THE THRONE OF BONES : EMBER

The wind howled like a beast outside the wooden walls of the tavern, clawing at the shutters, rattling the lanterns. Inside the fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing shadows that danced like ghosts across stone and skin. They had gathered again--the peasents , the wanderers , the wide-eyed childer with soot on their cheeks. All to hear the old man speak.

He sat in his usual place: the crooked stool beside the fire, swathed in a threadbare cloak, bones brittle as burnt twigs. No one knew his name. They called him Old Hollow, for he spoke like someone with a hole in his chest-where something once lived, and died.

Tonight, he did not begin with a song. No riddles. No jokes.

Only a whisper.

"Let me tell you a tale," he rasped, "of three souls who loved too deeply, too wrongly, and too late."

The tavern quieted. Tankards stilled. Even the fire seemed to hush.

"A ruler" he said, his voice like wind through ruins . "A soldier . And a poet. Each with a heart carved from something holy-- and something ruined."

No one noticed the hooded man sitting in the darkest corner, untouched by the firelight. He kept his head bowed, fingers curled around a mug that hadn't been touched. He did not move. He did not speak.

But when the storyteller said the word "poet," he flinched.

The fire hissed low.

The children stared, eyes wide. The adults shifted, restless. Uncomfortable.

Only the hooded man did not move.
His mug now trembled slightly in his hand.

The storyteller spoke again.

"And so it began-three men, each chasing something they could never hold. Power. Peace. Vengeance. And in the end?"

He leaned closer to the fire, voice barely a breath.

"All they found... was ruin."

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It's my first story. To everyone who is reading , thank you for choosing this . I hope my story will entertain you.