ã€ŠA Path From Mist and Ruinã€‹


 chapter 1

    As much as I love an easy fight, I would have recommended the new guy choose a different opponent this late, spring evening. Maybe someone within his league. Challenging someone who¡¯s been here as long as me isn¡¯t uncommon, but it is incredibly stupid.

    But I¡¯m not complaining too much, you can use all the practice you can get around here. Only the strongest of us survive, and I sure as hell have no intention of dying to the vermin here. Especially to the one standing before me now in the worst stance I¡¯ve ever seen.

    I don¡¯t recognize him. He must¡¯ve gotten here today, choosing me as his first competitor, hoping that I would make for an easy fight. I didn¡¯t catch his name either, not even when they were called out to start the match. And I don¡¯t give a shit if I¡¯m being entirely honest. People move through here quicker than I care to remember them. Makes it easier. Less names to worry about, less names to forget.

    I scan the boy head to toe. Seems like a sturdy build, but his footwork¡¯s off and it¡¯s clear the only training he¡¯s had has been in his mommy¡¯s playpen. Nothing trained about him really, even his thumbs are tucked into his fists. The disparity between the two of us just seems¡­cruel. But aiding the enemy never helped anyone win the battle. At least that¡¯s what they¡¯ve drilled into us here. Kill or be killed, they say. Don¡¯t help anyone except yourself. Truly turning us into heroes, these mutts.

    The kid¡¯s looking at me with such hunger that I could swear I see a full five course meal reflecting back at me in his eyes. As if on cue, his tongue darts over his lip, a low hiss escaping his slightly bared teeth. But it doesn¡¯t have the effect he¡¯s hoping for, and instead of cowering in fear, my face stays stone. A mask I¡¯ve developed over the decade I¡¯ve spent here. A mask I rarely take off.

    I quickly glance around us, taking in the booming crowd caging us in like two bulls pawing the ground. If one needed any proof of what a life at the MADD House is like, tonight would give them a pretty clear explanation.

    The crowd, loud and bloodthirsty, desperate to watch the light leave someone''s eyes. The arena, which is no more than a designated blood ground, uncovered and unprotected from the brutal weather wreaking havoc. Tree branches fall with thunderous cracks, rain pelts my face so fiercely I can hardly see, and the wind is whipping my skin with enough ruthlessness that for a moment, I wonder if he is here doing the job himself.

    Bringing myself back to the boy, I¡¯m surprised to find that he actually noticed my distraction, his feet scrambling as he lunges forward, his oafish hands outstretched, grasping for any part of me he can get his paws on.

    I almost roll my eyes at the sorry attempt as I step to the side, allowing him to plummet to the ground before he has the chance to regain his footing. He hits the moonlit pavement with such force that I nearly cringe on his behalf, many in the crowd actually do.

    ¡°Oh, come on, Lee,¡± someone yells, ¡°You can do better than that!¡±

    So, his name is Lee. Joy.

    Lee grunts as he shoves his hands onto the ground, propelling his body up in a sluggish motion that flattens my lips in distaste. He swings his head to me, dirty blonde hair dangling in front of fiery, hazel eyes, and I watch as he pulls out a jade handled knife that had been hidden in his chest pocket. My eyes flash at the gleaming silver, the lethal blade seeming to scream my name. Delphine, Delphine, Delphine, it beckons.

    He takes another lunge, his knife outstretched like he really thinks he has a chance. His clammy sausage fingers don¡¯t even graze me before I take another side step, plucking the blade with ease as he barges forward. At least this time he stays on his feet.

    Outraged, he exclaims and jumps around to face where I¡¯m now picking at my nails with the knife. I can practically see steam pouring out of his ears.

    This time his strategy changes. He rushes forward, fists swinging wildly, and I have to hold back a smile from the windmill-like arm maneuver he''s pulled out of his ass. The groans from the audience tell me they¡¯re thinking the same. But this game is getting boring, and it¡¯s about time for bed, so I change my tactics as well.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    As he stalks closer, I time the swings in his arms, and strike when he¡¯s less than a foot away. My fist flies to his throat so fast it seems like a blur. The crowd collectively recoils as my knuckles brutally make their mark, hitting him with enough power that he flies backwards and into the crowd gathered behind him.

    Lee¡¯s hands dart to his throat as air abruptly escapes his lungs, a patchy choking sound sputtering from his mouth. His eyes bulge with a mix of horror and surprise, entirely focused on my closed fist, as he gapes like a fish in the cool, night air.

    The boys shove Lee away, sending him staggering towards me, desperately trying to keep his balance as he continues to wheeze like a hag. ¡°At least go down like a man!¡± One of the bystanders hollers. ¡°We won¡¯t be helping your pathetic ass,¡± another laughs. I think that was Tyler Thomas.

    Allowing his knife to drop to the ground, I snatch his arm, pinning him in front of me quicker than he can blink. His free arm flails around, desperately attempting to land a blow as he wails like a hound. His discomfort only grows as I kick out the back of his knees, and he howls as they ram into the ground once more.

    Whistles and cheers rise from the crowd as he falls, all enthusiastic to watch his demise. Definitely too enthusiastic to be considered normal.

    ¡°Tap out or she¡¯ll break it,¡± someone shouts, matched by an agitated groan from the trembling boy beneath me.

    Naturally, he doesn¡¯t let go, choosing to again throw back his free hand. And I guess I¡¯ve officially had enough, because I don¡¯t hesitate to snatch it, tearing it behind him with ease. Finally, his arms not even an inch from breaking, he at last stills beneath me.

    ¡°Done yet, kid?¡± I sigh, my mind already in my bed.

    Silence is his only response. But, ever so gracious, I allow him a few moments to respond before forcing his arms closer together.

    A pained whimper escapes him as another bystander, clearly just as annoyed as I, yells to him, ¡°Just give up Lee, you¡¯ve already lost!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s going to break you any second now if you don¡¯t,¡± another adds, his face split in a large grin, ¡°Though, maybe you should let her, it¡¯d make my night far more interesting.¡±

    Leave it to Reed to mock the new guys while they get the shit beat out of them.

    But much to my annoyance, he ignores their advice, and dares to mumble, ¡°I would rather die than yield to this bitch.¡±

    The silence that coats the crowd is nearly palpable, though if you could hear jaws dropping it would be the loudest gathering on the planet. But the unnatural stillness is quickly filled with the unmistakable sound of snapping bones.

    Lee shrieks with such agony that I almost feel bad for him, but the pain he¡¯s feeling now is nothing compared to what he¡¯s going to experience in his time here. He was going to learn one way or another. Truthfully, he should be grateful I didn¡¯t kill him. Every one of the others would have. The only proof you need is a glance at the accumulated corpses, now ignored behind the cheering crowd as if they weren¡¯t living, breathing, feeling people mere moments before.

    Wiping the boy''s sweat off of my hands, I step over his wilted body. He¡¯s gingerly holding his arms in his lap as they bend in nauseating ways, something I¡¯m doing my best to avoid looking at.

    Instead, I reach down to where I dropped his knife, and snatch it from the dampened pavement, admiring the seamless, smooth jade, ¡°Thank you,¡± I chide over my shoulder.

    I glance up at the crowd, and unsurprisingly, find Reed plastered to the edge. Reed is never far from bloodshed, always eager to watch feeble bones break and arrogant blood spill. Especially when the new guys choose a particularly¡­interesting opponent.

    As I approach, Reed grins at me like a toddler on his birthday, and firmly claps me on my back as I stride past. ¡°Fucking badass, Thorn!¡± He applauds. I sometimes wonder if Reed has a thing for violence.

    Rolling my eyes, I switch my concentration to the boy standing at his side, Henry Carter. Carter¡¯s chin length, pale blonde hair is slicked back by sweat from his recent challenge, his knuckles turning an even darker shade of purple than before.

    Tossing the knife in a repetitive movement that has become easier than breathing, I make brief eye contact with Carter, his ice blue eyes as wide as the full Moon.

    ¡°Get him to the infirmary, will you?¡± I ask, spinning the blade between my fingers.

    Carter nods curtly, his face nearly green as the boy called Lee throws up all over himself and those unlucky enough to be in his range.

    Ignoring that, I push out of the crowd, tired of their games for the evening. There''s always another day to break someone in two here. There is no doubt in my mind that tomorrow will be exactly the same as today. Perhaps even worse.

 chapter 2

    Socks, blades, and a sticky mixture of blood and mud coat the filthy cement floor, only the beginning of the chaos that is bunk room number five, and most unfortunately, my room.

    Well, not entirely mine. The room is shared by well over eighty crooks, or otherwise unwanted souls turned villain by poverty and starvation, and often, the reality of having nowhere left to go. The mere thought of privacy is a laughable idea here.

    The room is large, but not large enough to distribute the constant smell of sweaty men and infected wounds. Not large enough to fit all of us, either.

    Composed wholly of rows of cramped bunks, there is no bed left untouched by centuries worth of neglect. Though any type of bed is better than those forced to sleep under rickety frames, the only remaining room with how stuffed the dormitories have become in the last few years. Nobody is guaranteed a bed for the night. At least, not until you earn it. Gods help the newbies and the weak

    I hoist myself onto the bed I¡¯ve slept in for about six years now. It took me a while, and a lot of spilled blood, but after four gruesome years, I earned myself a top bunk. It was rather good timing, too. For that was about the age I got boobs. Things got¡­interesting around then. But hey, the past is the past, and besides, I¡¯m the one who came out with the bed. Those dipshits just ended up in the mass tomb beneath the prison we call home. A wins a win.

    Drenched and battered boys soon stream into the room, their obnoxious chatter and boisterous laughter filling the air like smoke. Unfortunately for my sanity, it seems that today¡¯s blood spilling is done. At least for now. Only the Mother knows what will happen before under the cover of the Moon.

    Shoving my hand into my burlap sack, the only comfort I¡¯ve had for a decade, my eyes catch on the deep black markings that spiral up my arm. The odd swirls and spots have always been a curiosity of mine. I was the only one in the family who had them.

    Oddly, they look exactly like stars, a shadow trail weaving them together. A curvy depiction of the Sun sits on the back of my left shoulder, the Moon just below the crease of my right elbow, and the stars lay everywhere in between.

    Starting at the very tips of my fingers, the marks wind their way up my body. When they get to my shoulder, they split across both my chest and back, swooping down my body like a wave of night. The marks only stop at the ends of my toes, the swirls swishing and glimmering in near real life accuracy, having wound their way down my left leg.

    I have never learned why they are the way they are, or why they look so much like the solar system above, they just¡­are. But the mysterious pattern is not the only reason I¡¯m so intrigued by them. The markings at times will radiate emotion.

    Shaking my thoughts from the markings, I dig through the bottom of my sack. There¡¯s only a few things rummaging about the bottom; my only remaining box of cigs, a book from my mother, and some extra knives I¡¯ve taken from the boys over the years. But my lack of possessions is fine by me. You don¡¯t want a lot. Not when it¡¯ll put a target on your back.

    Finally, I grasp the edge of my weathered, leather bound book. Which, arguably, is my most important possession. This book is the only thing I have from my life before this cesspit. The only reminder I have that not all of my life has been lost. Or perhaps it¡¯s a reminder of how much has been lost. Regardless, I suppose I¡¯m lucky that these brutes had no interest in books the first day they shook me down of my belongings.

    Running my finger over worn out letters painted in gold, I look at the familiar title of my most favorite book from childhood.

    Legends and Tales of Hythalla

    A Collected History by Durvania and Lethriesha

    I¡¯ve always been fascinated with myths and tales. The gallant heroes and treacherous villains, the mysterious creatures, both good and evil, both or neither. I used to spend hours looking through the chapters of this book. I would bring the worn out tales with me everywhere, memorizing every detail of each being, knowing each story down to the wording.

    My mom nurtured this, always finding ways to keep my curiosities growing. I would sit with her as she cooked dinners, enthusiastically asking questions about any and everything. She would make me handmade dolls and murals, and when I had memorized the book and begged for more, she would tell me stories herself.

    I never knew where she got the book, nobody else has even heard of it. I used to wonder if she made it all up for me, fueling my passion with handwritten tales and beautiful artwork. But something deeper in my soul told me they were more than that. That they were history. Be it from this world or another.

    It turns out I was right. And while I spent my entire life dreaming that these creatures would become real, I never would have guessed that my dreams would soon turn to nightmares, ones that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

    Peeling back the worn cover, I flip to the first chapter, one of my favorites. Or, it was one of my favorites¡­it¡¯s hard to decide how I feel about the memories this book brings.

    So, as I do nearly every night, my only hope in blocking out the world and boys beyond, I again read the timeless tale.

    ? ?Mother Earthila ? ?

    Long before our world came to be, the Sun and the Moon were in an eternal dance of love. Though meeting was forbidden for both of our ancient gods, their affection strung true since the beginning of time.

    As their love grew, the distance turned smooth, and after many lifetimes, when the universe was reborn new, they were at last allowed what they had long since dreamed of.

    Their first embrace sent a wave of power so strong that it was felt in even the furthest corners of the universe. And from that love, they were blessed with a child. A daughter they named Earthila, in honor of the life they created from their love.

    The small, astral girl resembled both the Sun and Moon, a perfect mesh of them, true, but her unique gifts were something entirely new.

    Despite her bountiful gifts, the Sun and Moon soon became desperate. Their time was dwindling, their mortal bodies fading. What would become of their daughter?

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    With just a few precious minutes remaining, they created a new world for their curious child. One made of the purest stone, a canvas for her to mold into her own.

    When they at last placed her on the blank face, her new soul changed in many ways. The ground became coated in lush greenery, woven with rivers and seaside. Mountains sprouted from the earth, as if to reach to where her parents would reside, and the trees became guardians, forever by her side.

    When it was at last time to return to their cosmic bodies, the Moon altered her dance, pairing herself with her daughter. The Sun was unable to stay close, forever just out of reach, but he too found ways to look over her, spreading his warmth as a special embrace.

    And so, the family continued their dance of love, forever watching over one another, forever awaiting the day they may meet again.

    ? ? ?

    I¡¯m turning to a new chapter when my bed begins to rattle. I scowl at the interruption, but lean over anyway, tossing the book under my sack as I do. It¡¯s probably better I pry away sooner than later, it''s not uncommon for me to read it front to back in one sitting. It¡¯s always been my favorite pastime. My brother used to laugh at me, saying that I could be a historian in a made up world. A hobby he thought to be useless. I¡¯d almost believed him, but maybe if he¡¯d paid better attention, he would still be alive, too.

    Dropping my head over the side of the bed, I find the shit-eating grin belonging to none other than William Reed. I almost roll my eyes at how ridiculously he¡¯s sitting. Lounging on his back, his muscled, brown arms cradling his massive, ego-inflated head. The mooch is probably looking for a cig. He ran out earlier today.

    Reed is the only person I¡¯m remotely close to here. I¡¯ve known him since the day I arrived. He was actually my first challenge. Turned me black and blue. But I don¡¯t blame him. Well, not now, anyway.

    Reed¡¯s actually a pretty good guy, all things considered. He hasn¡¯t changed much since I first met him, still has the urge to pester people to no end, still won¡¯t hesitate to kick my ass. Or try to, anyway. Even his hair is pretty much the same, his tight curls that he never lets grow past his ears. His skin has gotten darker over the years, but I would wager that the constant bruises we all wear like a uniform makes him appear darker than he naturally is.

    Our dynamic is probably the closest thing I¡¯d consider a friendship. And if I hadn¡¯t sworn off friends, I would probably consider him one. But after Luca¡­

    Gods, I can¡¯t even think about him without getting choked up. It doesn¡¯t matter that it¡¯s been five years, I still remember him like it was yesterday. But I lost him. Just like everyone else.

    Since Luca was taken, I¡¯ve done my best to distance myself from the boys as a whole. Reed¡¯s a good enough guy, and I spend most days with him, but I don¡¯t let myself get too attached. Not to him or Carter or Thomas. Brutal, but necessary. People drop like flies here. I can¡¯t let myself be that weak again. I can¡¯t keep watching the people I care about die.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡±

    ¡°Thorn,¡± he picks at his teeth as way of greeting, ¡°don¡¯ be such a smartass. I¡¯ll drag you out by your braid if I ¡®ave to.¡±

    ¡°Oh, my apologies, your majesty,¡± I roll my eyes, ¡°What do you want?¡±

    His deep brown eyes seem to glimmer as smirks, ¡°Fancy a toke?¡±

    Do I get a reward for calling it? ¡°Yeah, alright. The roof or the woods?¡± I swing my head back up, riffling through the sack.

    Pushing to his feet, he grabs the rails and gives me a chipped, toothy grin, ¡°Let¡¯s do the roof, my darlin¡¯ angel.¡±

    I roll my eyes and hop off my bunk, ¡°Yeah, yeah, whatever.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve always liked ya, Thorn. So feisty, even as a kid. Still ¡®ave the scar to prove it.¡± He lifts his shirt, motioning to a large, jagged scar.

    ¡°You really want these cigs, don¡¯t you?¡± I raise an eyebrow, pushing out of the door and into the frost coated hallway.

    Swinging his heavy arm over my shoulders, Reed shoots me his famous sly grin, ¡°What¡¯s wrong with a lil¡¯ butterin¡¯?¡±

    ? ? ?

    We settle onto a portion of the roof that has the best view of the forest surrounding the compound. The ancient trees spread so far that you can¡¯t see anything but varying shades of green. The relentless rain has ceased for now, but the roof is still soaked, cold residue seeping into my clothes and caressing my skin.

    I pull out one of the cigs, rolling it between my crooked fingers, no longer straight after years of repeated snappings. I¡¯ve been smoking since I got here. A horrible habit to be sure, but it eases some of the daily turmoil. My mom would kill me if she found out. Not that she could. She¡¯s probably dead.

    Goosebumps prickle across my skin as I light Reed¡¯s match, the smell of the smoke as soothing as a lullaby, already easing the day''s trials as I take my first inhale.

    I look up at the starry sky, a sight that always eases my nerves, and blow out the thick smoke, handing it to Reed who¡¯s eyeing me as if he may jump me for it at any moment.

    I run my hand up and down the shadow trail, almost trance-like as I gaze at the night sky. It¡¯s been ten years since they were massacred. Ten years. I can¡¯t believe it¡¯s been that long.

    I arrived here after everything¡­happened. I¡¯d been tucked in a tight ball in our kitchen cabinet, long since stopped trembling. When the officers got to us, they stormed into the house, wailing as blood gushed out like a river.

    It only got worse when they entered the tomb. Two stayed in the living room, where they were horrified to find the splintered bones of my father and brothers. The others entered the kitchen, where they found the mutilated remains of what you couldn''t even describe as the corpses of my sisters.

    They never found a trace of my mother, and obsessively asked me where she was. But even I have no idea what happened to her. Where that thing took her. The not knowing has sent me to mania more times than I could hope to count.

    A week after my family was obliterated, they retrieved my beloved book, and it cracked the wall I had built around my shattered heart and soul. After all of those painstaking days, I finally spoke. Just three words. It¡¯s my fault.

    Eventually, they finally decided it was a lost cause. I wasn¡¯t going to break, and truthfully, they didn¡¯t care if I did. Either way I was going to end up here, at Madame Axtens Detention for Delinquents, or as everyone calls it, the MADD House.

    It¡¯s supposed to be the most strict detention center in the country, built for the most terrible of men, and I suppose in many ways it is, but not in the ways everyone thinks.

    Yes, we get beat and punished. Yes, we have far more rules than freedoms. But it is not just discipline they enforce here. No, the MADD House is more than a prison. It¡¯s a training camp. For what, I couldn¡¯t tell you. Even after a decade of living here I haven¡¯t a clue. But what is clear is that they''re turning us into weapons.

    Reed snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me jump, ¡°Thorn!¡±

    ¡°Shit, sorry. Did you say something?¡± I blink foggily.

    He scoffs, handing me the cig, ¡°You disappeared there. What was you thinkin ¡®bout?¡±

    I stare at the looming forest, now more frightening than before. Every dark spot reminds me of soulless eye sockets, every sharp treetop makes me think of pointed, blood stained teeth.

    ¡°Just thinking about who I¡¯m gonna challenge for more cigs.¡±

    Reed bumps my shoulder with his and takes the smoke back, ¡°Damn straight. Better get ¡®em fast, two cigs won¡¯ last us an hour.¡±

    I roll my eyes so intensely I¡¯m surprised they¡¯re still in my skull. If Reed wasn''t such entertaining company, I would have to kick him off the damn roof. But despite the leech who consumes more of my cigs than I, I can¡¯t help but be thankful for his company.

 chapter 3

    Despite finally falling asleep far past a reasonable hour, my mind is doing anything but resting. No, my mind is doing precisely what it does every night, torturing me with the same memories it has for a decade. The story of that night ten years ago is playing out eerily accurate to how it truly went, forcing me to again experience the worst night of my life.

    The white walls stained red under the bloodshed. The creaking floorboards as the black tar body saunters closer and closer, stopping just a few inches away from where I cower in a cabinet. A scream cut short by a blood curdling laugh. And of course, that persistent drip, drip, drip, from the blood that has flooded the house.

    ? ? ?

    I bolt awake, grasping for anything I can get my hands on. But it¡¯s too late. Just like every night, the worst of which I actually throw my knives, fear convincing me that the creature is still here, lurking in the shadows, desperate to finish what it started.

    I experience every moment from that night in an infinite loop, regret looming like the beast. I heard their screams. I smelt the blood. I watched as they took their final breaths. And I did nothing to help. It¡¯s not something I will ever forgive myself for. How I froze like that. If I hadn¡¯t been such a coward, my mother may still be here. They all might.

    When my mind finally catches up with reality, I fall back onto my sack and the slickness I¡¯ve created in my terror, sweat dripping all the way down to the bottom of the bed.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    Before I can think, I jump off of my bed, tearing three knives from my sack, including my new jade handled blade, and tucking them into the harness on my thigh.

    Twisting my unruly strands of hair into the braid I¡¯ve worn every day for a decade, I hastily enter the hallway, only turning when I reach the end of the asylum styled segway.

    It¡¯s not like I''m going to get much sleep, anyway. I never do. How can I be expected to when slumber whisks me away to a whole new battle ground? One that turns my memories to ammunition. One that makes what I go through here seem like a child''s playground.

    The compound is unbelievably creepy at this hour, almost like a graveyard; the torches well past extinguished, no souls lingering about. Each step I take echoes down the hall, each breath seems like an unwanted caress.

    Quickening my pace, I at last spot my salvation. The final door that will lead me into the refreshing night air. But as I push the door open, my face flashes back at me from the water stained window. I almost wince at my reflection, something that happens every time I see myself. I can¡¯t help it. Not when I¡¯m staring into the face of my dead family.

    My siblings and I were all very similar; the same curly, raven hair, the slender limbs, and cinnamon skin. My father was a hard worker, always selling some new gadget in town. He and I share the same green irises ribbed in blue. I always thought his looked like a tropical ocean, meshing in perfect beauty, especially when the Sun allowed them to shine. When I look at mine now, the only thing I can think about is how his looked rolling across the floor like marbles.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    My mother, Delilah, was beloved by all, and as my father would have said, especially by the men. She had a lovely straight nose that was brushed in delicate freckles that spread to her ears, rose tinted, honey brown cheeks, and full lips that were typically spread in an inviting smile. Her voice was like the sweetest of sugar, and she moved with such grace that I often wondered if she was a goddess who had been born into the wrong world. She loved to be outside, but most especially in the water, and most of all, she was an incredible artist.

    When I was young, all I wanted was to one day look like her. But now that I¡¯m her spitting image, it just makes me queasy. The only thing I can think about when looking into the mirror now is how I failed her. How I failed all of them.

    The coolness of the moisture rich air is immediately soothing. I can almost feel the emotions trickling out with each breath. Mist hangs over the trees like clouds, so thick that I can¡¯t see past the treeline. The cold cluster is eerie, but calming in its own way.

    Making my way across the cement courtyard, I head for the woods. The beginning of the treeline is stunning, especially in the middle of the night. The trees are tall, taller than any building I have ever seen, and filled with creatures who make the forest peaceful and inviting, only matched by the light trickle of water running down rocks. My breath fogs in front of me as I rub my chilled hands together, but I¡¯d take this over being trapped in that prison any day.

    Humming to myself a soft song my mother used to sing, a sudden wave of hopelessness washes up from the peculiar marks on my fingers, whipping all the way down to my toes, faltering my steps.

    These sensations happen daily, but no matter how many times I¡¯ve felt them, it¡¯s an out of body experience every time. I always feel¡­connected to something other than myself. Something greater than me.

    There are many sensations I¡¯ve felt from the strange marks, but more often than not, they are ones of hopelessness and anguish. Unending anguish. Pain that is far deeper than physical.

    There¡¯s a difference between physical and mental pain. Physical pain is like fire dancing across my skin. At times gut wrenching, but not nearly as bad as mental.

    Mental pain feels like hollowness, like you¡¯re being ripped apart by the inside. It¡¯s the type of pain that keeps you up all night, endless loops of thoughts plaguing you for what feels like eternity. Mental pain turns you into a shell of a person, a husk of what you once were. That kind of pain is agony. And it is what I feel from these markings constantly.

    The hopelessness from the bond sits like a boulder in my stomach. I know this feeling isn¡¯t from myself. These feelings are always identifiable. It¡¯s almost like they have been kissed by shadows. But regardless of who or what they belong to, it always affects me as strongly as my own emotions. I always feel the strangest urge to go to whatever the cause is.

    The only time I ever tried to escape here was when the feeling of agony so intense I nearly fainted poured over my body like the most frigid of blizzards. I sprinted from the dining hall so fast it took ten miles for the General to retrieve me and drag me back to his ¡°office¡±. My heart didn¡¯t settle for weeks. I don¡¯t even know where I was going, or what I was trying to find, but instinct kicked in, and I still can¡¯t seem to understand why.

    My dreams then were not filled with images of my family being ripped to shreds, but of screams filled with such pain that I woke from them in a panic. A panic so strong I couldn¡¯t push my mind anywhere but those dreams. Those false memories that didn¡¯t belong to me but another.

    The hopelessness from this most recent crash of emotion washes over me ruthlessly, though it gets less noticeable with each step I take. Sometimes the feelings last for weeks, other times for only a moment. It¡¯s something I¡¯ve grown quite used to, but have yet learnt to ignore. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s because I can¡¯t or I won¡¯t.

    I round another twist of the forgotten trail and the emotion fizzles out of my marks. But even when the feelings are gone, it¡¯s hard to shake the imprint they leave behind. The sense of something being out there. Something special and personal and mine.

 chapter 4

    If one has ever experienced a stampede, they would find many similarities in how these buffoons barrel their way to the dining hall. I don¡¯t think the Mother herself could stop them on their warpath to breakfast. But often I can¡¯t understand why they¡¯re so eager. It¡¯s not like the food is something to celebrate.

    I, myself, will not be partaking in this mornings dose of torture. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s a good thing or not. But I didn¡¯t have a choice, not after the grimace I let slip after a particularly large boil burst and oozed over the filthy kitchen table, reminding me so much of those pus filled blisters I received as punishment a few months back. The Cook didn¡¯t take much liking to that, and the look on his face was enough for me to find Reed without turning back.

    He and Carter were sitting at a back table with Thomas, but that wasn¡¯t much of a surprise. Carter and Reed are never far from one another. They think they¡¯re sly, but I mean seriously, how many times can two guys sneak away and not be fucking?

    As I approach, I find myself lucky to have a seat at all. While the dining hall is quite large, with ghost-white walls and a few small windows, only half of the inmates will find a place to sit, leaving the rest to fight for space on the muddy floor.

    Looking into Carter¡¯s bowl, I cringe as another boils pops and leaks into the green goop. I have to look away after that, the sight turning my stomach queasy. But seeing the others does nothing to ease the bile rising in my throat.

    One boy is mixing water into his goop, somehow growing thicker than before. Another is plugging his nose, a few even take off for the bathroom, covering their mouths, faces green. But the one who nearly makes me laugh is the kid who sat himself by a window, doing his best to toss as much of the lumpy ooze over his shoulder as possible.

    I guess the boys at his table find it quite amusing, as well, as there¡¯s now a crowd openly watching him, most of their shoulders shaking in silent laughter. He must be stupid, though, seeing that he hasn¡¯t noticed his new fanbase.

    I watch the boy for so long that I hardly have time to notice the figure who is now looming in the shadows. I see him for only a moment before he steps into the light, the realization of who it is turning my skin to frost. The General.

    The General may look well-bred, but something deep in my soul affirms that he¡¯s the biggest threat at this school. There¡¯s something eerily familiar about him, my instincts always urging me to run as far away as possible.

    He stands well over six feet tall, towering over everyone, and the way he moves is almost serpentine. His platinum hair gives the illusion of nobility, his pale skin radiates with toxicity, and his soulless, black eyes glare into your core.

    Horrified, I watch as the boy tosses another spoonful over his shoulder. But his mark is off, and my breathing hitches as I watch it splatter all over the General.

    The tall, skeletal figure steps out of the shadows, his too slender limbs sending a shiver down my spine as he leans forward, hovering over the boy''s shoulder, drawing the attention of every person in the room, each going stiff backed and still as death. But the kid doesn¡¯t notice. He¡¯s still looking into his bowl, entirely unaware.

    ¡°You ruined my best pants,¡± the General growls, making the blue eyed boy jump, spilling the rest of his bowl in his lap, ¡°And I guess you just ruined your only pair, too,¡± he barks, ¡°You pathetic idiot!¡± The room stills so suddenly it feels as if time has frozen.

    When the boy doesn¡¯t respond, the General takes a step closer. The kid looks up at him, a tear hugging his eye as he opens his wobbling mouth, ¡°I-I¡­I didn¡¯t mean to.¡±

    I suck in a breath as the General lunges, grasping his curly, beige hair in one of his inescapable hands. The boy begins to plead, to beg for mercy, and when he realizes he¡¯ll find none, he desperately calls out to the room.

    The General drags him out of the hall, his path a direct trail to demise. We all know to avoid the General. He has a wicked temper, and is known for punishing us for the smallest of reasons, often without grounds at all. Brutal bastard. No wonder he¡¯s the Warden''s favorite Dog, the one she entrusts to carry out the discipline for the school. We rarely see her. Not even once a year. But I¡¯m not complaining. The General is enough to contend with.

    We don¡¯t have any other choice than to watch helplessly as the General at last thrusts the boy into the hall, the doors slamming shut with enough force to rattle my teeth. But it¡¯s not for many minutes that we at last stop hearing the screaming.

    ? ? ?

    As a collective unit, all 573- no, it¡¯s only 572 now- of us make our way from the hall and onto the field. This is definitely my least favorite part of the day. I despise running.

    Though, it is peaceful this morning, which makes this far better. The trees are still smothered in an impenetrable layer of mist that tickles my cheeks as I find a seat in the dew kissed grass, the limbs swaying with the light breeze.

    Soon, one of our ¡°instructors¡±, who''s just another one of the Wardens Dogs, Colonel Kraus, joins us on the field. He storms over, huffing hard enough that I¡¯m surprised he hasn¡¯t hacked up a lung, his massive hands swaying in fists at his sides.

    Kraus is the very picture of a war veteran. Gruff and scarred head to toe, always rambling on and on about his past experiences. If he wasn¡¯t such a rambler, I might even fear him. But Kraus is just a nuisance. One who tells us that he would still have all ten fingers and toes if he would''ve been able to run an extra three miles. Which is precisely why, he lectures every morning, that we all start our day with a 20 mile run. It¡¯s also why we have to complete that run in record time. Because endurance isn¡¯t enough if our enemies can outrun us anyway.

    The run alone wouldn¡¯t be the absolute worst, after a few miles you start to get in a rhythm. What takes down most of the people is the demented obstacle course, all of which is intended to make us ¡°all terrain¡± fighters, whatever that means.

    ¡°Alright, you candy asses,¡± the Colonel hollers, making me wince as the sound tears through my head, ¡°Finish in time or the General and I will see you in his office.¡±

    I scoff at that. An office is hardly the way I would describe the mutilation chamber the General uses. I mean for godssake, theres a drain in the center of the room, and the walls are lined with a plethora of literal torture tools.

    ¡°Well, get going,¡± the Colonel growls, having already started his watch.

    We all take off at the realization, I¡¯ll take every second I can get. Glancing over my shoulder, I let out a small sigh when I see the new guys hesitating. An onyx haired boy makes me particularly nervous, as he¡¯s tenderly holding his stomach as if he may throw up the morning''s ooze at any second. It won¡¯t be pretty for the new guys, and they¡¯re going to learn that damn fast.

    ? ? ?

    About two miles into the run I drift into severe boredom. Thinking of the stories my mom used to read to me has always gotten me through even the most tedious of tasks. Stories I¡¯ve read so often I know them by heart. This one is another favorite, perhaps the one I¡¯ve read the most.

    ? ?Hythalla? ?

    The home Earthila spent many Suns and Moons creating she named Hythalla. A world of love and passion, welcome to all.

    She created magnificent plains of tall grasses, lush with critters and bugs, each and every one born by her very self. She carved deep canyons, so long and wide that it would take a dragon to fly over them. She made giant sand dunes as far as the eye can see, mountains taller and vaster than anything could possibly climb, and ice fields that she would slide and skate on from morning to night. Earthila made jungles and swamps and lands of clouds. She made volcanoes and underground sanctuaries. Each and every place she created with love in her heart. Each and every creation an adventure, a new form of life never before seen. She made it all, and yet, she was lonely.

    In her time, she had made many creatures to stand by her side, but these beings did not offer the companionship she hoped for. Her creatures loved her dearly, and she loved them, but they were beings who were driven by loyalty, always doing what was best to their nature. But what Earthila wished for was not perfection. Earthila wished for truth, for love despite her role as the Mother.

    So, Earthila created her very own family. One birthed from her very gifts. Nine daughters, she made. Nine daughters, each individual and different. Each daughter was blessed with the Mother¡¯s own gifts, distributed in a way that best complimented their souls.

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    From these children, the Mother created civilizations to best fit her daughters'' desires. Cities in the mountains and trees, even under the vast, sparkling seas. And with these civilizations, the Mother created another being. These beloved creations, she named the fae. Those truest of heart she allowed blessings of her own talents, gifts that would help them adjust to their new home.

    For the mothers eldest, she born Harensia, the land of light and sky. Harensia has five civilizations, all made of large cloud bases high above the mainland, each soaring over Hythalla as the winds demand. The Mother gave the fae of Harensia long, beautiful, feathered wings, which are white as the very clouds they soar over, and tipped in varying colors of sunsets and rises.

    The people of Vermah were born to the underground world of fire and shadow, surrounded by volcanoes and caves, with glittering jewels and rivers of magma to light their shadowed lives. The Vermahn were blessed with elegant wings of sleek black feathers, with an undercoat of green and blue hues, and finished with gold colored eyes that were made for living at night.

    The fae of Shavira call the vast deserts and dunes their beloved home. They are most well known for roaming the land in the middle of the night, for the day is often too hot and dry for them to survive. Violet eyes are how they are identified.

    The fae of Piandra are jungle dwellers, typically living in the vast tree bungalows that span for many miles. While most about this secretive culture is unrecorded and unknown by outsiders, it is clear that these people are quite resilient.

    The Dumbrik are a very headstrong people, always known to be firmly grounded. Their minds are as fortified as their chosen mountainous home, their skin equally as strong. But while these people are quite stubborn and strong willed, they can always be trusted in times of peril.

    Omaiya is a home to free spirits, typically artisans by trade. At times, their communities are on sandy shores, but most lay deep under the bays. In light of this, the Omaiyans can grow a tail, and many possess gills as a permanent signifier of their home.

    Feidrah is composed of unending grass fields, with flowers of every color and size. Scattered throughout are large and inviting forests, the leaves as delicate as the fae who live among them. There is hardly an inch of these lands untouched by melodies and song, especially late into the night, when the most entrancing of symphonies are performed.

    The lands of Kah are  brutal and harsh, composed of ice and snow. The fae in these lands are just as fierce, unrelenting to climate and foes. These fae are incredibly intelligent, cherishing knowledge above all. It is wise to not cross them, unless you wish to fall.

    The final land of the Mother¡¯s creation is that of Ivierma, a wild and untamed land, ruled by none with claims to all, for Ivierma is a mix of all of the Mother¡¯s lands. If one is wishing for a life of peace, this is not the land in which you would find it. Ivierma is bound to no rules, often acting with a mind of her own.

    With her lands and daughters, Hythalla grew far and wide. And in the eve of her creations, the Mother could at last lie.

    ? ? ?

    Passing a bend that reveals the largest oak tree on the trail, my eyes catch on the markings carved into the thick trunk. Having faded after the many years that have passed, I have to squint to find the faint letters carved flimsily into wood. Me and Luca did it together.

    My heart breaks at the thought of my old friend. Anytime I think of him, it¡¯s like I can still see him, even that blue and green flannel he wore like a uniform. He and I had been thick as thieves for two years. At least, until he was dragged away by the General. I never saw him again. The loss re-shattered my already broken soul.

    ¡°Hour n¡¯ 32 minutes, Thorn,¡± The Colonel yells as I pass the finish line.

    My breathing gallops fast and hard, unable to get enough of the air my lungs so desperately crave. Resting my hands on my hips, I stare at the thunderous sky. A storm will surely start soon, and it looks like it¡¯ll last a while. At least the thunder will help distract the haggard boys who will spend the better part of the evening strapped in chains, with their back bloodied and drained.

    ? ? ?

    Clashing steel and splitting wood fill the empty void of my mind, matched with groans and yelps, all meshing into a symphony of pain. You can¡¯t mess up here. Not if you want to keep all of your limbs. Nobody takes it easy. Nobody hesitates to cut you to the bone. The mound of mutilated corpses enforces this tenfold.

    A flash of lightning illuminates the training room, followed by booming thunder as an ogre of a boy lunges at me, his sword striking through the air. I deflect with my own, charging up from my side.

    ¡°Whore!¡± He bellows, as I draw first blood, ¡°Jus¡¯ wait ¡®till I get my hands on you¡¯s neck.¡± He threatens, thrusting out with a brutal slash that turns him red in the face when I avoid it once more.

    His sword throttles wildly, his movements becoming more rash with every passing second. He grunts furiously with each poor swipe, and eventually resorts to his free fist, desperate to grab hold of my hair.

    As he steps within my range, I whip my sword up and crack him on the nose with the hilt. He yelps and staggers backwards, wiping away the blood that¡¯s steadily pouring down his face.

    He gawks when he pulls back, ¡°You¡¯s going to pay for that.¡±

    ¡°So you keep saying.¡± I sigh, my carelessness thick enough that he bares his teeth.

    He screams with maniac energy, lunging like a beast, his movements fast and brutal. But as he steps to the side, he leaves himself open, and despite his frantically swinging sword, he soon finds my own smashing into the weak spot of his hold, sending his clattering to the ground.

    Taking hold of his disbelief, I press the blade into the tender flesh of his neck, drawing a line of blood that somehow makes his face even more grotesque.

    I would feel satisfied with the, truth be told, expected outcome, but from the look on his face, I know in my core he will not let this go. A man like this does not do well when a woman overpowers him. Especially here, where the others will berate him to no end.

    So maybe it¡¯s a good thing he¡¯s so foolish, and maybe it¡¯s a good thing he gave me no other choice. But that won¡¯t help me sleep tonight. Not when I have to add yet another face to the death toll that plays constant treachery on my mind.

    Despite the sword I had pressed into his skin, the unnamed boy grasps a once hidden knife, cocking back with an outraged bellow teasing the room. But the sound soon turns into a cry, his eyes falling to that familiar mist as my blade sinks into the soft flesh of his stomach, blood pooling so quickly it seems as if it was always meant to be.

    His blade falls forgotten at his feet, and his knees soon join as he wilts on the ground. The boy''s body stills on the cement, now sticky with fresh blood, spreading along the platform, and tipping over the side, the echoing drip, drip, drip consuming my mind.

    It is times like these that I feel most like a monster, when it is impossible to deny what I have become.

    ? ? ?

    The dining hall is just as rambunctious as this morning, just now with the new guys giving me a wide berth. Word of my kill spread like sickness, turning every new, innocent eye wide as I strode by. It is times like these that I replay my stories, as silly as it may be. And while this tale is not one of joy, it is better than the numbness of my mind.

    ? ?The Fall of Hythalla? ?

    After many millennia of fae, when the Mother was most comfortable in her home, our beloved land was met by a visitor, one who would claim Hythalla for his own.

    This foreigner named himself Varkashi, prince of the far land of Dravashik. And while the newcomer played the innocent, he was far more than he seemed. For this new prince, from the void of ash, came with his plain laid clear. Varkashi intended to gather the Mothers gifts, to take what was never intended to be his.

    He came with his own powers, ones that would allow him to do just this. For Varkashi was no ordinary man, being gifted with much of his own, and used them effortlessly to take the throne.

    The Mother¡¯s daughter, Jamsiya, was the first betrayal to our people, for she soon sided with this outsider, allowing him her many people. The Verhman hastily took their place, choosing the hand of darkness, but this shadow was not contained to her people, soon to expand and swell, manifesting in the way of the artifacts.

    The forming of the artifacts, powerful objects that would bind the Mother¡¯s gifts, making them his own, was the greatest draw of his power. For it was the creation of these unholy things that led him to consume our power. But it was not until he took down Shavira, having captured the only remaining gifted, Fridrama Dashka, did he at last have it all.

    By the time he found the Mother, cowering in a temple of stone, there was nary a thing to do to stop him. The Mother no longer had power, nor did she have the help of her beings.

    The prince then carved the heart out of her chest, storing it for himself, now turned into the emperor of the land, a name that would not be soon forgotten. Her body was destroyed, though it is said to remain in his Palace of Vershka, forever on display.

    Hope was lost for all those in the land, even the strongest of fae now cowering before the mighty man. Even the whispers of remaining gifted were soon extinguished by the threat of execution, leaving the Hythallans empty as ash.

    The lands were then separated, communications cut cold. Beings of love were destroyed, and born were those of hate, entirely composed of shadow and mold.

    Hythalla had fallen, and in turn rose Neidra, a land that would never be the same.

    ? ? ?

    Three sets of trays clatter onto the table, followed by the squelching of wet and muddy shoes. I look up to find the cheery grin of Reed, Carter and Thomas flanking his sides.

    But I can¡¯t seem to understand why he¡¯s so happy, not when dinner looks worse than any before. Their tray¡¯s are piled high with a lumpy, brown sludge, and an incredibly suspicious slice of what looks like meatloaf?

    ¡°No new friends?¡± Reed teases, ¡°Too scared of our Thorny, eh.¡±

    ¡°Jealous, more like it,¡± Thomas nods seriously.

    ¡°Jealous?¡± I snort, ¡°What for?¡±

    ¡°Who else could kill someone tha¡¯ fast?¡± Carter looks accusingly at his food, almost as if he expects it to bite him if he looks away, ¡°Swear you was a blur.¡±

    Before I can respond, the large double-doors swing open. The attention of every person in the room drifts to the new presence, each and every one falling silent and still.

    I know without having to look who has caused such a reaction. I can feel it in the air as the room turns cold. I could swear even the flames flickering along the walls have grown dimmer. All life, warmth, stolen by the presence. By his presence.

    I look over slowly, my heart hammering. Seeing him makes my body go rigid, every part on full alert. His soulless eyes are locked on mine. His mouth spread into a demonic sneer. The boys recoil as he passes by them, each seeming to shrivel to guts and bones.

    The General plants his feet in front of me, the stance lazy and arrogant. He picks at his teeth, flicking a chunk of something nasty onto Carter¡¯s plate without even looking at him.

    ¡°If it isn¡¯t our little Della.¡± The haunting voice croons, ¡°You and I are going to have some fun.¡±

 chapter 5

    The General approaches his menacing door, the buzzing, black rock haunting, filling my body with dread, seeming to turn by blood to lead.

    I reach for the wide slot dug into the door itself, and a shiver runs down my spine. It¡¯s almost like my body knows this is the entrance to unavoidable agony.

    Pulling the heap of stone open, I make sure to hold it for the General to enter first. That is a mistake I won¡¯t make again.

    The General gives me a revolting sneer as he enters the room, sauntering all the way to the back wall where his most favorite tools are hung in precise rows along the permanently blood stained, black tile wall.

    I follow him in, letting out a breath of relief as I get to release my hold on the door, but stop near the entrance, my hands clasped behind my back, doing my best to not fidget. That¡¯s how he likes me best; when my fear shows through the mask. And damn me if I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

    He runs one of his translucent fingers over the lethal cuts of steel in slow, taunting strokes, his back still turned, the tinkling of blades like a call of death.

    ¡°Do you know why I¡¯ve brought you here, Della?¡±

    Della. That damn nickname only he calls me.

    ¡°No, sir.¡± I mutter, my voice feeble and low.

    The General tsks, turning slowly to face me once more, ¡°Come now, Della, you can do better than that.¡±

    Silence fills the room like smoke in a chimney, suffocating and thick with doom.

    ¡°Della, Della, Della,¡± the General taunts, his eyes narrowing, ¡°We don¡¯t have all night, do we? Now be a good girl and fess up so I don¡¯t have to tear it out of you.¡±

    His sneer widens to reveal sparkling, white bones stabbing out of pale, pink gums, ¡°Though I must admit, it does sound rather¡­exciting, does it not?¡±

    I clear my throat, my hands sweaty behind my back, ¡°Is it because of breakfast this morning, sir?¡± I ask, hoping to the Mother I didn¡¯t just dig myself a deeper hole.

    That horrid smile widens, ¡°See, Della, that wasn¡¯t so hard, was it?

    My gut churns with the possibilities of what¡¯s to come, ¡°No, sir.¡±

    ¡°Tell me, why would you allow yourself to conduct such heinous behavior?¡± His face flashes terribly, ¡°I thought we had taught you better than that.¡±

    I should say something, anything to reduce the torment that will surely follow. But I can¡¯t get myself to do it. I never can. It¡¯s typically why I spend so much time in here. My mouth has a way of adding to my punishment, either by saying too much or by refraining from saying anything at all.

    He recognizes my refusal, my inability to give in, and his anger manifests as his eyes darken, turning to those depthless pits of despair.

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    Quicker than I would have thought possible, the beast steps to me, his face so close that it feels as if his eyes might actually sear holes into mine.

    But still, I refuse to lower my gaze.

    Enraged, he throws out one of his impossibly large hands, grasping me by my braid, and throwing me to the floor. The force of the impact is overwhelming. My head feels as if it¡¯s splitting open, bursts of pain slicing through me as much as any blade.

    Groaning, I roll onto my side, hardly making it to my knees when a thick, steel toed boot collides with my jaw, sending me flying back to the ground. My face smashes against the cold, coarse drain, still sticky from whatever boy was in here before.

    ¡°Get up.¡± He barks, his voice fuzzy and strange.

    Slowly heaving my body off the slickened floor, it doesn¡¯t take long for him to snatch my wrists, forcing them into the shackles hanging from the ceiling, so high I have to stand on the tips of my toes to reach.

    Soon after, I feel the tip of a knife at my back, slowly trailing to the neckline of my shirt. I take a deep breath, but before I have the chance to release it, I feel the knife slice through the sweat logged fabric. My shirt separates in two, revealing the entirety of my back, where the cool air has already begun to tear at my flesh.

    I close my eyes for a moment, desperately attempting to get myself together, but when I again open them, I¡¯m met with the depthless, cold stare that haunts my dreams.

    He doesn¡¯t wait long to run the knife along the front of my shirt, allowing the fabric to fall in two humiliating thumps, making my skin prickle and stomach churn to cream.

    My eyes narrow and he pulls his mouth into a cocky sneer, every inch of his face laced with excitement as he turns, prowling up to the wall of tools, scratching his perfectly shaven chin as he ponders what he would find the most pleasure in using.

    Thumbing a long, barbed whip, he stalks back, his weapon coiled neatly in his hand.

    Stopping so close that our bodies touch, he leans to my ear and whispers, ¡°I hope you find this lesson as rewarding as I do.¡± He pulls back, his foul mouth grazing my ear in an acidic kiss, the whip trailing around my shoulder as he finds my bare back.

    ¡°Which is why I¡¯m so disappointed this will be our last lesson. But don¡¯t worry, little Della. I won¡¯t forget you.¡±

    And then only thing I can hear is the sound of the whip, cutting ruthlessly through sharpened air.

    ? ? ?

    ¡°We¡¯re done.¡± He smirks, ¡°Do give Szah my regards.¡±

    Szah? Regards? If I had the mind to do it, I would question these words. But I don¡¯t have the chance to, not as the General reaches up to unclasp the rusted shackles. The reprieve doesn¡¯t last long, for I soon find myself sprawled on the floor, unable to so much as groan.

    ¡°Show some dignity, Della. Get up.¡± He snarls, looming like a fresh nightmare.

    He sighs dramatically, but his tone then turns sweet, like a sickly poison infused into wine, and he crouches next to my ear.

    ¡°I must admit, I¡¯ve held you here for far too long. Greed, on my end. But I fear the time has come for you to at last be shared. Your blood¡­it¡¯s so hypnotizing, a narcotic.¡± His eyes turn to ice, his smile looking so much like the creature from all those years ago, ¡°But just between you and me,¡± he whispers, ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll last a second. It¡¯s never been one of patience, and you¡¯re spilling so much of that refined blood it won¡¯t be able to resist.¡±

    He stands before I can ask who ¡®it¡¯ is, snatching my foot and dragging me by my ankle. Forcing me down the hall, eventually coming to another door, he throws it open and shoves me through the frame, a thick, glossy blood trail smeared in our wake like a freshly killed animal.

    Death chases after me like a cat playing with a mouse, taunting and teasing my final strands of life. But I can¡¯t help the thought that it¡¯s a good thing I¡¯m dying. It would be impossible not to when I¡¯m being left in a bone littered cell, the floor scattered with the days worth of corpses.

 chapter 6

    It¡¯s a gorgeous, warm summer evening, the Sun just beginning to dip below the horizon. I am, as per usual, lounging in the large oak tree, re-reading my most favorite chapters from my beloved book. My brothers are laying in the tall grass, playing a card game I can¡¯t remember. My sisters are already inside, bickering over something or another. The day is just as it should be, as it always is.

    I look up from my book to see my father walking up the pathway to our modest home, a gorgeous, red brick cottage with a lovely wooden roof and plenty of windows. Ivy covers the front of our house, wyteria grows everywhere, and mom¡¯s fruitful gardens sprawl for what seems like miles. Dad had been out selling his newest inventions at the market, and it seems like he was successful, seeing that his cart is completely empty.

    Dropping the book to the ground, I leap from the tree and quickly scoop up my favorite possession before sprinting to my father, my bare feet becoming wet with the evening dew.

    ¡°How¡¯d it go, Dad!¡± I give a toothy grin, skidding to a stop at his side, ¡°Seems like everyone liked your new¡­thingy!¡±

    He laughs deeply, his smile dimpling his left cheek as he rustles my crazy, knotted curls, ¡°Darn right they did, kiddo. Sold out pretty quick! I¡¯ll have to make some more tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Wow! That¡¯s amazing! Think I can help, Dad?¡± I pull on his arm, ¡°Can I, can I!¡±

    He laughs again as he reaches the small, wooden shed beside the house, opening the door to push the cart inside, ¡°I don¡¯t see why not! Unless you¡¯re worried about staining your clothes.¡±

    ¡°Daddd, you know I don¡¯t care,¡± I winge.

    ¡°I know, I know, no need to fuss,¡± he smiles, ¡°I¡¯ll let ya know when I start, okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay!¡± I grin, more than happy with the situation.

    My father and I make our way into the house, where he¡¯s greeted by my many siblings, each begging him for the details of his latest venture to the only nearby town. Leaving the chaos, I go to my mother, who is gathering an assortment of things in a basket.

    ¡°What¡¯re you doing, Mom?¡± I ask, setting my book on the table as I take a seat.

    She looks up from her freshly woven basket, and smiles in a way that could soothe any bad dream, ¡°Heading to the market to pick up some groceries. You nuggets are eating us out of house and home!¡± She laughs, the sound like breezy wind chimes.

    ¡°Mom?¡± I ask immediately, flipping to the page I had left off on, ¡°How many Pavarius dragons are there in Hythalla? I know that there¡¯s alotta Wentra, Kenvri, and Axtran, and even Ingush, but I¡¯ve only read of one Pavarius.¡±

    My mom chuckles as she tucks her final items inside the basket, ¡°Well, that¡¯s because there is only one Pavarius. Her name is Nagavel. She belonged to Mother Earthila.¡±

    ¡°Why did the Mother only make one Pavarius dragon and so many of the others? Isn¡¯t Nagavel lonely being the only one like her?¡± I ask, holding up the brightly painted pages of the book displaying the five dragons.

    ¡°Well, the Mother only needed one spiritual guide. She created the Pavarius for herself, and fell so in love with Nagavel that she decided to make more dragons, ones who would better fit the rest of her people,¡± she explains, hooking the basket around her arm, ¡°Do you wish to come with me, Delly? I¡¯d be happy to answer any of your questions.¡±

    I think for a moment, but one look back down at the page has my decision laid bare, ¡°No, I think I wanna read some more.¡±

    She laughs and soothes my frizzy hair, ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll be back soon, okay.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Mom,¡± I smile back before taking my book to the living room, settling into my favorite spot on the couch.

    I watch as she kisses dad goodbye -earning a gag from my brother, Percy- and makes her way out of the door. But most unfortunately, I only get one moment of peace before Leovani plants himself by my side, snatching the book from my hands with speed that only an older brother can obtain.

    ¡°What do we have here!¡± He teases, examining the page I was reading.

    ¡°Leeeoo,¡± I whine, ¡°Give it back! It¡¯s mine!¡±

    He swats away my hand, my movements frantic and desperate, ¡°Oh please, Delly, you can go without your little book for one minute, can¡¯t you.¡±

    I sit back and glare at my eldest brother, my arms wrapped around my chest tight enough that they begin to tingle.

    ¡°Well, now isn¡¯t this interesting,¡± he mocks, ¡°While all dragons, except the Kenvri, whose scales are always silver, vary in color, size, and tail shape, there are ways to distinguish each species from the other. The Axtran, for example, have large horns that blah, blah, blah, blah. Does this stuff seriously interest you, Delly? It¡¯s not like any of it matters!¡±

    I tear the book from his hands and bury it under my sweater, ¡°It matters to me! Didn¡¯t Mom tell you to stop teasing me?¡±

    ¡°Come on Leo, let off her,¡± Augustine groans as he takes a seat across from us. Leo may be the eldest sibling, but Auggie has always acted like it, ¡°I would seriously rather spend the rest of my life at the MADD House than listen to you two bicker all evening.¡±

    I stick my tongue out at my eldest brother and send a smile of thanks to Auggie. He always handled us the best.

    ¡°Whatever,¡± Leo laughs, sliding off the couch to sprawl on the floor, ¡°become a historian of a make believe world for all I care.¡±

    The rest of the family files in soon after, and the room combusts into light hearted chatter. We¡¯ve never been a family who¡¯s had a lot to complain about. We don¡¯t have a lot of money, but I would take my peaceful life anyday over the hustle and bustle the wealthy families experience.

    All is well until I notice something out of our front window. I rub my eyes to make sure I¡¯m not hallucinating, but by time I look again, it''s gone. But something in my gut tells me that I did see something. But that would mean that I just saw the creature that makes me fear the underside of my bed just outside my living room window.

    Anxious that my eyes didn¡¯t deceive me, I get up from my seat and move to the window to get a closer look, ¡°What is it, Delly?¡± Dad asks, ¡°Is Mom back already?¡±

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    I peer out of the glass and look up and down the street, ¡°No¡­I thought I saw¡­¡± If I tell them I think it was a monster from my ¡°make believe¡± book, they¡¯d all laugh.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s nothing,¡± Rosabella smiles, standing to peel me away from the window, ¡°Maybe we should make some tea to hold us over until Mom comes back.¡±

    I nod half-heartedly but keep my eyes glued to where I had seen the demon as she guides me to the kitchen, Percius and Iridessa following along to help. They pull a chair out for me at the counter and push me into it, Percy running outside to fetch some water from the well a few paces away while Rose and Dessa open the cupboard to grab my favorite, homegrown tea.

    Percy is only gone for a moment when a scream rips through the house. The jar Rose had been holding crashes to the floor, the glass shattering everywhere, raining across our bare feet. Every hair on my body stands up, every atom of my being goes static with fear.

    ¡°PERCIUS!¡± Dad yells, jumping to his feet and bolting to the door.

    I turn to get up from my chair, my siblings already rushing forward. But we all freeze as we hear our father scream, ¡°WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH HIM!¡±

    My heart lurches to my throat, almost choking me, suffocating me. No, no, no.

    ¡°Delly, get into the cupboard,¡± Rose whispers.

    When I don¡¯t move, she pulls me by my arm and drags me from the chair, Dessa helping her open the large cupboard under the sink. The twins shove me inside and push the doors closed, leaving only a small peephole for me to look out of.

    ¡°No, no, what¡¯s happening, I can help-¡± I try to get out of the cupboard, but get cut off by the most horrifying noise I¡¯ve ever heard, followed by an ear shattering crack as the door is split in two, now squeaking terribly as it hangs off its hinges.

    A long, bone chilling hiss sounds from the front door, and I watch terrified as a large, tar body emerges from the darkness. And to my horror, it carries the lifeless, bloodied body of my brother in one hand, and the thrashing body of my father in the other. Blood falls from my brother¡¯s neck in a slow, nauseating pattern.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    The creature, called the esha, is even worse than I¡¯d imagined. Standing well over nine feet tall, every fleck of skin black as tar, it has to bend its long, skeletal neck to fit in the home. Its face is a blank oval, with a thin line that spreads from one side to the other, sharp teeth tearing out of black gums. Where eyes should be are instead hollow indentations, and its arms are so lengthy that if it was empty handed, its massive talons would scrape along the floor.

    ¡°Where isss ssshe,¡± it hisses in a voice that makes me want to run and never look back.

    ¡°Who are you talking about?¡± Dad gurgles.

    ¡°Deliandrah,¡± it snaps its teeth close to Dad¡¯s face, ¡°This hovel reeksss of her ssscent.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know a Deliandrah,¡± Rose squeaks from the kitchen.

    The creature tightens the hold on my fathers neck, making blood dribble from where his talons have begun to dig into his skin, ¡°Liarsss,¡± it screeches, loud enough to make the windows tremble.

    ¡°Leave them alone,¡± Dad sputters as blood begins to pool in his mouth.

    ¡°QUIET!¡± The creature shrieks, ¡°You all sssmell of her. Mussst be her brood. You have to know, I know you know. Now, I will only asssk one more time. Where. Isss. Ssshe?¡±

    I watch as my sisters begin to reach for the knives, I want to beg them to stop, that the monster can hear even the mice in the back garden, and so much as one step will alert him of their location.

    ¡°Very well,¡± it hacks a noise that must be a laugh, ¡°My way it isss then. Thisss will be rather fun. It hasss been a while sssince I enjoyed human flesssh.¡±

    The beast drops my brother''s body to the floor, and I nearly scream at the sight of his crumpled body twisted like a knot. Leo lunges for the beast, but it only takes one swipe to disembowel him before he makes it a single step.

    ¡°LEO!¡± Auggie yells, stepping forward to help our eldest brother, now dying on our living room floor.

    Tears flood my eyes as Leo takes his final, strained breaths. There¡¯s so much blood it looks like a waterfall. How is this happening? Why can¡¯t I move? Why can¡¯t I save them, why can¡¯t I try¡­this could have been prevented.

    This is my fault.

    The creature kicks Auggie into the wall, creating a sickening crack that makes my heart stop dead. My sisters wail as Auggie curmples to the floor, his neck now twisted cruelly, his face a taunting shadow of a scream that will never be finished.

    Dad thrashes under the creature''s grip, doing everything in his power to pry himself away. But the creature merely hisses at him, plunging talons into his eyes.

    Dad¡¯s screeches take over the house as his eyes are thrown to the floor, rolling towards me like bloodied marbles, only stopping when sea green irises plant on mine.

    Before I can even manage a scream, the beast tears my father¡¯s head from his spine, his decapitated body falling to the floor like a marionette without its strings.

    Rose grabs our largest knife and begins to run towards the creature, her battle cry fierce and fearless. But she doesn¡¯t even make it out of the kitchen before it steps to her at lightning speed, and snaps her neck in one jerk of thin wrists.

    ¡°ROSE, NO!¡± Iridessa shrieks.

    Dessa runs to her twin''s falling body. She¡¯s frantically waving around two knives, slashing for anything they can reach. She almost knicks the beast when it knocks them out of her hands.

    ¡°Come on girl,¡± he pushes her onto the table, ¡°You mussst know where ssshe isss. Tell me, I promissse I won¡¯t harm her.¡±

    ¡°Go to hell,¡± Dessa pants, reaching for her dropped knife.

    ¡°Thought asss much,¡± the creature sighs, as if it has a soul.

    The final, petrified scream of my sister echoes in my mind as it skewers her neck with its talons, ending her cry for help with a blood curdling laugh that makes me cram my body further back into the small cabinet. His slick head whips to me, his black lips curling over his teeth.

    Fear so strong that it feels as if I could drown in it floods me like a tidal wave, but this time it¡¯s hard to tell if it¡¯s from my strange marks or me.

    A hollow eye socket lurches in front of my small peephole, a terrible noise rumbling from his throat as a tongue flicks through the hole.

    I must have some wild luck, or the gods must favor me, because the creature takes one final sniff, and turns, sliding back to my sister''s gurgling body. But the luxury doesn¡¯t last long. For a moment later, I have to withhold another scream as it begins to feast on her flesh.

    He makes his way through my family, devouring so much of their bodies that they soon become nothing more than blood and bones.

    The esha is just finishing the body of my father when mom bursts through the door.

    ¡°James!¡± She screams, dropping her basket as she looks around the room, the produce for our dinner rolling across the floor.

    ¡°Hello Deliandrah,¡± the creature stands tall, blood dripping from every inch.

    Since when was mommy¡¯s name Deliandrah?

    ¡°Lushrav,¡± my mother meets the creature''s eyes.

    The beast circles my mom as she continues to look around the room, silent tears falling from her eyes as she takes in the mutilated family she left whole less than an hour ago.

    She at last looks at my sisters, but stops when she sees my widened eye.

    Seeming to undo her, mom breaks down sobbing and falls to her knees, talking to the creature in words I cannot make sense of.

    I can¡¯t seem to force myself out of the petrified state as the creature picks my mom up by the throat, she looks at me for a moment and mouths I love you, tears falling down her face as the creature digs into her perfect skin.

    He stands tall for a moment, so satisfied with his success, before tearing her from the home, disappearing into the darkness as if nothing happened at all.

    The mocking sound of blood dripping around me rings in my ears until I lose all perception of who I am, only that I am no longer the person I used to be, and I will never be the same.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    ? ? ?

    I¡¯m pulled out of the memory by a blinding white light. The brightness of which is so overpowering that my eyes bolt open, only to again close at the scalding sight.

    And then I feel the strangest sensation, almost as if I¡¯m falling hundreds of feet, but I¡¯m quite sure my body is still planted on the ground. The strange coolness only lasts a minute, and when the light disappears, my eyes again open.

    When I at last adjust, I stumble to my feet, mouth ajar as I stare at thousands of skewered heads.

 chapter 7

    The sight makes me dry heave my already empty stomach. Every skull has been forced onto a pole, each spaced a few feet apart.

    Where am I? I don¡¯t remember leaving that cell, was I truly that incapacitated? Based on the pain radiating through my body, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised. And somehow the dead bodies from before have followed me to this strange place.

    This place feels different. Unlike anything I have experienced before. The energy feels more¡­alive. As if I have come from a land of shadow, only to be reborn in one of light.

    The grounds of wherever I am are massive, the fields of dead grass spanning for miles, only ending at the tall, stone wall that surrounds the withered farm. Behind the wall appears to be a thick treeline, so colossal I can hardly see the sky.

    I take a step towards the poles, and to my horror, find a flesh covered skull that is so fresh blood is still dripping from its decapitated neck. I gag at the sight, suddenly recognizing the blood splattered, beige curls. The same curls of the boy the General stole this morning.

    Most of the poles have bits of garments nailed to them, as if marking their graves. I recognize some of the clothes, like the rotting leather jacket that had belonged to Stevens, he had been at the prison for nearly five years before he disappeared.

    And then I see scraps of blue and green, ruffling lazily in the breeze. Without realizing what I am doing, I rush over, dropping to my knees in front of the cracked skull that used to be my friend.. Luca¡¯s blood is still stained on his skull, even after the years that have passed.

    Reaching for the flannel, I tear it from the pole and button it over my chest, cleaving to the only piece left of him that will ever be.

    I look around the sadistic excuse of a graveyard, and take in the perished boys who were once trapped in the same prison I was mere minutes ago. Because there¡¯s no doubt in my mind that that is who these boys used to be. Prisoners of the compound. If I needed any more proof, the pile of dead bodies I arrived with confirms it.

    My eyes flick back to the blood dripping head of the blue eyed boy and my heart nearly stops. If this is a graveyard of boys from the home, and if that boy is here¡­

    Stumbling backwards, taking a final look at the boys I once knew, I bolt.

    I take off to the wall that ends the flat, dead grass field, my legs desperately trying to move my drained and battered body. The wind tears at my face, and I¡¯ve actually made good progress, until a thunderous roar sounds from my backside.

    I begrudgingly glance over my shoulder, and I fall to the ground as I see it.

    As horrifying as the esha was, it did nothing to prepare me for the creature now hurtling towards me. My breathing stops at the sight of the kraj. It¡¯s even bigger than I possibly could have thought, the paintings in my book did it no justice. Like the esha, the kraj is one of Varkashi¡¯s creations from after he stole the Mothers heart.

    Though they have the faint resemblance of a human or fae, the Kraj are beings who vary in appearance. For the more flesh they consume, the larger they grow, but it only works if they skin their victims and bind the fresh layer onto their own.

    Their forms mock that of the fae, their faces a combination of those that they steal. They speak from all of them simultaneously, each stolen life combined into one, each voice an echo of who they used to be.

    I can¡¯t believe what I¡¯m seeing right now. Is that truly a kraj? It must be bigger than my childhood home, and has thousands of faces woven into its sickening, lumpy head, its body a patchwork of varying skin that makes me queasy. The sparse remainder of hair from the scalps of its collected victims flow behind it as it gallops closer, all four of its limbs pounding into the earth like a stampede of elephants.

    The beast has already made significant progress, the realization that within the next few moments I¡¯ll be sewn into its ghastly figure makes me scramble to my feet. I pivot from the creature as it again roars loud enough to shake the nearby trees, and run as fast as I can possibly move to the only chance I have of survival.

    ¡°Come here, sweet little thing,¡± the beast calls gratingly.

    The chilling sound is a mix of so many different voices I nearly stop in my tracks. I¡¯ve never heard something more terrifying, including the scraping of the esha¡¯s talons that night.

    I make the mistake of turning around, and yelp at how close it¡¯s come. There¡¯s no way I¡¯ll be able to climb the wall before it grabs me, let alone make it there.

    My steps slow, mind racing. Come on Delphine, think! What do you know about the kraj that is actually useful? The kraj are ghastly creatures with very few weaknesses. They only have one¡­but what is it? Gods, Delphine, the one time this actually matters you don¡¯t remember.

    The beast is so close I can feel its wretched breath slamming into my face as it lunges at me with its massive, skin patched hand.

    I don¡¯t have the ability to scream as it plucks my body from the ground. The monster pulls me around, and I recoil as each of his stolen mouths turn into wide, menacing smiles.

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    ¡°Well, look what we have here!¡± It squeals. He holds me up to what must be his original face, seeing it is the only disgusting part of skin with eyes that are way too human for my liking.

    The beast wets its cracked lips with its thick, black tongue, ¡°I didn¡¯t expect another so soon, I hadn¡¯t even finished with the last. Still need to add his face, oh how glorious his screams were. And your scent. How delightful. I¡¯ve always loved a human. But you smell different, don¡¯t you, little thing? Strange to me like I have never seen. Yes, yes, you will do nicely.¡±

    I just stare open mouthed at the thing in front of me. His true face is horrible, I can¡¯t imagine a worse way to go.

    ¡°Who- who are you,¡± I gasp.

    ¡°My name is Szah, I rule these lands.¡± All of its many mouths chime.

    Szah. Why does that name sound familiar¡­

    The General.

    He said something about a Szah. Is this where he sent me? To this¡­this feeding ground?

    Szah begins to lift me to his mouth, and I strain under his grip. But it¡¯s no use. It''s now or never. Maybe I just need a distraction¡­

    ¡°How long have you been here?¡±

    ¡°Far longer than you will be,¡± it chortles, sending it into a coughing fit that has it hacking up bones, ¡°Was just finishing him up when you got here.¡±

    Szah picks up one of the wet, partially flesh covered bones, and uses it to push my hair away from my face, ¡°Yes, a nice face, I¡¯ll put you near my own, and such fine hair you¡¯ve grown.¡± I recoil as much as I can, but the creature only holds me tighter, ¡°You will not be escaping me, little thing, not like the two who ran from me last dawn.¡±

    I look terrified into the too human eyes of the kraj, the only eyes on his monstrous form. His face is repulsive, it''s-

    It''s his weakness. The realization hits me so hard I forget where I am. The weakness is his true face. The kraj are ghastly creatures with very few weaknesses. They only have one, and that is their true face. By destroying the proud eyes you may find your freedom, though without you would do best to accept your demise.

    I have to remove its eyes. But how do I do it? He has my hands strapped to my sides and the only knives I have are the three secured to my thigh. Think, think, think.

    ¡°I know I cannot escape you,¡± I state as evenly as I can, ¡°So at least let me do you the favor of removing my clothes first so you don¡¯t have to consume them, too.¡±

    ¡°I am not a fool!¡± It growls, ¡°I will not be putting you down for you to just try and escape, you pathetic human!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t put me down, then,¡± I don¡¯t even think I¡¯m breathing anymore, ¡°Just unfurl your hand.¡±

    He looks at me for many painstaking moments, but then slowly lengthens his fingers so I¡¯m resting on his stitched palm.

    I move quicker than I ever have before, and spin two blades into my hands just as the creature begins to close its clammy fingers. A growl rising from its dulled teeth, I fling the sharp blades into his mahogany eyes.

    They strike perfectly, and the beast howls in every collected scream as it drops me from its grasp, sending me flying to the ground and thumping onto the dead grass. Thick, black blood splatters everywhere, smothering my chest and mouth.

    ¡°YOU VILE CREATURE,¡± the kraj roars, his hands frantically moving to his eyes, ¡°I¡¯M GOING TO FEAST ON YOUR FLESH FOR A WEEK!¡±

    But I¡¯m nearly at the wall by the time he finishes. As he roars behind me, I at last reach the barrier, desperately looking for the quickest route.

    ¡°WHERE ARE YOU!¡± It screams in the voices of every consumed soul.

    I turn back to the wall and frantically make my way up the protruding stone. I¡¯m going to have to send the Colonel a thank you gift, it seems like his obstacle course really will come in handy. Reaching the top, I hoist my body onto the ledge that ends the climb.

    When I turn to look back, I¡¯m satisfied to find that the kraj is still thrashing around the field, screaming is such a terrifying way that I have to pause to regroup my thoughts. Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do? I don¡¯t know how to get back to the compound, a part of me is wondering if I even can. I think I¡¯m somewhere else entirely.

    I know it¡¯s crazy. But I think¡­I think I¡¯m in Hythalla.

    The thought is absolutely ridiculous. There¡¯s no way it¡¯s possible. But what else would explain that monster? What else would explain the esha that night?

    I pull away from the now blackened beast and gaze into the dark jungle. If I¡¯m right, a thought that seems wholly impossible, that treeline must be the beginning of the Piandra jungles, or perhaps Ivierma. It could be either, based on the humid air and thick, green vines.

    Regardless, it could be easily as dangerous as the place I¡¯m leaving. But one look back at the skull topped poles has me finding my first foothold to get down from the wall.

    I sprint to the wildly tall treeline, having jumped from halfway down the wall. I can¡¯t believe that just happened. If any part of me still thought Hythalla was an illusion, that put an end to it. No matter how crazy it makes me seem.

    I skid to a halt at the first vine covered trunk, and peer into the looming jungle. It¡¯s as dark as dusk, and from what I¡¯ve read about Piandra, it could be raining so hard you can¡¯t see your own feet at a moment''s notice. This could be foolish¡­

    I again peer around the wide tree and try to get a sense of where I should possibly go.

    I mean seriously, what am I supposed to do? I just woke up here, with no guidance or instructions, or even an explanation of where I am. And if the kraj are real¡­then are the other monsters real as well? I suppose I know they are. I¡¯ve already seen an esha.

    My heart stops dead.

    There is a very real possibility of stumbling into an esha hoard here. The clusters of the vile beings are typically carved into large trees or the ground. They are depicted as black, spider web-like nests that trap victims for future devouring. They could be anywhere, and this jungle looks like it could be the perfect breeding ground.

    The kraj again bellows from the otherside of the wall, brining me back to reality. Sighing in acceptance, still feeling somewhat unsure, I at last taking my first step into the jungle.

 chapter 8

    I can see how this land can be beautiful. The birds come in so many colors it looks like a rainbow, there are monkeys, cats, and even little frogs, every creature complementing the other in a symphony of the sounds. Life radiates from these trees, from the rivers that wind their way through the land, each filled with delicate fish and colorful lizards.

    It is a beautiful place, but it is most definitely not my place.

    In addition to the many sweet creatures and the gorgeous, skyscraping trees, I¡¯ve almost died more times than I can count. The random pools of quicksand, doing their best to drown me. The occasional flesh hungry snake, which always takes a year off of my life. And don¡¯t even get me started on the bugs, sinking their teeth into me as if I¡¯m a walking buffet.

    I don¡¯t know what''s worse, the massive welts that are now covering my flesh, or the way they feel like fire on my skin. It doesn¡¯t help that it''s a bajillion degrees and so humid I can barely breathe.

    I¡¯ve started to think I¡¯ll never find my way out of this damn jungle, least of all alive. I need to find shelter before the Sun sets, the stories of Piandra after dark have definitely made me quicken my step. Beasts larger and more terrifying than anything I could imagine live here, either created by Varkashi or turned villain after his takeover.

    A sudden wave of terror washes over my skin, the markings across my body coming alive and buzzing as much as the many bugs. My body shudders as it fights the urge to help the other side of the bond, something I never know how to process.

    It¡¯s the strangest feeling. My body, my soul, recognizing something, someone, I have never seen for myself.

    I glance down at the markings and have to double take. I would swear on my life that they aren¡¯t as dark as before. They¡¯ve been pitch black my entire life, like tattoo ink, but since I last checked, the color has grown significantly lighter.

    Dragging my sleeve up, my eyes bore into the Moon shaped imprint and I know I¡¯m not seeing things. The crescent used to sit just under the crease of my elbow, but it¡¯s now hovering two inches above it. Perplexed, I allow the clothing to fall back into place.

    There¡¯s too much going on right now, and honestly, I don¡¯t have the energy to process that at the moment. I think I¡¯m running on adrenaline alone. My wounds are near debilitating, making me wince with each pained step I take. It¡¯ll be a miracle if I make it out of these trees. Not that I would know what to do if I did. But I suppose finding someone to answer my questions is a good start. I have well over a thousand swirling like a cyclone.

    The thought of truly being in Hythalla is something that only part of me believes. Yes, the kraj was solid evidence, but the thought seems absolutely mental. But it¡¯s still something that in the back of my mind, a place I¡¯m pushing far, far away, I know is the truth. Denial is the only thing I¡¯m running on at this point. Because if everything in my book was true¡­and the esha took my mom all those years ago¡­maybe she could be here.

    It¡¯s a fool''s hope, I know it is, but it¡¯s all I have right now. Besides, until I meet an actual fae, I won¡¯t believe anything. Maybe the monsters in the book are based on truth, ancient beings who are rare but real, and everything else was just a fairytale made to explain them.

    The smell of rain begins to sweep into the forest, and I can¡¯t help but relish the delightful scent, and the prime distraction.

    Looking up at the specks of sky above, I¡¯m met with gloomy, brooding clouds. The jungle is already so dark I hardly noticed the storm rolling in.

    Thunder and lightning crack across the sky, allowing me a moment of white light before I begin to feel the soft patter of rain dripping down the uncountable leaves above. Good gods, how did it start so fast? What begins as a dribble turns into an all out downpour in the time it took me to finish my thought.

    I can¡¯t even see my hands with how treacherous this rain has become. Now what do I do? If I try to keep moving, I could very well walk right into the mouth of any number of creatures, or find myself back in some quicksand with no way to pull myself out. But I need to find shelter, especially if night is falling. If I can find one, that is.

    ? ? ?

    I mean seriously, how much rain is there in this world? Since there¡¯s no Sun to make a judgment, I have absolutely no clue how much time has passed or what time it is now. All I know is that my life has become rain. Just rain. All I see is rain. All I feel is rain. I¡¯ve begun to think I am just rain. Will I ever find my way out? No. Because I am rain.

    Truly, I have lost my mind. The lack of blood doesn¡¯t help, nor does the aching of my torn flesh and welted skin.

    I begin to make my way up what I think is a large, steep hill covered with the biggest monstera leaves I have ever seen, and I actually make it about halfway up before my feet give out and the mud sends me flying down the slippery slope.

    I¡¯m picking up speed ridiculously fast, rolling like a log, desperately reaching for anything in my vicinity. But there''s no use, everything is slick from the storm.

    I must be reaching the bottom of the hill, but instead of slowing down, I merely continue to hurdle down the slope and into what must be an underground tunnel. The only reason I¡¯m so sure I¡¯m underground is because I can no longer feel the rain that had been succeeding in smothering me for only the Mother knows how long. And then- CRASH!

    That was a wall. A very flat wall. My head is ringing like a bell. I must have reached the end of the tunnel, but I still can¡¯t see anything. I begin to move onto my knees but pause. Is it better to stay down here or try to get back out there?

    All I can really think about is sleep. Especially with how mutilated my body is. I¡¯m going to need the rest if I have any hope of recovering.

    This may be the most idiodic decision I¡¯ve made yet, but the exhaustion is so strong that I can¡¯t help myself from drifting off to sleep. Besides, here seems as good of a place as any. I may as well take my chances in this hole and just hope it doesn¡¯t belong to some starving creature.

    I collapse onto the squishy ground, somehow far more comfortable than the bed at the compound. Without another thought, unconsciousness whisks me away into the deepest sleep I¡¯ve experienced in nearly ten years.

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    ? ? ?

    Dreams haven¡¯t been easy for me since the esha destroyed my family. Each night my mind drags me back to that day. Which is why I¡¯m entirely surprised it brought me somewhere I¡¯ve never been before. A home. A lovely home, in fact.

    This place is warm and comforting, inviting and familiar. There¡¯s a pink fire crackling in a large fireplace and I rush over to warm my hands. Mother above, that feels amazing. The plush rug beneath my feet is delightful, too. Soft and- moss? It¡¯s made of moss. How strange.

    I look around the home. Plants grow out of every corner, the walls are covered in blooming flowers and twisting green vines, even the lights above are truly just avi -small winged creatures who emit a soft glow- twinkling amongst the ceiling. I think my favorite part is the staircase, though. The gorgeous wooden spiral makes its way through the ceiling and to what must be the second floor, the bars on both sides entirely covered in fruit bearing vines.

    ¡°Hey, Dell, mind helping us get some water boiling for dinner?¡± A chipper voice asks from behind where I ogle at the comforting home.

    I whip my head around and am met with the most beautiful face I have ever seen. She¡¯s absolutely jaw dropping. Her hair is platinum silver and straight as an arrow, each strand looking so smooth it could be silk as it curves just under her jaw. Her skin is the most incredible shade of brown, so dark it seems to gleam. If that wasn¡¯t enough, she has two incredible, white feathered wings that are tipped in a magnificent shade of magenta that perfectly matches the color of her irises. She¡¯s absolutely breathtaking. And based on her wings, she must be from Harensia.

    ¡°Delphine?¡± She says slowly, her perfect, silver eyebrows bunching.

    ¡°Um,¡± I stutter, ¡°sorry, do I know you?¡±

    The goddess snorts and rolls her eyes, ¡°Very funny, now come on, before I have to ask Zoren to heat the water. You know how he gets.¡± She rolls her eyes.

    A tall figure bursts through the back door and my eyes widen at his appearance, ¡°Vel, what¡¯s taking so long, didn¡¯t you find her yet? Oh, Dell, what are you waiting for? We¡¯re starving out here, and you know Mak, if we wait to feed him for too much longer he¡¯s going to eat all of us out of spite.¡±

    The boy- no, the man is beyond handsome. He¡¯s tall with shaggy, brown hair, golden eyes shine gloriously beneath the soothing light, and his skin is so pale it¡¯s almost like snow. He too has gorgeous, feathered wings, though his are black as the night and tinted with wonderful greens and blues. He must be from Vermah.

    The man eyes the girl he called Vel, ¡°Is she alright? Or do I get to smack her?¡±

    Vel shrugs, her magnificent hair swishing like a waterfall as she cocks her head to the side, ¡°You alright, Dell? You look like you¡¯ve seen a spirit.¡±

    Who are these people and why do I feel so¡­comfortable with them? It¡¯s like I know them, but I would bet my life that I¡¯ve never seen them before.

    ¡°ZOREN!¡± A deep, booming voice hollers from the backyard.

    Less than a second later, the mountainous figure of the largest man I have ever seen strides in through the beautifully carved, wooden door.

    He¡¯s the tallest person in the room by a mile, he must be close to seven feet. His hair is raven black, and shaved at the sides with intricate markings while the rest is cut short. He¡¯s handsome too, though it¡¯s in more of a rugged I-will-tear-you-apart kind of way, but not even his massive muscles make me nervous. For some reason I get the impression he¡¯s got a kind soul and loves to laugh.

    ¡°What could possibly be the hold up, we¡¯re all complaining out here!¡± He booms heartily.

    ¡°No we¡¯re not!¡± The cackling voice of a girl sounds from outside.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bring us into your needy bullshit, Mak!¡± A man calls out.

    The massive man throws his middle finger behind his back before coming to a stop on the other side of Vel, his feet triple the size of her delicate, magenta slippers.

    The brown haired boy who must be Zoren sighs, ¡°Don¡¯t eat me, Mak, we found her.¡±

    Mak glares at Zoren and plants his hands on his hips before turning to me, ¡°Well, chop chop. I¡¯m absolutely famished.¡±

    Vel snorts between the two men who tower over her like the trees that had once covered me, ¡°You ate an hour ago.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± Mak shoots an exasperated look at her, ¡°who¡¯s to say I won¡¯t die of hunger anyway? Not like any of you care, some friends you are.¡±

    ¡°Always a crybaby.¡± Zoren shoves his hands into his pockets, the picture of composure.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I interrupt their bickering, ¡°who exactly are you people?¡±

    They all stare at me as if I¡¯ve lost my mind, but it¡¯s a boy with clean cut, silver hair who answers for them as he saunters his way down the large, spiral staircase, ¡°What a pity, all of you are so incredibly boring that she doesn¡¯t remember who you are, even after all this time.¡± This third man is also beautiful. Is everyone in this dream gorgeous?

    The silver haired boy is also quite tall, though not nearly as massive as the boulder they call Mak. His skin is just as fair as Zorens, but his sparkles under the lights as if he was made of ice. Even his eyes are such a cool blue they seem glacial. He appears rather serious, like he¡¯s the wisest of the group. Seems like he thinks so too, but I can tell there''s a sense of humor underneath all of that¡­iciness.

    This is a weird dream. It feels more real than any other I¡¯ve had in my life, almost like a memory. But this has definitely never happened to me before.

    ¡°How do you know my name?¡±

    The boy with silver hair glances at the three who are observing me like I¡¯m the one out of place here. If I wasn¡¯t so sure this was all happening inside my head, I would agree.

    ¡°You know, the whole escaping every monster that tries to kill us, tracking down the artifacts, bringing back Hythalla thing? It¡¯s kinda your whole deal, your Earthliness. We¡¯re all here because of this. Because of you.¡± Mak raises an eyebrow as he crosses his massive, muscled arms over his even bigger, muscled chest, ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re backing out now.¡±

    ¡°What? I¡¯m not- I¡¯m not trying to do any of that.¡± I take a step back.

    ¡°Dell,¡± the magenta eyed beauty lifts her hands slowly, ¡°Are you ok? It¡¯s me. It¡¯s Miravelia. From the palace.¡±

    I take another step back, slowly inching closer to the fireplace, my heels less than an inch from touching the tall flames.

    ¡°And Zoren, he escaped with us too. You have to remember¡­¡± Vel continues, taking a slow step towards me, her elegant hands outstretched before her.

    Heat builds at my ankles, and I look over my shoulders to look at the flames that have begun to nip at my feet. The next thing I know, my eyes are flying open and I find myself back in the tunnel I fell asleep in what could have been hours ago.

    I bolt upright and scurry backwards, frantically looking between the only exit out of this tunnel, and the two figures who are now huddled around a fire. One of them is a large dog, too large, bigger than a wolf. When did they get here? How long have I been out?

    The dog tilts his head to the side, his ears flopping as he looks at me with incredibly human eyes.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± I gasp, desperately trying to slow my galloping heart, my hand already hovering over the last knife hugging my thigh.

    The figure slowly removes his hood, and I nearly stop breathing when I see his face.

    His familiar silver hair seems to reflect with the flickering light of the fire as he glares at me over his long, straight nose.

    ¡°I think the better question is why a human is here, and how she found her way to our den.¡±

 chapter 9

    I don¡¯t know what¡¯s more surprising. The fact that the icicle eyed boy from my dream is here, or that I¡¯m talking to an actual, real life faerie.

    I know he¡¯s fae because he looks like one. Something about how his skin glistens and eyes flash, the way he breathes and holds himself. I have never seen anything like it, spare for my mom who always put everyone to shame.

    Suddenly, I blurt, ¡°How do you know I¡¯m human?¡±

    The boy from my dream just rolls his eyes as if it were obvious, ¡°For starters, you absolutely reek of human.¡±

    Now that I¡¯ve had more time to look at him, I¡¯d wager he¡¯s from Kah, likely the northmost city, Kandra, based on the extreme whiteness of his skin and hair.

    The dog-wolf thing huffs out dramatically, and I feel in my bones that it was intentional. Turning my gaze from the entrancing, dark brown dog, his fur striped with gold and black, I meet the eyes of the boy from Kah, ¡°You¡¯ve met humans before?¡±

    His face is blank, but I did catch a slight twitch of his eyebrow, ¡°I mean, no. But it¡¯s not hard to guess. You smell different than anyone I¡¯ve ever met. You smell¡­strange.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure I smell like a bag of shit after the day I¡¯ve had,¡± I snort.

    ¡°Yes.¡± He grumbles, ¡°Yes you do.¡±

    Ignoring that comment, I stare in awe at the first real faerie I¡¯ve ever seen. Probably too in awe, because his lips turn down and his eyes narrow.

    The dog settles onto its front paws, which, upon further inspection, are nearly the size of my head. He must reach my waist when standing.

    ¡°What are you doing here, human?¡± The boy demands, pulling me out of my growing curiosity. His hands are all too conveniently placed by the blade strapped to his waist, but I can¡¯t blame him, mine are too.

    The dog nudges him with his wet nose, leaving a faint sheen on the man''s arm. A subtle, sweet gesture that tells me they¡¯ve been together for a long time.

    ¡°I uh, I don¡¯t really know,¡± I truly have no idea how to explain how I got here, or why I¡¯m in these lands, ¡°I kinda just¡­stumbled through?¡±

    His eyes continue to narrow, ¡°Where did you stumble through from, exactly?¡±

    I feel like I need a lawyer. ¡°Some old farm run by a kraj¡­I think his name was Szah.¡±

    His eyes snap wide, the dog growls, ¡°You met Szah?¡± He seems baffled, ¡°And survived? How did you manage that?¡±

    ¡°Uh,¡± I stutter, ¡°I threw daggers in his eyes. They hunt primarily based on sight, you know. I ran into the jungle afterwards.¡±

    His mouth falls open and even the dog seems shocked, ¡°You- you slayed Szah?¡± The boy¡¯s voice is several octaves higher now.

    Slayed? Who is this guy? A knight?

    ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t say slayed, I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯s still alive, but he should be¡­er, blind now.¡± It¡¯s odd how comfortable I¡¯m beginning to feel with them, it¡¯s like the air around us is shifting into something¡­familiar.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you made it out alive,¡± he shakes his head, his eyes still as big as the full Moon, ¡°We came across him recently and nearly died, ourselves.¡±

    ¡°You were the ones who escaped him? Why were you there?¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t know he was there, we saw the wall and were curious, but he was quite close to stealing our souls,¡± he shudders. Looks like the dog did too.

    ¡°So¡­is this really Hythalla?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± He says bluntly.

    Well, now I¡¯m really confused-

    ¡°This is Neidra.¡±

    ¡°Neidra¡­but aren¡¯t they the same thing? It was just renamed after Varkashi took over, right?¡± I might be an idiot asking that, based on the look on his face I must be, but it seems about the same to me.

    ¡°No,¡± he groans, rubbing his temples as if I¡¯m giving him a headache, ¡°Hythalla existed before the Emperor took his throne. It was said to be beautiful, perfect even. Now¡­now the world is only darkness and fear.¡±

    Well that seems¡­dramatic, ¡°What¡¯s your name, anyway?¡±

    His eyes narrow as if I asked him something foul, ¡°Why do you want to know?¡±

    Trying my best to not roll my eyes too dramatically, I sigh, ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me, but I¡¯m growing tired of thinking of you as ¡®the silver haired, blue eyed man¡¯.¡±

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    He hesitates a second before muttering, ¡°Kaijren.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Delphine.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±

    Okay, ouch. Moving on from that, ¡°Do you know how I got here?¡±

    Kaijren¡¯s face softens a touch, the first warmth that has crept into his features. But it''s disappears almost instantly, replaced by the sheet of ice he favors, ¡°I suppose you humans don¡¯t know, do you.¡±

    I shake my head, unaware if it was a question or not.

    ¡°Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your people¡­well, you were created by Varkashi.¡±

    My eyes go wide, mouth hanging ajar.

    ¡°What for?! And why don¡¯t we know about you all, about this world?¡± I have a small understanding of Hythalla, Neidra, whatever, but the rest of my people haven¡¯t a single clue.

    ¡°If you would stop interrupting me, I could explain,¡± Kaijren huffs, his arms crossing over his chest.

    The dog actually rolls his eyes, lowering his head to the ground. There¡¯s definitely something strange about that dog.

    I hold up my hands silently, desperate to hear more.

    Taking a deep breath, stoking the fire to keep it tall and hot, Kaijren at last continues, ¡°The Emperor created the human lands of Nixtran at the beginning of his rule. He wanted a slave race. One to feed to his demons and work for his adversaries. Your kind matures rapidly and dies even faster. Helps make sure you humans don¡¯t start a revolution against him. The quicker you die, the easier you are to control.¡±

    My mouth falls open, ¡°You mean that we, that my people, were created for the sole purpose of being eaten and enslaved?!¡±

    He nods in response. Nods! The nerve! I want to throw my knife at him over how casually he just stated my entire race was made to be no more than livestock.

    ¡°Are you kidding me?!¡± I half laugh, shock overtaking my system. Is that why the esha killed my family that night? Because it was hungry? He has to be joking.

    ¡°Nope.¡± The word is blunt, unfeeling. Asshole.

    The dog nudges the man once more, and I again get the feeling that he¡¯s communicating with the boy.

    Kaijren huffs pointedly, ¡°Fine.¡± He bites out, ¡°I¡¯m sorry your people were eaten for centuries.¡±

    I can¡¯t help but gawk, the reality of the situation turning my mind to dough.

    He glances up and groans so dramatically he could be in a play, ¡°Don¡¯t blame me! I didn¡¯t make you. I¡¯m just stating the facts.¡±

    Whatever. ¡°And how did I get here? You never explained that.¡± I snap, beyond irritated.

    His eyes widen for a brief second before his face again freezes, ¡°There are doorways to and from Nixtran. There used to be hundreds of doors from your lands to here, but after¡­well it doesn¡¯t matter, what does is that Varkashi closed them all. Only the few remaining doorways¡­or portals, whatever you prefer, are open today by chance. I¡¯m assuming that¡¯s how you got here.¡±

    If there are doorways to and from¡­does that mean I can go back? That I can leave these lands and the compound altogether. Could I have a chance of finding my mom and escaping with her?

    ¡°And what about doorways out of here? Can I get back to Nixtran?¡±

    His eyes go even colder than before, colder than the river we used to swim in on our runs, ¡°There is only one doorway to Nixtran.¡±

    ¡°Where is it?¡± I scooch forward, eager beyond measure.

    He takes a deep breath, his face scrunched, ¡°It¡¯s in the Palace of Vershka.¡±

    I should have known. It¡¯s in Varkashi¡¯s palace. So that means¡­¡°How do I get there?¡±

    Kaijren stills to the point that he looks dead, ¡°You, a human, want to go to the Palace of Vershka?¡±

    I nod, my eyes closing to slits at the judgment in his words.

    To my surprise, he starts to chuckle. A light, throaty sound that makes me think he doesn¡¯t laugh often. And I would lay my life down that the dog is laughing too. He keeps making chuffing sounds that insinuate humor.

    ¡°You two done yet or are you going to explain why that¡¯s a bad idea?¡±

    ¡°Humans are so stupid.¡± Kaijren wipes an escaped tear from his eye, ¡°Anyone who goes to the palace is practically begging for death. You wouldn¡¯t even make it to the gates.¡±

    ¡°Well, thanks for the encouragement,¡± I all but growl.

    The humor finally fading from the two companions, silence settles in the muddy hole, the tension cold and awkward to a near painful extent.

    ¡°What¡¯s your dog¡¯s name?¡± I ask, the only thing I can think of to move on.

    Kaijren snorts and I could swear the dog is offended. He sits up from where he had been laying on his paws, his chin held high in the air, and huffs out with dramatic flair.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not my dog, per say.¡± Kaijren rolls his eyes, as if this is a common conversation, and one he does not enjoy having, ¡°He gets quite offended whenever someone insinuates that. And before you ask again, I don¡¯t know his name. Anytime I¡¯ve tried to give him one he glares at me or worse. And don¡¯t call him a dog. He prefers to be called a wolf.¡±

    The dog- the wolf just raises his head a notch higher, his nostrils flaring in a way that confirms what the man just said.

    ¡°Okay then,¡± I look away from the massive being, not wanting to piss off a creature who could easily tear my throat out.

    Maybe that¡¯s my cue to leave. It¡¯s not as if he¡¯s been very helpful anyhow, and I don¡¯t particularly feel like taking my chances against the wolf if they grow tired of me, or worse, turn me over to some foul creature or another.

    ¡°Can you just tell me where we are, or direct me towards the palace?¡±

    Kaijren looks at me as if I¡¯ve sprouted two new heads, ¡°You did hear me when I said it would be a death sentence, did you not?¡±

    Standing from the ground, my entire body aching in protest, I wobble to my feet. I¡¯ve always healed from injuries pretty fast, something I always thank the Mother and my genetics for, but it would be nice if I could heal a bit faster. It¡¯s getting annoying how sore I am.

    ¡°Whether it kills me or not, I don¡¯t care. I want to go¡­¡± home is the word on the tip of my tongue. But Nixtran hasn¡¯t been a home to me. Not since my family died. I don¡¯t know where I would go if I returned. Anywhere other than the compound seems like a good start.

    Kaijren and the wolf stare at me with expressions as blank as a piece of unused parchment. Fine. Be that way.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to the palace. And I¡¯m going to do it with or without your help.¡±