Prologue: The Ash War Trilogy

Darkness can bring peace. It can bring a true sense of calm for creatures of all kinds to relax and rest from their daily grind of survival. However, darkness can also be the harbinger of evil that takes advantage of its lightless serenity to reach out with its unseen hand and destroy the unsuspecting innocents of this world.

On one such night stands a village. Unaware of the deadly touch that is to swipe across it. Within her hut, a woman wakes to the sounds of screams as the world around her lights up in a red blaze. A tree caught on fire breaks and topples in front of her door, blocking her in and setting fire to her home. In a panic, she thrashes out at the walls in a desperate attempt to break them down, but to no avail. The solid oak structures stand firm despite the flames that creep around it.

Kneeling down, she wraps her arms tightly wrapped around her child. The world outside was a cacophony of terror, but within the confines of their small shelter, she forged a sanctuary, wrapping them both in an embrace that felt like a cocoon, soft and warm against the encroaching inferno. It was a fragile shield against the horrors that tore at the wooden walls—a barrier that could protect them only for so long.

The thundering of drums shook through the earth, a relentless heartbeat of destruction that echoed in her bones. The discordant shrieks of the dying, their cries mingling accompanied each deep thrum with the chilling clang of swords crashing against one another, the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air. Flames roared hungrily outside, consuming everything in their path, crackling wood splintering as it surrendered to the fire, turning the night sky into a hellish canvas of fire and smoke.

Yet, amid this maelstrom, the woman did not scream. Instead, she gave her son a smile, a mask of calm forged deep within her heart. Her lips parted, and a lullaby—soft and melodic—floated into the air, a hymn of her tribe that spoke of memories of safety and love. The lullaby wrapped around them both like a fragile shield, a song that dared to defy the chaos outside. But she knew, deep down, that this sweet melody would be lost to the world, swept away with the rest of her tribe.

As the fire blazed brighter, the heat seeped through the walls, slowly scorching her skin, and the sweet fragrance of smoke twisted into something acrid. The air grew thick, drawing breath became a struggle, but still she pressed her cheek against the top of her child's head, feeling the warmth of his soft hair, and continued to hum, pouring every ounce of love and reassurance into the notes. Each sound was a fragile promise, a vow that they would endure. Coughing and fighting for breath, she uses the last of her energy to place damp rags she had washed earlier over the child’s mouth and as the light begins to fade from her eyes, dimming like the last flicker of a candle in a storm, she returns to the serenity of darkness.

Hours passed, and the village outside became a graveyard of ash, the vibrant life that once filled the morning air streets reduced to whispers of smoke and the haunting memory of pain. The air was thick with smog, swirling around in a suffocating embrace, and a silence so profound settled over the ruins that even the birds dared not break it.

Amid this eerie stillness, a sound pierced the void—a sharp, desperate cry echoed through the ashes, breaking the silence like shattering glass. It was the wail of a child, emerging from the cocoon of warmth and safety, now alone to face a world that had become a twisted nightmare. Its cries rang out, filled with confusion and fear, a primal call for a mother who was not calling back.

The child, not fully aware of the calamity that had transpired, squirmed and writhed, seeking the comfort that had been so swiftly stripped away. Their mother’s presence was no longer felt; the embrace that had once offered solace now lay cold and still. The child’s cries echoed through the ash-laden air, rising in urgency, a lament for losing warmth and love.

The sun hung high, illuminating the charred remains of the village with a sickly, golden light. Bones lay scattered amidst the ashes, remnants of lives extinguished too soon, and the air was filled with the stench of smoke and decay.

The child continued to cry, their voice a fragile thread of life in a world steeped in death. It was a sound that demanded recognition, a plea for attention that could not be ignored. Within their grief, a numbness began to settle in. A defence mechanism to protect the now broken mind. Within that numbness also came obliviousness. Too encased in their own thoughts, they do not feel the change of breeze that beats down on the neck causing their hairs to stand on edge, nor do they realise the change in light as two large wings cast a shadow over the numbing husk.

A large thud causes the ground to shake, bringing the child back to reality. Turning around, he sees a row of teeth, each one as large as he is, and without thought, he walks towards his death.

The End

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The story is a dark and gritty fantasy that focuses around the development of a few key characters whilst building up for one of the most devastating wars the land has ever seen. I will post more upon request as I begin to refine the drafts.