The oldest stories claimed that the world had once possessed seven moons.
Children laughed at those stories.
Scholars dismissed them.
Priests refused to speak of them.
Only the oldest trees still remembered.
Every year, on the final night of autumn, the people of Ember Hollow climbed the eastern cliffs to watch the Moon Vigil.
It was not a festival.
It was a promise.
No music filled the air. No merchants lined the streets. No drunken laughter echoed through the mountain paths.
Instead, every family carried a single lantern carved from white ash wood. Inside each lantern burned blue fire that never flickered, even beneath the cold mountain winds.
The villagers believed the blue flames honored the Last Star, the lone celestial light that still watched over the world.
Caelan Ashbourne had always thought the tradition was beautiful.
He had also always thought it was pointless.
He adjusted the heavy bundle of firewood on his shoulder and followed the winding stone path toward the cliffs. The cold air bit through his worn cloak, carrying with it the scent of pine and melting snow.
Above him, the sky stretched endlessly.
Dark.
Clear.
Beautiful.
The Moon hung high above the mountains like polished silver.
Old Mother Elira sat beside the sacred bonfire, as she had every year for as long as anyone could remember. Her face was hidden beneath countless wrinkles that seemed carved by time itself.
She smiled as Caelan approached.
"You are late."
"I was splitting wood."
"You are always splitting wood."
"Someone has to."
She chuckled softly.
"And someday someone else will."
Caelan smiled politely.
He doubted it.
There were barely three hundred people left in Ember Hollow. Most of the younger generation had already left for the great kingdoms beyond the mountains, chasing dreams of gold, glory, and magic.
Magic.
That word followed him everywhere.
Not because he possessed it.
Because he did not.
Every child in the known world awakened an Echo before their sixteenth birthday.
Some could summon wind.
Others healed wounds.
A few could shape stone or command beasts.
Caelan was nineteen.
Nothing had ever answered his call.
No light.
No fire.
No whisper.
No Echo.
People were kind enough never to call him cursed.
YOU ARE READING
THE LAST STARFORGED
Fantasy"The night the Moon vanished, the world remembered its greatest secret." For a thousand years, the kingdoms believed the ancient gods were dead. The stars were nothing more than distant lights, old legends were dismissed as fairy tales, and magic wa...
