The sky cracked the night Arin Vale turned seventeen.
Not metaphorically. Not in poetry. It truly cracked.
A silver fracture tore across the heavens like a blade drawn through silk, splitting the stars apart. The villagers of Eldrath fell to their knees, whispering old prayers to gods long forgotten.
But Arin did not kneel.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, wind tearing through his dark hair, silver eyes reflecting the broken sky. He felt it — a pulse beneath his skin. A burning. A calling.
And then the voice came.
"You are the last ember."
Arin staggered back. The world around him slowed. The ocean waves below froze mid-crash. Even the wind stopped breathing.
Only the crack in the sky moved.
From it descended a creature made of starlight and shadow, wings stretching wider than the moon. Its eyes burned like dying suns.
"Who are you?" Arin whispered.
The creature's voice echoed inside his mind.
"I am what remains of Aetherion."
The name struck him like lightning.
Every child in Eldrath knew the legend. Aetherion — the ancient realm of sky-born kings, destroyed a thousand years ago in the War of the Fallen Titans.
"That's a myth," Arin said, though his voice trembled.
"So were you."
Pain exploded through his chest.
A mark ignited on his hand — a symbol of flame wrapped in a circle of wings. The air shattered around him as raw energy surged outward, ripping stones from the cliff and suspending them in midair.
Below, the villagers screamed.
Above, the sky split wider.
"The Titans are waking," the being warned. "And only the Ember can seal what was broken."
Arin fell to his knees, power coursing through him like wildfire.
He was no warrior. No king. No chosen hero.
He was just a fisherman's son.
But as the first shadow of a Titan moved behind the torn sky…
Arin understood one terrifying truth.
The world was ending.
And it had chosen him.