Kael Everhart was thirteen when the world tore open.
He lived in the humble village of Ashvale, a settlement dwarfed by the towering Obelisks of Aegis — colossal spires of midnight stone that clawed at the sky. Their veins of sapphire light throbbed gently each night, chasing back the dark. To Kael, they were ancient guardians. To the grown men and women of Ashvale, they were fragile shields against horrors whispered about in fearful tavern tales.
Kael spent his days running barefoot over dirt roads, playing catch with Lyren Hale — a boy a year older, quick of wit and quicker with a wooden sword. The two were nearly inseparable. If Kael climbed onto a roof to snatch errant arrows, Lyren was there, mocking his clumsy descent. If Lyren chased village girls with dripping frogs, Kael was the one laughing so hard he'd hiccup.
Life was small but bright. Until the day it cracked.
It started on an afternoon warmed by late summer. Market stalls bustled. Merchants called out prices of salted pork and cheap glass trinkets. Kael perched on a barrel, teeth sunk into a tart apple, watching Lyren argue over the cost of leather cord.
Then a sound sliced through the chatter — a shriek so sharp it seemed to shred the very air.
People spun. Down the street, a woman stumbled into view, skirts torn, hair matted with sweat. Her mouth worked soundlessly after that first terrible cry. Behind her, something impossibly large blotted out the sun.
It stepped into full view — a monster the villagers had no name for. Twelve feet tall, its limbs gnarled like charred roots, its hide black and cracked, glowing faintly with molten amber veins. A smooth, mask-like face peered down, empty eye sockets seeping a faint smoke.
The nearest Obelisk's gentle hum stuttered. Its sapphire glow flickered — then went out entirely.
A deathly hush spread across Ashvale. In that instant, Kael felt something inside him recoil. The certainty of safety — gone.
Then the creature moved. Its claws swept sideways. Stalls shattered, bodies flung aside like rag dolls. The ground shook with each step as it waded deeper into the village.
Lyren grabbed Kael by the tunic and yanked him down. "Move!" he rasped. Together they tore down a side street, hearts hammering. Kael stumbled on a cobble, nearly pitching face-first into the dirt, but Lyren hauled him upright.
Around them, villagers screamed and fled. Some tried to hide behind wagons. Others simply froze, eyes wide with horror.
They ducked into an alley, pressing against a rough brick wall. Kael's breath came in shallow gasps, his apple forgotten, rolling into a puddle.
"What is it?" Kael whispered.
Lyren shook his head, eyes sharp even in panic. "Don't know. But it came when the Obelisk failed. That means — it's from outside. From the wastes."
As if to punctuate his words, a thunderous crash sounded. A rooftop caved in under a swipe of the creature's claws. A faint wail rose, then abruptly cut off.
Kael felt his insides twist. "What do we do?"
"We survive," Lyren said, jaw set. "We keep low, we don't do anything stupid. And if it comes this way, we run again."
The village's tiny watch had mustered in the square, a desperate cluster of men with rust-patched spears and mismatched shields. Captain Daric Volt — the one real soldier Ashvale boasted, a stern man with close-cropped hair and a dark green cloak — stood at their head.
"Hold your line!" Daric barked. His voice rang with hard-trained command. "Aim for the head! If it falls, strike until nothing's left!"
The creature turned toward the noise. Arrows flew, thunking into its barklike flesh. Some found softer seams at joints. A low hiss escaped the creature, like steam venting from a cracked kettle.
Then it charged.
The front line barely had time to brace. Claws slammed into shields, snapping wood and bone alike. Men screamed. One was lifted clean off the ground, flung into a wall with a sickening crack.
Daric surged forward. His curved blades flashed, slashing deep into the creature's shoulder. Black ichor spattered his cloak. With a bellow, he drove one blade up under the creature's jaw. The mask split with a brittle snap, exposing pale, quivering tissue beneath.
Daric struck again. The blade punched through the skull. The creature convulsed, shuddered — then crumpled in a heap that shook the earth.
Silence settled, broken by the soft weeping of survivors. Smoke drifted from shattered homes. The Obelisk above them slowly reignited, sapphire light spreading once more. But it seemed fainter, somehow. Hesitant.
Daric stood over the corpse, chest heaving. His gaze swept across the villagers. When it landed on Kael and Lyren, he paused, eyes narrowing.
"You two," he rasped. "Remember this. If you value your lives, learn to fight. The Dreadborn don't stop. The only sure way to kill them is to destroy the brain — tear it to pulp, leave nothing intact."
Kael shivered. Even now, the creature's body twitched faintly, muscles firing on some cruel leftover instinct.
That night, Kael sat with Lyren on the old stone fence behind his house. They watched lanterns bob through the ruined streets as villagers searched for the dead.
"I'm going to join the militia when they come recruiting," Lyren said suddenly. "Captain Volt will need new swords. And I won't wait until I'm fifteen."
Kael hugged his knees. Thirteen felt far too small for this. "What if they come again tomorrow?"
"Then I'd rather have a blade in hand than be hiding behind a wagon."
Kael looked at him — at the determined line of his friend's jaw, the faint tremble in his hands he tried so hard to hide.
"I'll come too," Kael said quietly. "When they let me."
Lyren's eyes softened. He reached out, gripping Kael's shoulder. "We'll stand together. Always."
And under the frail light of the Obelisks, they swore it.
Neither boy understood how heavy that promise would become.