The Ember Seeker

The scent of charred wood and iron still clung to Ron Arlon's clothes, a phantom echo of the battlefield he’d left behind. He stretched, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles from a day of dagger sparring and archery training. He pictured his village, the peaceful pond, and the quiet comfort of home.

But as he crested the last dune, the familiar landscape was replaced by a tableau of hell. Flames licked at the sky, casting an orange glow over a scene of devastation. Bodies littered the ground, and the air, once filled with the sounds of nature, now thrummed with battle cries and the ominous hum of magic.

He watched, numb, as the inferno devoured what remained of the serene place he called home. A faint, feminine voice called his name, growing louder, yet he couldn't pinpoint its source. A dream, he thought, trying to claw his way back to wakefulness, a nightmare too real.