Embers to Flames (Fates Entwined #1)

Chapter One

There is definitely something out there in the shadows.

A flicker of movement catches my eye at the edge of the forest, but when I turn to look directly at it, there is nothing there. A low growl from my loyal wolf, Eulee, confirms that I am not imagining things.

The sun’s last embers blaze a fiery trail across the sky spreading over the island of Bahulya. Nightfall brings a serene stillness, broken only by the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Nestled among the hills, the town of Mara is shrouded in an eerie quiet. Shadows stretch long and dark, casting an ominous pall over the cobblestone paths. The air is thick with an unspoken sorrow, as if the very soul of Mara is weeping for its lost innocence .

Standing on the old creaky porch of my cottage, the once peaceful atmosphere has shifted into a feeling of discomfort and unease. Eulee presses against my leg, her hackles raised as she scans the darkness ahead.

I glance back at the house, already knowing my husband Mikyl wouldn’t be home for a while. He usually likes to spend his evenings at the tavern once the market has closed, leaving me to care for things on my own.

The chill in the air seeps into my bones, urging me to seek shelter inside. But even within the safety of my home, I can’t shake off the eerie feeling that lingers. Eulee follows me to the bedroom and curls up at the foot of my bed, offering some sense of comfort as I drift into a restless slumber.

The darkness behind my closed eyes is filled with swirling visions of heavy smoke and muffled whispers, warning me of something yet to come.

Thesmokehangs thick and hazy, aveil of mysterythat clings to my skin. It is more than mere vapor; it is the essence of aphantom, binding my senses in a silent dance. There is no smell, no taste—only thecrimson and orange flashesthat slice through the shadows like jagged knives. In my peripheral vision, the smoke swirled, amalevolent dancethat spins me in circles.

Am I the one screaming, or is it someone else? The sound is afaint ringing, like a distant bell tolling for lost souls. But perhaps it is my own scream, born from a pain deeper than flesh—a pain that echoes likeshattering glassand leaves my heart gasping for air.

Suddenly, I’m being pulled back, away from the chaos. A voice,deep and soulful, reaches through the haze. I strain to see the face it belongs to, but all remains obscured. The voice whispers,urgent and protective, “Close your eyes, Rosanhi. Close them, and it will all fade away.”

And then, against my lips, agentle pressure—a taste of breath is forced upon me. It cuts through the smoke, a memory ofmidnight rainin the spring. Cool, clear, andrenewed. I feel myself falling, descending into an abyss of the unknown. But the voice is persistent,desperate, and pleading.

“Please, my sweet, just close your eyes.”

I awaken with a jolt, my heart pounding as if it is trying to escape my chest, and a sheen of cold sweat coats my skin. Relief washes over me in an unsteady wave as the shadows of my nightmare recede. The familiar contours of my room emerge from the darkness; a silent reassurance that I am safe. Looking over I see Eulee staring up at me. The concern in her eyes is apparent by the way she cocks her head to one side.

“It’s alright, girl. Go back to sleep,” I say in a hushed tone, trying to soothe her worries.

I can sense the imagery of the dream quickly fading from my memory. Although it is the same dream I’ ve had before, it had been weeks since the last one. I reach under the bed, stretching out my fingers and grasping for the familiar soft fabric of my secret journal. The cloth is frayed and stained with age, but I can still make out the delicate flowers that Meemaw carefully embroidered. I finally find it, hidden behind the post at the head of the bed.

Licking my thumb, I begin tabbing through the pages, looking for the last entry of… him . A quiet grunt and sudden snore from the other side of the bed startles me. I hadn’t realized Mikyl had joined me during the night. It doesn’t matter how exhausted I am, I never notice when he climbs into bed. The once-anticipated surprise of his arms around me in the morning has faded, replaced by a fear of disappointment. He’s still dressed in his boots and clothes from the day before, not even bothering to get under the covers. It’s as if he just stumbled into bed and collapsed without a care.

Our marriage had not always been this way. It seems so long ago now, but he had been a good man once. The type of man any woman would want to marry. When we first met as small children, I never thought we would still be together so many years later. As a boy of thirteen, he was a silly looking kid. His hair a wild tangle of copper curls, refusing to be tamed by any comb. He had a crooked grin that revealed a missing front tooth, and his ears were slightly too large for his head.

As the years passed, his quirky boyish features began to take on a new charm. His crooked grin remained—although the tooth had grown in—but it was now framed by a well-defined jawline. His copper curls turned a deep brown and now laid flat, which accented his dark chestnut eyes.

He was smart too. I was always astounded by the random things he knew. Although he never really mastered any one specific subject, Mikyl always seemed to possess a bit of information—no matter the topic.

When we both turned seventeen, he proposed, and we were joined in marriage shortly thereafter. That was just six short years ago. The first few years of our marriage had been wonderful, filled with love and happiness—but then the Elves took over.

That dream really had a hold on me.

I shake my head at the thought of the past and return to the journal. Flipping to a page from two weeks ago, where I wrote about that voice that speaks to me without revealing its face. It calms me from the storm of those horrible, wailing screams. The flashes of light between the smoke is something new though. I scribble it down:

Intermittent lights. Slow, but sudden.

Bright and colorful—Hues of red and orange, reflecting off the smoke.

The first rays of sunlight start to reflect off the clouds in the eastern sky, casting a glacier-like glow that seeps through the curtains into my room. I carefully place the journal back where it belongs and climb out of bed.

If I don’t get up now, I’ll never make the boat to Kaladis.

Eulee stands up from her bed on the floor. With a stretch and a yawn, she follows me toward the main room of our quaint two-room cottage. Mikyl barely stirs as the board’s creak under the weight of Eulee’s paws thumping against the wooden surface. The evening had been either pleasant or unpleasant for my dear husband. Either way, it always seems to lead to this comatose-like sleep state. I’m only grateful I was too exhausted to notice his arrival home last night—I might have been annoyed otherwise.

Making my way to the hearth, I set a cast-iron pot of water upon the embers, preparing for my morning coffee. Eulee walks over to the door and sits down, silently asking to be let out. I open the door and notice a light coating of snow covering the ground. It’s more like frozen dew from the early hours of the morning—a harsh warning of the weather ahead.

I really need to start stocking up on provisions for the coming winter .

Eulee’s fur coat has also begun to thicken. Another sign that the colder weather is fast approaching. Mikyl’s own coat lay carelessly discarded on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, I notice a deep crimson stain on the front, a stark contrast against the dark fabric. The smell of iron and salt mingled together makes my nose wrinkle in disgust. I stare at it, wondering what had caused such a vivid mark on his coat.

Is that—blood ?

I tiptoe back into the bedroom. Mikyl has turned over onto his back and I can see his shirt also has the same discoloration. Carefully, I reach out to touch the fabric, my fingers lingering on the discolored spot. The texture is rough and sticky beneath my touch. A shiver ripples down my back as a feeling of dread cloaks me, its oppressive weight slowing my every step.

What happened last night?

Mikyl’s slumber seems restless, his brows are furrowed in a deep frown as if he is battling unseen demons in his dreams. The room is bathed in a soft glow from the morning sun, highlighting the contours of his face. With each shallow breath he takes, I can sense an underlying tension lingering in the air like a sinister omen.

I have to talk to him about this—blood—but waking him now would be like poking a sleeping beast with a stick. I’ll just have to come up with an excuse to visit the market later. Hopefully Mikyl has his vegetable cart set up by midday.

Returning to the main room, I slip on a soft green cotton dress, carefully lacing up the front. Untangling my bright ginger hair with my fingers, I let the long, wavy strands cascade down my back, reaching the peak of my behind. I twist the front pieces away from my face and secure them back with a worn-out silk ribbon. After downing a cup of coffee, I slip on my overcoat and make my way outside.

Eulee is already trotting towards the woods. Her coat, a deep shade of grey, blends into the shadows as she disappears into the forest. She’s off to scavenge for her own breakfast. Despite my efforts to domesticate her, she remains a wild animal at heart. Our shared sense of independence shines through as we both hunt for sustenance in our own ways.

Our small island within the realm of Quillyan, is known as Bahulya. We had always been self-sufficient before, our roots anchoring deep within the fertile soil. The beings beyond our borders were mere whispers, distant as the horizon. We hunted our own game and grew our own crops. Typically, smugglers were responsible for anything foreign crossing our borders. Even then, it was not gold nor jewels, but instead, majestic herbs and teas—elixirs to soothe the weary, to mend broken bones and cloud pain-ravaged minds. The Raven Witches, enigmatic and aloof, are responsible for brewing these concoctions.

The Witches are a mystery to most, their presence weaving through the tales of our land like threads in a tapestry. Their powers are feared by some, revered by others, but always respected for their undeniable power. They dwell alone in the northernmost part of the Endia territory, where shadows dance in the moonlight and whispers blow in the cold wind like forgotten secrets .

Nonetheless, the islanders once stood proud. Never relying on others; their hands tilled the earth, their songs whispered to the winds. Yet fate, like a restless tide, shifted.

Before the Elves asserted their dominion over our realm, the onset of Autumn was a herald for the island’s adept hunters—who now have either perished or relegated themselves to the shadowed alleyways of Mara—to embark on voyages toward the lands to the west of us—Elven lands—a territory both mystical and treacherous, in pursuit of the more formidable beasts that dwelled within.

But thirty years ago, the Elves took back their lands, along with ours, led by the formidable King Varitan and they began their time of ruling. Varitan, a master strategist and warrior, orchestrated a swift and decisive coup. He dethroned the human King in a single night, his elite Elven guard infiltrating the royal palace with unparalleled stealth. The human King, caught off guard and outmatched, was forced to abdicate, and Varitan claimed the throne, uniting the Elven and Human realms under his rule. Our provisions dwindled, and the Raven Witches teas turned bitter. The island’s heartbeat faltered.

Three years ago, the Humans led a revolution to reclaim Quillyan and force the Elves back to Edwardian. Men from every village stepped up to go to battle. Mikyl was among them. As the fight raged on, a single Elven arrow found its mark, piercing through his shoulder with unrelenting precision, signaling the commencement of his inevitable downfall .

Exhausted and bloodied, the Humans had no choice but to retreat. In the wake of defeat, a pivotal agreement was forged—the Elven Accords—cementing the Elves’ rule over all of Quillyan and the social order. Yet, their dominance is not merely a matter of might; it is a cultural conquest, their influence now permeating our art, music, and philosophy. As we bow to the Elven overlords, paying tribute to their supremacy. We stand on the brink, facing the possibility of complete destruction if we do not break free from our obedience. If we surrender, not only will we be dominated, but we may cease to exist entirely.

Something must change, lest we fade into the shadows of their reign.