The Ember Throne | Chapter 1: The Spark in the Leaves
The forest breathed with the hush of secrets. Evening mist curled low along the moss-laced roots of the silverleaf trees, and the wind whispered lullabies through their trembling canopies. Beneath their boughs, a girl moved like smoke — quiet, careful, carrying a satchel of dried herbs and a bone-handled knife still red from the root she’d just carved. Aelira Thornvale did not know her bloodline could set empires ablaze. She only knew the fire was waking again. Her boots whispered against fallen leaves, damp with the day’s rain. A distant owl called out in the gloom, and she paused, gaze sweeping the thicket. Nothing moved but the shadows. She pressed her palm against the pouch at her side. The phoenix-shaped birthmark just above her collarbone thrummed faintly, as if stirred by the air itself. It always did that — pulsed — when something wasn’t right. She told herself it was just a storm coming. The village lights flickered ahead — small amber glows behind leather-curtained windows, t...
