Here is the first bit I have ready. I hope you enjoy. Kindly Marinate in this Prologue and comment if you would like to read more. :)

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Take Care and Stay Safe! ~CANGEL

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Ara of the Ichor

Age 14

     The moon hung high in the night sky as I knelt at the heart of the crumbling stone ruins. Around me, broken remnants of my ancestors' home loomed, their jagged shadows slicing across the ground. The wind cut into my bare skin, sharp and relentless, but I paid it no mind. Warmth bloomed inside me, an ember that never extinguished, a fire rooted beneath my skin. It shielded me from the cold, but the ground was less forgiving.

     Tiny pebbles scattered across the stone floor bit into my knees, each shift of my weight driving them deeper, their ache constant and sharp.

     Hours had passed, but I refused to waver.

     The final rites were well underway, yet nothing had happened. Would I have to kneel here until I break? If so, I would kneel here forever. I would not fail.

     I gritted my teeth, my hands clenched tightly at my waist.

     "What is your purpose?" A masculine voice sounded from the dark, echoing in the otherwise empty ruins. The sudden, unexpected boom pierced my sensitive ears, making the pebbles stab into my knees like knives as I flinched.

     "To protect the heir," I answered, my pulse thrummed in my ears like beating drums. Do not hesitate.

     "How will you protect the heir?" Another voice asked. Feminine, yet cold; barren of any warmth. I should recognize their voices, yet something, either the wind whipping around them, or the ruins we were in, distorted the voices so only the tone remained clear.

     "With my life's blood," I said, the tension inside rising and the embers burning inside me built higher—hotter. Beaded sweat rolled down my skin, hitting the stone like drops of glass.

     "Why?" A third voice questioned. Dark and deadly. Not even gender revealed itself. My spine locked straight as the simple question rattled in my mind. The gravity of a single word had never felt heavier.

     "Because I am Ichor," I replied, each word anchoring me, as if by speaking the words aloud, they were also being carved into the very bones of my body, binding me to my fate.

     The three voices spoke again, this time all at once. Their combined power struck like a hammer, each syllable pressing into my skull, threatening to topple me, testing my determination and my worthiness of the task that lay ahead.

     Only by the last shred of will was I able to remain kneeling atop the pebble laden stone floor. "Then receive your mark, Ara of the Ichor, and set forth on your journey. Defend the heir against all threats. Protect the heir against all harm. Shield the heir against all flame until they take their rightful place upon the throne."

     I inhaled, steadying myself as the command settled into my core. Every fiber of my being knew my journey was just beginning. Trepidation and anticipation coursed through me at the unknown awaiting me.

     From the shadows, the three stepped forward, black fabric draped across their faces, their voices still unclaimed by the names that owned them. Under the moonlight, gleaming metal cut into me, stroke by deliberate stroke. Mark upon mark was laid atop my skin. I clenched my fists, the embers within flaring as the pain became part of me. The tools cut into my flesh with a searing heat, the scent of charred skin mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Each stroke was a brand, a promise etched into my very being, one that I could never turn away from or forget.

     With each searing stroke, the pain gave way to something deeper—pride. This was more than survival; it was proof. Proof that I was worthy, that I carried my ancestors' strength, that I would not falter when it mattered most.

     As they stepped back, the wind fell still, and the sun crested the horizon, marking the end of the ritual. The pain faded, replaced with satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment.

     I had not failed.

     A hand stuck out in front of me, inviting me to take it. The grip was cold, searing against my fevered skin—a sensation both startling and grounding. My legs shook, and trails of blood ran down my body.

     "Never forget who you are. Never forget your purpose." A last warning from the hand who held onto me.

     I felt the words rise from somewhere deep within, their weight carrying my past and future. "I am Ara of the Ichor," I declared, my voice steady as the stone beneath me. "Forever and always."