In a quiet village on the continent of Estros, under the watch of the distant Empire, lived a young boy named Riven. Eldrin, the village, was a simple place—wooden houses with thatched roofs, fields of wheat swaying in the breeze, and forests stretching beyond the hills. The Empire’s banners hung limply over the square, though no one paid them much attention. Eldrin was far from anything important, a dot on the map no one in the Empire likely remembered.

And for Riven, that was fine.

"Riven!" his father’s gruff voice cut through the air. "Get over here. This iron isn’t going to shape itself!"

Riven sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had been sitting on the fence that lined their family’s small forge, watching a group of children chase each other down the dirt road. Reluctantly, he slid off and made his way back to his father, who stood by the anvil, hammer in hand.

"What’s so interesting over there that you can’t focus on work, huh?" his father grunted, shaking his head. "Here. Take this." He handed Riven a long strip of iron. "You wanted to learn how to forge a knife? Start with this. Heat it, hammer it, and don’t mess it up."

Riven smirked as he took the iron. His father always acted tough, but Riven knew better. The older man’s face, lined with years of hard work, softened when he thought no one was looking. He wasn’t a tall man, but his arms were thick and scarred from decades at the forge. The family forge was his pride, passed down through generations, and he often told Riven it would one day be his.

"Don’t let him push you too hard, Riven," his mother called from the doorway, carrying a basket of bread she had baked that morning. Her voice was light but firm, always cutting through her husband’s gruffness. "It’s not going to kill him to take a break, Alric."

Riven shot his mother a grin. She was the heart of their home, keeping everything running smoothly. Her auburn hair was tied back in a loose braid, and her hands were always busy—baking, sewing, or tending the small garden behind their house. If Alric was the strength of the family, she was the warmth.

"Break? He barely started!" Alric barked, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

Their banter was familiar, comforting. For Riven, it was home. 

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Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the hills, the family gathered at the table for dinner. The room was small but cozy, with a single candle flickering in the center. The smell of roasted vegetables and bread filled the air, and Riven’s younger sister, Lena, sat cross-legged on her stool, humming a tune under her breath.

"You’re daydreaming again, aren’t you?" Lena teased, her hazel eyes sparkling. She was only ten but had a sharp wit that often caught Riven off guard.

"I’m not," Riven shot back, shoving a piece of bread in his mouth.

"You are," she said smugly. "Probably imagining some great adventure, saving the Empire or fighting dragons."

"Better than sitting around sewing dresses," Riven muttered, dodging the crust of bread Lena tossed at him.

"Enough, you two," their mother said, though her tone was light. "Riven, I know you have your head in the clouds, but you’ll need to focus if you’re going to take over the forge one day."

Riven’s father nodded in agreement. "She’s right. The world’s changing, boy. It’s not like it was when I was your age. The Empire’s stretched too thin. Strange things are happening out there."

"Strange how?" Riven asked, leaning forward.

Alric hesitated, glancing at his wife. Her face tightened, and she lowered her eyes to her plate. Finally, Alric sighed. "People say villages have been disappearing. Whole towns. Some blame bandits, others... worse things."

"Worse things?" Lena whispered.

"Just stories," their mother said quickly. "Nothing we need to worry about here."

Alric didn’t respond. He set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. Riven noticed the way his father’s hands fidgeted, gripping the edge of the table as though bracing for something.

That night, Riven couldn’t sleep. He lay on his cot, staring at the beams of the ceiling as his father’s words echoed in his mind. Villages disappearing? What could that mean?

Outside, the wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. Riven pulled his blanket tighter around him, telling himself it was just a story. Just a story.

The next day passed like any other. Alric worked the forge while Riven fetched water and tended the bellows. Lena and their mother prepared food for the week, laughing as they worked. By evening, the sun painted the hills gold, and the villagers gathered in the square to share news and stories, as they often did.

But something was different.

The air felt heavier, the shadows darker. Riven noticed it first—the silence. The crickets had stopped chirping, and the birds that usually darted between the trees were nowhere to be seen.

"Strange," he muttered, glancing at the sky. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the first stars were beginning to appear. But something about the twilight felt... wrong.

Before he could think further, a sound reached his ears. A low hum, like the fluttering of wings. He turned toward the forest, his breath catching in his throat.

Shapes emerged from the trees—dozens of them. At first, they looked like angels, their white wings shimmering in the moonlight. But as they drew closer, Riven saw their eyes—glowing red, like embers in a dying fire.