the door opened, Raigen leapt into his arms. Hilda's warm smile met them both.
He lifted Raigen onto his broad shoulder.
"My hero… my son," he whispered.
Then, turning to Hilda with soft apology:
"Sorry I'm late… it was work."
"Will you have dinner?"
They did — and as always, the meal was filled with unstoppable laughter, echoing into the night.
By 8:45, Raigen had already drifted to sleep on his father's lap. Valdern and Hilda exchanged glances, a silent warmth between them.
"Hilda…" he began.
She raised an eyebrow as he fumbled for words.
"Nothing."
She burst out laughing at his flustered face, and he felt a rare joy fill his chest.
He hadn't chosen Hilda by chance.She was the only one who'd stood between him and death, a living shield when he was once dragged bleeding and cursed into a village called Moonlight's Rest. The villagers had wanted to kill him, a cursed threat in their midst — but Hilda saw something in his eyes no cursed man should possess: humanity.
At that moment, the clock struck 9.
And in the underground assembly hall, the five faction leaders had gathered:
The Scalded
The Veilkeepers
The Ironclad
The Dawnblades
The Echo
United under one banner:
Aetherborn.
And one vow:
"For those who were broken… and for those still fighting… no chains will bind us, no flame will die. We are the Aetherborn — we rise from the ashes."
As always, the chamber was dimly lit, lanterns casting flickering light on hardened faces. All eyes sought one man: Valdern.
"Where's Valdern?" Iron Vall asked.Worried glances exchanged.
And then — a creaking door.A single figure entered.
Vaelor Ashrend.
The name itself made even enemies shudder.Confined to a wheelchair since age 12 after a tragic accident, yet sharper than any blade. His mind was their true weapon, his plans saving Grana from conquest time and again. For twenty-five years, he led them from the shadows, while the empire hunted him like a ghost.
The government had long since sentenced him to death in absentia.But how do you kill what you cannot find?
The leaders lowered their eyes, hands to hearts in respect.
His gaze swept them all, a faint smile on his lips.
"The hour has come," he rasped.
Rolling his chair to the table, they unfurled the map of Grana.
At that instant, Eryn burst into the chamber, cloak billowing.
"No movements from the empire yet. Their quiet… it reeks of something."
Iron Vall nodded coldly.
"We don't act on suspicion — but neither will we leave ourselves exposed. We'll prepare for the worst. Valdern's absence makes this all the more concerning."
Vaelor Ashrend's eyes narrowed.
"Darkness will never drown the dawn. Each faction lays its hand."
And so the leaders voiced their plans.
The Veilkeepers:"We'll vanish into the marketplaces, alleys, and crowds."
The Dawnblades:"We'll station strike squads with the Veilkeepers and a second team at the borders."
The Ironclad:"We'll fortify Grana's perimeter against direct assault."
The Echo:"We'll monitor every corner of their encampments, every shadow for signs of a move."
Vaelor lifted a single finger.
"We are not for sale… we are the ones who forge the dawn. Then let's crush the darkness before it swallows us."
He clenched his fist.
"For those who were broken… and for those still fighting… no chains will bind us, no flame will die. We are the Aetherborn — we rise from the ashes!"
And they roared as one:
"From the ashes!"
At that very moment, Valdern basked in quiet peace with Hilda and the sleeping Raigen.He rose silently, careful not to wake them, and opened the window.
The wind howled, fiercer than usual.He stared into the distance, an ache in his chest.
"I feel it… in the winds… in the stillness… it's coming."