Prologue

I n the quiet village of Rosendale, which the older locals still called Windrest for the sea-breeze that swept its cobbled streets, the world felt at peace.

It was a paradise. To the north, the peaks of ancient mountains scraped the clouds. At their feet, a vast forest teemed with life, its canopy serving as the backyard to the great manor overlooking the town. Below, a charming tangle of wood and stone houses spilled towards the shore, their gardens and flower boxes a riot of color against the grey stone paths. Beyond it all lay the village port and the endless sea.

But on a warm summer noon, that peace was broken. A wind, unnaturally cold and sharp, slithered through the valley. It was not the familiar breeze from the sea, but something else—a silent summons that seemed to emanate from the deepest shadows of the forest.

Elias, the steward of the manor, felt the call like a shiver in his soul. He abandoned his duties, drawn by an eerie, pulsating light he alone seemed to see. Deep within the woods, where sunlight rarely touched the ground, he found its source: a baby boy, swaddled in plain cloth and sleeping as if in a cradle. His hair was as dark as a raven’s feather, a stark contrast to the unearthly glow that was now fading around him.

Lifting the child, Elias felt a profound sense of foreboding mixed with awe. He did not know the boy's history, nor could he guess the incredible power that slept within him. He could not foresee the loyal friends who would one day become his family, or the tragic price that would be paid for it all. He knew only one thing with a certainty that chilled him to the bone: this child was a turning point. A destiny had just been delivered into their world, wrapped in innocence but destined for a life forged in fire.