**Chapter 1: Ash and Names**
My name is *nothing* right now.
No one calls me anything but "boy," "stray," or if they're feeling generous, "you." I live in a village called **Darnem Hollow**, a place so forgotten, even the wind skips over it.
The people here? They don't live—they rot slowly while still breathing. I see it in their eyes.
There's **Old Marga**, the herb-woman with a crooked back and a sharper tongue. She's the only one who doesn't flinch when I pass. Sometimes she throws me stale bread, muttering that the gods pity the rootless.
Then there's **Bereth**, the self-declared "peacekeeper," which means he's the only man with a rusted sword and enough muscle to bully drunks. He hates me. Says strays bring curses. I've dodged his boot more times than I've eaten this week.
No family. No home. Just an abandoned storeroom behind the village shrine and a ragged cloak that used to belong to a scarecrow.
But tonight feels different.
The sky's darker than usual. The air still. Even the dogs aren't barking. It feels like something's *watching.*
I don't sleep.
Instead, I walk. Past the broken bridge, past the burned wheat fields, all the way to the cliffs. There's an old shrine here—no one comes near it anymore. They say it was sealed off a hundred years ago after the ground swallowed a priest whole during prayer.
But I don't care about stories. I care about what I *feel*.
And right now… I feel *called*.
I push past the overgrowth, step through the broken archway, and into the cracked heart of the shrine. The walls are carved with old runes—symbols even Marga doesn't recognize. Most are chipped, crumbling. Forgotten.
Except for one.
A stone slab, clean and untouched by dust. And on it—a ring.
Black metal. Smooth, no mark, no gem. Just sitting there like it's been waiting.
I don't hesitate.
My fingers close around it, and for a moment—everything stops.
No wind. No night birds. No breath in my lungs.
Then, like a storm catching its breath, the world *returns.* I stagger back, the ring clutched in my hand. It's warm. Alive.
I slide it onto my finger.
It fits like it was made for me.
And in that moment, I feel it. Not power. Not magic. But *presence.*
Like the world finally noticed me.
And somewhere far, far beyond the stars…
Something notices back.