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  Embers.

  Fresh, fiery embers, emanating from the straw and mud houses of the townsfolk, greedily extended their flaming grasps and devoured the wooden properties with wild, uncontrollable abandon. The dance of absolute pain and death had just begun, and everything turned into a sinister shade of orange and vermilion, rising and laughing and cackling, spouting little flickers and multiplying further, expanding its reign of terror.

  The people ran as fast as their frail little legs took them, crying and wailing from utter helplessness as they tried their best to put the ravaging fire out of its misery with their measly buckets of water, but to no avail. The beast only chuckled, batting away the mere droplets with its claws.

  The deafening sound of a mother's scream erupted from one of the wooden stalls, but no one paid any heed to her desperate call. A man came in, swiftly kicking the woman's basket and shoving her aside. He crouched down and began taking away her valuables, stomping on her stomach once more — for safety measures.

  She begged for help with her last remaining strength, shuddering violently from the pain inflicted upon her, eating up her entire body like a disgusting parasite, a thousand needles stabbing her stomach. She lay there, disheveled and defeated, whispering blankly into the air, pleading for any kind soul to come to her aid. She closed her eyes weakly, just as the flames licked the edges of her face.

  An old man cowered in the corner, hugging both knees as he closed his hooded eyes and prayed solemnly. His calloused hands moved weakly, caressing the wrinkled features of his wife as she lay on the ground, still and pale, dark crimson blood oozing from her head. The old man bit back the tears as he touched his wife's white hair, cursing their fate... and cursing fire.

  A young child scampered wearily, her mother almost half-dragging her limping body across the dusty cobblestone floor. Her hands palpated with sweat, confusion circling her young brain like an angry wave. The young one didn't know anything... all she knew about was that fire destroyed everything.

  As she looked back at their brick house, toppled and broken under the crimson monster's touch, her hand loosened and she fell, her entire body landing upon the ground with a dull thud.

  The monster was coming closer, eating at the supposed majestic palace walls, leaving a repulsive trail of the blackest soot, crumbling even the mightiest of buildings. Their kingdom was at the very edge of annihilation, the flags of peaceful and righteous azure blue swallowed down by the pungent heat of the vermilion beast. The proud griffin on the center of their logo wavered and melted down, succumbing itself against the unstoppable wroth of the fiercest monster mankind feared, but also needed.

  The young girl screamed, shielding her eyes as she turned away from the horrors unfolding before her. The kingdom she lived in — her world for the span of four seasonal cycles — was facing devastation under the might of the searing beast, along with its blood-bearing tides. She called her mother's name, but she was no longer there... and the child was left alone, abandoned.

  A hand firmly took hold of her wrists, gripping them tightly as the force yanked the feeble child upwards.

  The boy, no more than nine summers, wrapped a piece of wet cloth over her shivering little form. He smiled reassuringly, even though his own tunics were covered in ghastly burn marks, exposing his pale-stricken skin. The acrid, sulphuric smoke emanating from an alchemist's hut made him sneeze, his eyes of the deep sea watering.

  The boy's father hurriedly rushed past, dropping the empty bucket he once held. Most of the men's idea about trying to put out the fire had evaporated, and now all they cared was getting out of the kingdom alive.

  The male farmer glanced at the lithe figure under the cloth and wasted no time for further hesitation. He slung the little girl with one arm, while the other one he used to carry his treasured rusty rake. He beckoned his son to follow, briskly placing a wet piece of clothing over the boy's head as well.

  They followed the rest of the survivors and headed for the woods, the combined sounds of their stomping feet crunching against the dead leaves and thudding along the stone-hard ground.

  The Nightmares slithered behind the giant tree trunks, hissing and cackling at the number of humans visiting them. Wolves joined the fray with numerous howls of excitement, and almost immediately, the farmer realized that they were all about to get slaughtered if they continue trekking blindly through the Wayless Woods.

  He backed away, gripping his rake and the tiny child in his arms even tighter, his heart thudding with fear... fear for the children under his protection.

  Hesitantly, the man ushered his son back to the village, their footfalls still careless, breaking twigs crunching and reverberating through the foggy air. The edge of the kingdom was still safe, and after contemplating for what seemed like ages, the farmer placed the little girl down, signalling his son to crouch and hide behind the bushes.

  Still slightly hesitant, he also crouched, the meager bush not quite covering the entirety of his large back. He stared intently at his son, fiddling with his locks of desert-brown, just like the one his wife had.

  The boy looked up at him, confused at why his father chose such an unsettling time to be all touchy. And that's when he noticed that his old man was looking straight ahead, his black orbs reflecting nothing but fear and fire... and a lone silhouette.

  A man stood, his rarefied posture sending involuntary chills racing down the farmer's spine. He spun around, the flames around him wavering and laughing, seemingly chanting his name with absolute praise. A trail of  scarlet crossed the man's fingers as he allowed them to hover elegantly through the air, flames suddenly erupting out of nowhere and tailing his every move, his footwork, and his beautiful gestures.

  His brown, almost cream-coloured hair, did not match the unnerving backdrops of fire, who had coaxed him to dance, yearning for his intricate actions.

  The weaver of flames obliged, raising his right hand and creating circling motions with his wrist. He inhaled loudly and blew, the sparks of embers tinkling with cruel laughter as they flew, converging with the other vermilion beasts and encompassing their beloved castle, rending and tearing it to pieces, snapping its foundation with its ashen hands.

The farmer gritted his teeth, squeezing his trusted rake even tighter, his knuckles visibly paling with fury. He turned to his son and wrapped the wet cloth around him tighter. He did the same to the little girl whose name he did not know, and commanded them to stay hidden, no matter what came and tried to take them.

  "Trust no one," he began, eyeing his son with regret. "Remember that, Black. Take care of the young one, too. She doesn't deserve to get caught up in all this — none of us do."

  The boy nodded, and his father smiled before revealing himself, his stiff stance concealing his fears.

  The farmer charged towards the weaver of fire and extended his rake forward, his eyes filled with hatred and despair. He did not bother to hiss as the flecks of scarlet embers lapped up at his arms, nor did he stop and mull over the burns inflicted by the searing flames upon his legs. He kept his eyes forward, fixated on the man who had caused the apocalypse in the kingdom of Laenoris.

  "EMBERCHASE!" he screamed the name of the weaver in a way that it sounded like the name of some incurable disease.

  The man stilled, his fire-coated fingertips blazing furiously as he placed both hands to the side. His chanting ceased, but he did not turn to face the farmer rushing towards him. He simply craned his head to the side, his green irises, as green as the young leaflets in spring, gazed blankly, devoid of all emotions.

  The farmer drew nearer, and upon making an intense eye contact with the weaver of flames, he came to realize the hidden form inside the man's glassy viridian irises. It was fear... just like his.

  The flames instantly rose upwards, higher and higher until they towered even the castle's spires, rolling and growling menacingly at the farmer. Their blazing torrents fell upon their creator and wrapped him protectively underneath their claws.

  Without hesitation, the crimson monster flowed like water and opened its jagged mouth, closing in on the petrified farmer, eating him up bit by bit, taking pleasure in devouring him leisurely, drowning out his cries until he was no more. The fire roared, fresh embers flying and celebrating the successful conquest.

  No one could hear the young boy scream.

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  Hello there! Thank you so much for giving this book a chance and taking the time to read it. How was the prelude?

  *Desperately hoping that it didn't turn out crappy.*

  This is actually the first time I've attempted writing a medieval fantasy novel, so I'm pretty much in need of opinions... =°<

  If you liked this prelude, then please press that little star... it would mean so much to me! ★

  awesomeSTG