The village of Emberfall lay nestled in a valley ringed by great, ancient pines that towered above the ground. The air was heavy with the smell of pine needles and the sharp bite of early autumn.

  From dawn till dusk, the village thronged with the daily routine of life, farmers working in their fields, children at play in the streets, and the clang of metal-on-metal from the blacksmith's forge in the distance.

  The forge itself was a small building, its walls blackened by soot and its roof sloping sharply to allow the snow to run off. Inside, the heat was fierce, and the air was heavy with the acrid smell of burning coal and melted metal.

  Kylian, a 17-year-old boy with dark hair plastered to his forehead and his arms smeared with grime, was shaping a horseshoe. His steps were practiced, his hands firm although the sweat rolled down his brow.

  "Take care with that metal, lad!" Bram's voice sliced through the din of the forge. "You don't want to spoil another lot. We have a decent quantity of orders to complete before harvest festival."

  Kylian looked up from his task, nodding hastily. "I have it, Master Bram. It'll be ready shortly." Bram, a stout man with a beard-like matted brush and squinty-looking eyes, was bent over his own work, forging a pair of iron bands for a new cart. He stopped long enough to mop his sweat-drenched brow with a thick leather apron.

  "You've been doing well," Bram growled, but his voice held a thread of approval. "The festival is coming soon. Folks will want their tools and their repairs for the celebration. Stay at it."

  Kylian worked on the horseshoe again, his mind wandering to the coming festival. Emberfall's harvest festival was one of the few times that the village celebrated in style. Laughter, song, and the scent of roasted meats hung in the air as villagers came together to thank the gods for the year's harvest.

  While Kylian shaped the horseshoe with his hammer, he reflected on his father, who had passed away when Kylian was a child. The tales of his father's courage and what little he recalled of him were a source of pride and melancholy. His mother had slaved to preserve their little family, and both she and Bram had taught him the importance of working hard. The ring of the hammer fell suddenly silent, cut short by a sharp tap at the door of the forge.

  Kylian cleaned his grimy hands with his apron and opened the door to be faced by a messenger in Noble House livery. The messenger's face was gaunt, his breath misting in the chill air. "Is this the forge of Bram the Blacksmith?" the messenger inquired, his voice shaking.

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  "Yes, 'it is," Kylian replied. "What brings you here?"

  The messenger looked about in alarm. "I have a message for Master Bram. It's urgent."

  Bram came out of the forge, his expression grim as he observed the messenger's frayed state. "What's this all about?"

  The messenger presented Bram with a sealed scroll. Bram's gaze scanned the wax seal, House Arlyn's crest: a silver falcon against a blue field. He broke the seal and rapidly read the contents. His expression changed from perplexed to worried.

  "It appears I'm being summoned to the castle," Bram said, his tone low and taut. "They want my services right away. I have to get ready."

  Kylian's interest was aroused. Arkhaven was a fortress city and a world away from their poor village, and the idea of going there brought a sense of adventure out. "Can I go with you, Master Bram?" he said, his face shining with eagerness.

  Bram regarded him for a moment before answering. "It's no place for a boy," he said. "But there's no point in leaving you here by yourself. If you're good, I guess it wouldn't do any harm."

  The next day, Kylian stood at the outskirts of Emberfall, holding a small satchel containing his possessions. Bram's cart, loaded with tools and provisions, was prepared to leave. As they set off, Kylian's mother stood a few paces behind, observing with a mixture of pride and silent concern, her hand raised in a reluctant goodbye.

  The journey started, and Kylian's heart pounded with anticipation. The road to Arkhaven was long and winding, slicing through dense forests and rolling hills. As they journeyed, the terrain became more rugged, and Kylian couldn't help but be amazed at the extreme difference between the peaceful loveliness of his village Emberfall, and the majesty of the fortress city.

  Arkhaven was a vast city, its towering spires and great buildings a testament to the might and extravagance of House Arlyn. The castle towered above the city, its tall stone walls and turrets reaching out long shadows that fell across the city streets. Kylian's heart swelled with awe as he passed through the city gates, his eyes gog at the thronging market squares and the looming magnificence of the noble manses. They navigated the thronged streets to the castle, where Bram was escorted in with a sense of extreme urgency. Kylian was forced to wait in the outer courtyard of the castle, an area of trimmed gardens and fancy fountains.

  Kylian strolled about the courtyard, absorbing sights and sounds so foreign to those he knew. It wasn't long before peace in the courtyard was broken as two men wrapped in dark robes appeared. Their presence was authoritative, and Kylian's interest was aroused as they conversed in low tones with a cluster of guards. He attempted to listen in but failed; the dialogue was too far away and secretive.

  When Bram finally came out of the castle's imposing entrance, his expression was etched with worry. He beckoned Kylian to follow him. "We must return to the village," Bram stated. "There's been a change of plans. I'll tell you on the way."

  As they departed the castle and headed back to Emberfall, Kylian's thoughts swirled with questions. What had happened that necessitated their return immediately? And what did it portend for the future of their village, and for him?