Silver Oath
The wind shifted over the village of Brindlemark, carrying with it the smell of rain, woodsmoke, and something metallic that Kaelen Thorne could not place. He sat hunched over his desk in the loft of his small home, the flame of a beeswax candle throwing long shadows over the cluttered parchment and ink stains. His spellbook lay open to a page on fire wards, though his eyes had drifted long ago from the curling runes. Instead, the margins were filled with sketches of forests, stars, and faces he had never seen but always dreamed of—sharp features, pointed ears, and hair that shimmered like moonlight.