The night the sky burned, Liam was knee deep in soil, his hands numb from the cold.
He straightened slowly, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow as the last light of the sun faded beyond the hills. Evening always came quietly in the village of Grayridge. Too quietly. The wind brushed through the wheat fields, carrying the smell of earth and smoke from hearth fires already lit.
Liam hated nights like this.
Not because they were dark, but because they reminded him how small his world was.
A farmhand's world had limits. Fields to tend. Crops to harvest. A tired father waiting at home with aching bones and little words. Dreams were dangerous things for people like him.
He picked up his sack of tools and turned toward the dirt road leading back to the village.
That was when the horn sounded.
It was not the strong, proud blast used during festivals. This sound was broken. Jagged. Desperate.
Liam froze.
Another horn answered it from the east, then another from the south. Screams followed shortly after.
Smoke rose into the sky.
"Raid?" he whispered.
No. This was wrong. Raids were quick. Steal, burn, leave. What he saw now was fire spreading in all directions.
The sky glowed red.
Liam dropped the sack and ran.
His boots pounded against the road as the village came into view. Houses were already burning. Roofs collapsed in showers of sparks. People ran in every direction, some with weapons, most with nothing but fear.
A man fell in front of Liam, an arrow buried in his chest.
Liam skidded to a stop, heart slamming in his chest.
This was war.
Figures moved through the smoke, armored and deliberate. Their banners were black, marked with a crimson sigil he did not recognize. Soldiers. Trained. Organized.
Not bandits.
A woman screamed nearby. Liam turned and saw two soldiers dragging a girl by her arms. She fought, kicking and clawing, but one of them struck her across the face with the hilt of his sword. She went limp.
Something hot twisted in Liam's chest.
He moved without thinking.
Grabbing a fallen pitchfork, he rushed forward and drove it into the nearest soldier's back. The man cried out and fell. The second soldier turned, eyes wide in shock.
Too slow.
Liam shoved the pitchfork again. Blood sprayed across his hands. The soldier collapsed beside his companion.
Liam staggered back, breathing hard, staring at what he had done.
He had killed someone.
The girl stared at him, eyes filled with terror and gratitude. She ran without a word.
Liam barely noticed.
A deep rumble shook the ground.
The air itself seemed to tremble.
Liam looked up.
At the center of the village square, a figure stood untouched by flame. Tall. Wrapped in dark robes. Symbols glowed faintly around him, etched into the air like burning runes.
Magic.
Real magic.
Liam had only ever seen magic from a distance. Noble knights blessed by the gods. Priests performing miracles during holy days. Scholars drawing neat symbols on parchment.
This was different.
This magic felt wrong.
The robed figure raised a hand. Fire gathered above his palm, swirling like a living thing. With a flick of his wrist, it crashed into a row of houses. The explosion threw bodies into the street.
Liam fell to his knees.
Gods help us, he thought.
But the gods did nothing.
"Father," Liam breathed.
Panic flooded him. He scrambled to his feet and ran toward his home.
The door was splintered when he reached it.
Inside, the house was chaos. Furniture overturned. Blood smeared across the floor.
"Father!" Liam shouted.
A groan answered him.
Liam rushed to the back room and found his father slumped against the wall, clutching his side. Blood seeped through his fingers.
"Liam," his father whispered, forcing a weak smile. "You should not be here."
"I am getting you out," Liam said, dropping to his knees. His hands shook as he pressed against the wound. "We will hide in the woods."
His father shook his head slowly.
"No time," he said. "They are taking people. Slavers or worse."
A crash echoed outside.
Footsteps approached.
His father grabbed Liam's wrist with surprising strength.
"Listen to me," he said urgently. "Run. Do not fight them. No matter what happens, you run."
"I will not leave you," Liam said, tears burning his eyes.
"You must," his father hissed. "There is something you need to know."
The door burst open.
Two soldiers stormed in, blades drawn.
Liam stood, placing himself between them and his father. The pitchfork felt useless now.
One soldier laughed.
"Just a boy," he said.
The other raised his sword.
Something snapped inside Liam.
Fear. Rage. Despair. All of it crushed together until his chest felt like it would tear open.
The air shifted.
The flame from the burning house twisted unnaturally, bending toward him. Sparks lifted from the floor, swirling around his hands.
The soldiers froze.
"What is this?" one whispered.
Liam stared at his palms.
Wind howled through the room, knocking the soldiers back. Fire wrapped around Liam's arms, not burning him, but feeding something deep within his blood.
Power surged through him.
Ancient. Wild. Hungry.
A voice echoed in his mind, deep and distant, layered with others.
Awaken.
Liam screamed as the world exploded into light.
Light swallowed everything.
Liam felt himself thrown backward as the force ripped through the room. The walls cracked. The air screamed. He hit the floor hard, pain exploding through his back as his vision blurred.
Then everything went silent.
No fire. No shouting. No magic.
Just ringing in his ears.
"Liam."
His father's voice pulled him back.
Liam groaned and pushed himself up. The house still stood, though half of it was shattered. Smoke drifted lazily through the air. The two soldiers lay unconscious against the far wall, their weapons scattered.
Liam stared at them, then at his hands.
They were trembling.
"What did I do?" he whispered.
His father watched him with wide eyes. Not fear. Recognition.
"So it has awakened," his father murmured.
Liam turned sharply. "Awakened? What are you talking about?"
His father struggled to sit upright, wincing as pain twisted his face. "There was never time to tell you. I hoped there would be. I prayed you would live a simple life."
The ground shook again, closer this time.
Shouts echoed outside.
"They are rounding everyone up," his father said urgently. "You have to go. Now."
Liam shook his head. "Not without you."
His father reached inside his torn tunic and pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth. He pressed it into Liam's hand.
"Take this," he said. "Do not open it until you are far from this place."
"What is it?" Liam asked.
"A reminder of who you are," his father replied softly. "And who you must never become."
Boots thundered outside the house.
His father grabbed Liam's face, forcing him to meet his eyes.
"You are not weak," he said. "No matter what they tell you. No matter what you become."
The door shattered inward.
This time there were four soldiers.
Behind them stood the robed figure.
Up close, the man's presence felt suffocating. His eyes glowed faintly beneath the hood, burning like dying embers. The symbols around him pulsed slowly, as if breathing.
"So this is where it came from," the mage said calmly. "Interesting."
Liam stepped back instinctively, fire flickering along his fingers again.
"Run," his father whispered.
The mage raised his hand.
Pain slammed into Liam's chest, invisible and crushing. He was lifted off the ground, gasping as his feet dangled helplessly.
"You should not exist," the mage said. "That power does not belong in mortal blood."
Liam clawed at the air, vision darkening.
"Leave him," his father shouted.
The mage glanced at the old man, then smiled.
"No," he said simply.
With a flick of his fingers, chains of fire wrapped around Liam's limbs, burning without heat, draining his strength. The fire on Liam's hands sputtered and died.
He hit the floor again, powerless.
Two soldiers grabbed him by the arms.
"Father!" Liam cried.
His father lunged forward, only to be struck down by a soldier's blade. He collapsed with a sound that shattered something inside Liam forever.
"No!" Liam screamed.
The mage turned away, already bored.
"Take the boy," he ordered. "Kill the old man."
The soldiers dragged Liam outside.
The village square was filled with captives. Men, women, children, all bound or guarded. Fires roared unchecked, lighting the night like a funeral pyre.
Liam struggled, tears streaming down his face, but the chains tightened, stealing his strength.
As he was thrown to his knees among the prisoners, the cloth-wrapped object slipped from his grasp.
A soldier noticed and kicked it aside.
Liam's vision blurred as despair swallowed him whole.
The gods were silent.
The demons did not answer.
But deep within his blood, something stirred again.
Watching.
Waiting.