Rain fell in sheets over the scorched ruins of Arven Hollow, a once-vibrant village now reduced to cinders and blood-soaked mud. Screams still echoed in the distance, fading like ghosts. Corpses lay strewn like discarded dolls, their eyes glassy, their limbs twisted in unnatural shapes. Fire licked the skeletal remains of homes. In the center of it all, a boy stood, drenched and trembling, the taste of iron thick in his mouth.
Kael had never seen so much death.
He clutched a broken sword in one hand, the blade barely more than a jagged shard now. His other hand clamped over a deep wound in his side. Each breath came ragged, shallow, yet he stood, unwilling to fall. Something deep within him screamed: not yet.
A sound stirred the silence—a wet crunch, followed by the sloshing of boots in the mud. From the fog emerged a figure clad in armor black as tar, helm shaped like a leering beast.
"Boy," the man growled, voice distorted. "Where is it?"
Kael didn't answer.
The man stepped closer. "Give me the rune."
The word struck something within Kael. Not fear—recognition. His stomach twisted. He dropped to his knees, his wound tearing wider.
The warrior raised his axe.
And the world slowed.
Kael gasped. Heat surged from his chest, vision blurring. Time fractured. A pulse echoed within him—one-two, one-two—like a second heartbeat.
Then it burst.
The rune ignited.
A scream tore from Kael as golden light exploded from his body, vaporizing the mud, carving a crater into the earth. The warrior staggered back, shielding his face. Runes—ancient, forbidden—spiraled around Kael in celestial rhythm.
He floated above the ground, body limp, eyes glowing like twin suns. Blood drifted in midair like rubies.
The warrior roared and charged.
Kael opened his hand.
A weapon of light formed—longer than he was tall, etched with pulsing runes. He didn't know how to wield it, but his body moved on instinct.
The warrior swung.
Kael vanished.
He reappeared behind the knight, blade cleaving through armor and bone in a single stroke. Blood geysered. The body twitched, then fell still.
Kael collapsed.
He woke to warmth.
Silken sheets. The scent of incense. Murmurs.
"He's waking up."
A soft but confident voice.
Kael opened his eyes. He lay in a lavish bed, wounds gone. Not stitched.
A girl sat beside him—long black hair over one shoulder, violet dusk eyes, crimson robe hinting at curves, sword at her waist.
"You're lucky," she said. "Most who trigger a rune explode."
"Explode?" Kael croaked.
She smiled. "Your rune is born"
Kael tried to sit up. "Who are you? Where am I?"
A teasing voice chimed in.
"House of Ember. And she's being dramatic. Only seventy percent explode."
Another girl entered—tight leather armor, twin daggers, pink-tipped short hair, a mischievous grin.
"I'm Lira. She's Arin," she said. "You're Kael—the boy with the god-rune?"
Kael's chest clenched. "God-rune?"
Arin nodded. "Some runes give strength, fire, shadow. Yours is older. Mythical. It doesn't bond to flesh. It becomes it."
Lira flopped onto the bed beside him. "Which means everyone wants to kill you. Or worse."
"Worse?"
"Sell you to the Rune Lords. Use you for war machines, harvest your blood, maybe breed you."
Kael went pale.
Arin glared. "You're not helping."
"Just setting expectations."
"Why are you helping me?" Kael asked.
Arin stood. "Because the world is about to get much worse, and we need your help as you need ours.
That night, they showed him footage.
A Rune-Bearer tearing apart a fortress with blades of shadow. A child igniting a city. A woman splitting the sea. All consumed. All dead within hours.
"Unchecked power burns fast," Arin said.
"You're different," Lira added. "You didn't burn out. That means you can be trained. Or controlled."
Kael stared at the screen. "I'm not a weapon."
"No," Arin said. "But if you don't learn to be one, someone else will make you into one."
Kael clenched his fists. Deep inside, the rune pulsed.
Waiting.
Virelia was once peaceful, or so the scholars claimed—before the Runes fell.
No one knows their origin. Some say they're the breath of dying gods. Others believe they're fragments of a forgotten language that rewrites reality. The first Rune was found in a meteorite in the Ashen Wastes. The world changed overnight.
Empires rose. Kingdoms fell. Blood flowed. And the Rune Wars began.
Runes grant power—but always at a cost.
Most people spend their lives searching for one: scouring ruins, selling their souls, dying in the deep wilds. But some are born with them. Rune-Bearers. Marked from the womb. Dangerous. Feared.
Kael was one.
And his rune was the kind that kingdoms would burn for.
He sat in the House of Ember's courtyard, morning fog blurring the sun. The clang of steel rang faintly from deeper within the grounds. Kael's mind spun.
Questions burned in him. But answers were few.
Arin arrived in black training leathers, sword on her back, calm face hiding intensity.
"We begin training today. You survived awakening, but your mind will shatter without control."
"What's coming?" Kael asked.
"War," she said.
Lira leaned on a post, eating an apple.
"And assassins. Poison. Maybe a demon or two. The usual."
"You're not serious."
"Very," Arin said. "There's already a bounty on your head."
"Five thousand gold marks," Lira added cheerfully. "Ten if you're breathing."
Kael swallowed.
Arin drew her sword. "Let's begin."
Character Notes:
Arin: Master of sword and discipline. Her rune is sealed in her spine, unstable but powerful. Cold and focused.
Lira: Thief-turned-mercenary. Playful, deadly, always ten steps ahead. Has secrets and connections—possibly a spy.
More Girls to Come:
A noble sorceress obsessed with Kael's rune.
A blood priestess who hears the runes whisper.
An assassin who can steal runes with a kiss.