Thorns of Fate (The Thornforged Chronicles #1)

Prologue

The girl had learned to swallow her screams.

The others had, too.

Their tears fell silently in the dark, salt tracks drying on hollow cheeks. Only their eyes still spoke. Wide, feverish windows into souls already half-dead.

Through rusted iron bars, she watched the misty woods blur past as the wagons jostled over the uneven trail, their wooden wheels groaning with every turn. Children huddled together around her. Without names. Without memories.

Their identities had not been stolen gently.

They’d been carved out, leaving only raw absence where childhoods should have been.

All they had now were the whispered voices that slithered between trees: fathers counting silver coins, mothers turning away, and the rumors of what waited when the wheels stopped turning.

A clearing broke through the trees, revealing the outskirts of a somber, deteriorating city. Townsfolk gathered as the caravan passed. Some stared, hungry for tragedy, while others hurried past with downcast eyes, as if the children’s suffering might vanish if they refused to witness it.

A tall figure approached her cage.

She barely lifted her head from the cool wooden floor to see him, her matted brunette hair clinging to her face, her body too weak to do more than watch.

Through her fever haze, the man’s features blurred into a smudge of shadows and browns, but his eyes cut through the fog with startling clarity. Warm, amber eyes that invited trust.

A dangerous comfort to offer a child who had learned that adult attention meant only pain.

“What’s her story?” The man’s gaze stayed on the girl.

“Bought her up north. Parents needed coin,” the lackey replied, irritated.

“How old?” the man asked.

“Nine, I reckon. Like the others they sold us.”

The man’s eyes swept over the girl, like they always did, a merchant appraising damaged goods.

“How much?”

“Twenty golden crowns,” the boss requested.

The buyer frowned. “Too much for a sick child. She won’t last till morning.”

The boss hesitated. “Fine. Twelve crowns.”

“Deal.” Their voices merged in rough agreement as they shook hands. The jingle of keys followed, and the child’s body went rigid, her hands tightened around the brown cloak she wore as the key turned in the lock. Her eyes darted toward the door, a dark maw waiting to devour her.

This cage was her world. Cold bars. Damp straw. The stench of rust. Her past—just fragments of betrayal that haunted her dreams.

She scrambled for the corner, but the boss’s hand closed around her ankle, dragging her back. Her feeble kicks and screams died quickly, her fever-weak body surrendering as she collapsed against him.

Her head fell against the stranger’s shoulder. The oddly familiar scent of ink and parchment. Then darkness.

∞∞∞

She awoke, shivering under blankets. The room swayed around her, walls rocking like a cradle.

A silhouette appeared in the doorway, haloed by light, then approached with careful steps.

She squinted through her fever at the man’s shifting face.

He dragged a chair close—its shrill creak momentarily anchoring her thoughts.

His hands drummed to some unknown tune against the worn armrest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he pressed a cool cloth gently to her burning forehead. “But you’re safe now. I promise, no harm will come to you while I’m here.”

The word “safe” made her eyes widen. Her small fingers clutched his sleeve with desperate strength, as if letting go would send her back to the cage.

When he dabbed her forehead with the cloth again, his hand trembled slightly.

His gentleness felt foreign to her, the first kindness she’d known since being sold.

She searched his face for deception but found only that warm amber gaze, steady and unflinching.

“I promise,” he whispered. “My name is Tehvan,” he said as he slipped an arm behind her back, easing her upright.

He held a cup to her lips, and the liquid flowed warm and floral, with a hint of sweetness that lingered on her tongue.

She had never tasted something so pleasant, only gritty water that crunched against her teeth.

His gaze flickered between her eyes, before drifting away. He momentarily seemed lost, worlds away from the small, shadowy room.

“Do you have a name?” he asked.

The girl shook her head.

“Would it be alright if I called you, Elora?”

A faint smile broke through her fog. She nodded. The name felt foreign on her lips, yet somehow it belonged to her. The first thing of her own, besides the brown cloak she had no memory of receiving.

Tehvan’s voice painted worlds she’d never known.

He spoke of emerald forests and sapphire seas, of heroes who conquered darkness with nothing but courage.

Though the names were foreign, his stories awakened something in her—a hunger for places where children weren’t kept in cages.

She clung to each tale desperate to replace the memories of cold metal bars.

∞∞∞

Time crept by, and Elora’s fever slowly waned.

As her strength returned, Elora ventured from the small room, Tehvan steadying her arm.

The narrow steps creaked beneath her bare feet.

On deck, sunlight assaulted her eyes. She squinted, raising a hand against the glare while gulping the salty wind that sent her cloak whipping behind her.

Overhead, seagulls trailed the boat, their cries merging with the sounds of the open sea.

On the distant horizon, a sliver of land emerged, sharpening slowly against the jagged backdrop of mountains.

“Elora,” Tehvan called, gesturing for her to sit beside him. “It is time I tell you where we are going.”

Elora pointed at the land in the distance. “There?”

“Yes, The Miros Institute. It’s a… school.

Created by the Gilded Empire to train children for government work, in the Ministry of Alchemical Handling Operations, MAHO,” he said.

“Some children are sent by their parents, hoping for a better life.” He paused, studying her face.

“Others are orphaned by the war at Mahōamorah.”

“Mahōamor…” Elora stumbled over the unfamiliar word, her tongue twisting around its strange sounds. “What is that?”

“The world tree,” Tehvan replied softly. “It’s not important right now.”

His tone grew serious, his eyes darkening.

“But listen carefully, child. The Institute isn’t just a school—it’s a forge.

Children walk in through those gates, but what emerges.

..” He paused, swallowing hard. “Headmaster Thorn breaks them down and remakes them. Wild spirits become obedient servants, questioning minds become tools. By the time MAHO claims them, there’s nothing left of who they once were—only what he’s molded them to become. ”

Her chest tightened as memories surfaced.

Stiff hands grabbing her. Cruel laughter cutting like knives.

Gray days bleeding into one another. Her nails found her teeth as she stared at the jagged coastline ahead.

Will this be another cage? The question coiled around her, squeezing like the metal bars she once pressed her face against.

His hand settled on her shoulder, thumb tracing gentle circles against her threadbare cloak. “I’ll be there, standing between you and them.” His amber eyes held hers, unwavering. “What happens to the others—that breaking, that molding—I won’t let it happen to you, Elora.”

She wanted to believe him.

She really did.

But something in her hesitated, something small and stubborn, pulling tight in her chest. Not a memory. Just… resistance.

The ship drifted closer to shore

Elora told herself she was safe.

But deep in her gut—

she felt delivered.