[NOTE TO READERS: THIS CHAPTER IS AN UNEDITED PROOF! THE FULLY EDITED, FINAL VERSION WILL BE RELEASED ON AMAZON IN THE FUTURE.  FOR MORE INFORMATION, GO TO MY WEBSITE, https://thesongist.wixsite.com/songcreative!]

•┈┈┈••✦ Caelum ✦••┈┈┈•

FRESH BLOOD stained the floorboards.

Lucian lay on his side, coughing up chunks of cruor. Warm drool drizzled down his lips, the bitter taste of metal sticking to the back of his throat. His vision wavered; his heart raced; his throat burned.

He wanted the madness to end.

His wish wasn't granted.

Remus, his father, loomed over his battered body, kicking and kicking and kicking him until he couldn't breathe anymore. Spit flew in his direction dirtying his already bloodied face.

A hefty kick to his side sent him rolling across the wooden floorboards.

Each kick, each punch, reminded him of one undeniable fact.

This was his reality.

"Lucian!" Remus yelled with a bloody cry, wiping the drops of alcohol off his hickory-colored beard. "Come over 'ere!"

Remus groaned, losing his balance and knocking several empty beer bottles off the nearest table with the back of his hand. Each clink! and clank! of the broken beer bottles rang in Lucian's ears.

He braced for another kick, but it didn't come.

Instead, he noticed Remus desperately grasping for another beer bottle like it was his lover.

"Oh, my poor darling, my poor Lucille. . ." Remus lamented, funneling the drink down his throat.

"Urgh. . ." Lucian whimpered. "Please make it stop."

The hoarse, slurred speech of his father shattered his train of thought.

A punch to the jaw jolted him backward, the back of his head hitting the hardwood floor. The world spun around him, black dots riddling his vision.

Please make it stop, he repeated internally. Tears flooded down his cheeks. Please make it all stop already. . .

"It's all your fault, you murderer!" Remus screamed, wedging the sole of his foot deeper into his stomach. "If only you weren't born, then she'd still be alive! If only you weren't Morpheus's Reincarnate, then I would've lived a happy and wealthy life in the higher Districts!"

Lucian's body curled and winced preparing for another bludgeon to the side. When is this going to end? He spat out more saliva mixed with thicker, darker blood.

A knock drew his father's attention to the door.

Is it over?

Remus didn't budge dragging him up by the collar and readying his arm for another punch.

The knocking didn't stop.

Clicking his tongue, Remus released his iron grip on him, throwing him on the floor like a sack of potatoes. He watched like a trapped prey, as his father tried to wipe off the beer stains on his beard and approached the door.

Thank the gods.

Lucian drank in the air, ravenously gulping it down like a dehydrated animal. In between breaths, he let out a coarse, wet cough, blood and mucus pouring out of his nose and his mouth onto the hardwood floor beneath him. Drool oozed down his chin. His lips thumped and swelled from his father's right hooks to the face, while his throat burned from the times when his father choked him in the heat of his rage.

Lucian kept his eyes on the door, and he watched Remus shooing someone away and receiving a parcel of sorts. He didn't know who it was for, but he wasn't going to wait to find out.

Remus appeared busy inspecting the parcel, letting out a disgruntled sigh as he read the words. Hurling it at the wall, the crunch! the cardboard box sent a shiver down Lucian's spine.

Staggering towards him, a ravenous look filled his father's deep-set green eyes. Lucian covered his head, bracing for another attack. Much to his surprise, his father left him alone huffing and puffing off to the master bedroom.

Not having to brace himself anymore, he relaxed his battered body. He stared at the ceiling, trying as hard as he could to regulate his breathing.

It's finally over. . .

He let out another small whimper.

Turning to his side, he saw his reflection in the broken beer bottles: A weak and pathetic boy stared back at him.

His eyelids were swollen nearly shut, and he could only see a sliver of his blue irises peeking out. His natural blonde hair had been speckled with blood stains. The more intently he looked, the harder it was. After all, he looked identical to his mother.

Hours seemed to pass by when the front door creaked open. Melinda, his stepmother, and Rosalie, his half-sister stepped inside, returning from their normal outing.

Melinda seemed the same as always, wearing a dull grey dress that swayed along her knees and covered her tall and lanky form and a stone-cold look on her face that didn't change even as they made eye contact.

Then, there was Rosalie, his lovely and precious younger sister, who donned a lighter-colored garb that complimented her shiny silver hair. She lifted her lips to form a forced smile and came near him to tend to his wounds, thick raindrop-like tears filling her eyes.

After assessing the severity of his wounds, she scurried over to the kitchen grabbing the grey towel laying flat on the kitchen counter.

She then moved to the kitchen's water basin, slowly turning on the faucet. Placing the towel under the faucet, she let the water seep into the towel. After ringing it out, she returned to where he was lying on the floor.

This process was nothing new, and after a few years of seeing him in this state, she seemed to have grown accustomed to it.

She's all grown up now, he thought, a warmth filling his chest.

However, he couldn't shake the fear of his father. Every time he looked into his sister's green eyes, they reflected his rage-filled eyes. But, the gentle gaze reflecting in her eyes made her different than him. Her kindness and sympathy were two traits that his father had long since abandoned, allowing them to collect dust in the man's calloused heart.

She's a sweet soul, he kept reminding himself. She's nothing like him.

Looking at Rosalie, the way she slumped her shoulders and glanced nervously to the side every few seconds like a squirrel was understandable.

Rosalie, unfortunately, was no exception to Remus's rampages.

There were times Remus tried to lay hands on her, and Lucian, as often as he could, would intervene and take the beating for her. But one time not being there was enough to scar her both physically and emotionally for a lifetime. He looked to where Remus, in one of his fits of rage, had scraped her face.

After that incident, he vowed to protect his sister with his life, even if his death was the result. He vowed to never become like his father, no matter how much he hated him and wanted him dead. After all, if he had retaliated and killed him, not only would he have become a true murderer, but he also would've turned out to be just like him.

"Lucian," she whined, tears streaming down her cheeks. She softly ran her fingers through his hair, the blood staining her fingernails. "I'm so sorry, Lucian."

Mustering a smile and coughing out the words, he said, "It's not your fault, Rosalie. None of this is your fault. It's my fault. I'm the cursed one."

While Rosalie tended to his wounds, he glanced over at Melinda, who expressionlessly cleaned up the mess Remus made.

"I think you should start getting ready," she suggested in a soft yet distant tone. "You know what will happen if you go to the Succession Ceremony looking like that."

"I know," he curtly said, as his eyes roamed to the place where the parcel had been discarded. "Also, I'm pretty sure that parcel over there is yours." He pointed towards it, assuring that she saw it before he left.

My life was saved by a sheer box.

To avoid unnecessary contact with the other villagers, he headed on his normal route, a long-forgotten dirt path used by only his mother and him. The two of them walking hand in hand embracing nature's beauty was a memory he held dear to his heart.

Along the path sprouted flowers with petals shaped like snowflakes. He remembered her telling him a story about it: The flowers represented the eternal promise between the goddess of love to the god of spring many eons ago. His mother loved those flowers because she said they reminded her of her home. He also remembered how sad she looked when she recounted her home, so he promised to keep the stories she told him a secret.

Nowadays, he used this path when he wanted some time to think. This was the only place where he felt safe to let his mind wander, thinking about the better days, when his mother lived, and his father loved.

The sun reached its pinnacle in the sky, this being a perfect time to take a dip in the spring, a beautiful, hidden paradise amid a dull, wretched village. Walking farther along, with squinted eyes he looked back at the tiny spots that formed his village. Caelum was littered with two-story, walnut-colored, wooden buildings that all looked like carbon copies of each other. And, in those houses, were also people who all were carbon copies of each other, at least in their communal hatred of him.

Contrary to the nasty feeling he had when he looked at the village, the lake was his special blessing with its clear blue waters and its fresh air devoid of impurities.

Much to his benefit, most of the village children who loved to torment him were in class, working in the fields, in the shops, or helping out their parents in their own homes. So, on the off chance other children accidentally discovered this forgotten route, it wouldn't be at the same time that he was there.

Sometimes he wanted to be like the other children, but he was reminded of what the Var always would say to him growing up, "You are not like the other children, Lucian. There is a reason you are forbidden from interacting with them. You wouldn't want them to be influenced by you, the Reincarnate of a Fallen god, now would you?"

It's not like I wanted to be cursed, or the Reincarnate of a Fallen god, he thought, anger welling within him.

The Var's words, once they infiltrated his headspace felt impossible to get rid of: "Do not curse your fate, child. It is not as if the village wants anyone to be born this way, they just are. The ancient gods have given us this hierarchy for the good of the entire village. Some people, Lucian, are just born lesser, that is all."

He couldn't shake those words out of his mind no matter how hard he tried. And, according to the village's hierarchy and standards, he was the worst out of them all.

Before he could fully collect his thoughts, he reached the spring. His spirits lifted at the sheer sight of it. Located between the Sage's Forest and the outskirts of the town, the spring represented a place without interruptions, where he could daydream all he wanted to.

The only drawback to the spring was its close proximity to the Sage's Forest, an area that was strictly forbidden entry into by the Var.

Why can't we go inside? There's not even a gate around it. They wouldn't even know if I just — No! I can't do that. . . Lucian snapped himself back to reality, remembering the punishment he would face if he rebelled against the Var.

Taking his mind off the temptations of the forest, he stripped off his faded, mud-stained clothes and eased into the pure, crystal-clear water. He winced going in, the water stinging his open wounds. No matter how painful it was, he knew that this would be his only chance to get cleaned, so he took a deep breath and submerged himself in the water.

He attempted to scrub all the blood off, the old and the new, although he couldn't wash away the bruise marks. He thoroughly cleaned his hair, nose, and nails.

After his skin was cleansed from the film of grime, dirt, and blood layered over his entire body, he emerged.

While reaching for his clothes, he heard the faint sound of bushes rustling from the direction of the forest. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help his eyes roaming towards it. He kept staring at the edge of the forest and was distracted as he rushed to put his clothes on. He was going so fast that he almost tripped over his pant legs hastily slipping them on.

He walked to the very edge of the forest. 

Warm waves of wind flowed out from the depths of the forest, caressing the side of his face as they passed through. Hundreds of oak trees followed a straight line that seemed to stretch out to the ends of Gaia. He took in a deep breath, letting his nostrils fill with the scent of a heavy, smoky aroma, reminiscing of the days when he and his mother used to sit by the fireplace reading bedtime stories.

So, this is the Sage's Forest, he thought, gawking at its grandiose.

He almost crossed the line between the open field and the forest floor, but then he stopped. Images of the Var, his father, and the village flashed in his mind. If he did cross the boundary line, a fate worse than death surely awaited him.

He turned around, trying to force his feet back onto the pathway headed home. But something stirred within him not letting him leave.

This is my only chance, he recited. The only time I'll ever feel free.

With a burst of energy, he did it, sprinting headfirst into the forest.

Through the thickets, thorn bushes, and whatever else snagged his clothes and scraped his skin, he raced at full speed deeper and deeper into the forest. The further he went in, the colder and stronger the wind became, slicing against his face like a knife and crashing into his eyes causing them to water profusely. Even as his wounds reopened, he couldn't stop. He ran at top speed like this for many minutes, until his breathing became labored.

As soon as he stopped, something rustled nearby.

Where's it coming from? he thought, frantically flitting his eyes every which way.

Although he listened intently, the rustling sound didn't return. What replaced the rustling was something indescribable. . . Something akin to a sizzling, buzzing, high-pitched noise pierced his ears and lured him further and further into the forest. He followed it almost in a trance, eventually reaching an area where no trees or grass grew, and no creatures chattered. The only noises that could be heard were endless patterns of hums and buzzes.

The closer he became to the noise, the more it intensified. He turned his head to both sides, trying to figure out why the dead, brownish-grey grass extended into a straight line from one end to the other.

Something within him beckoned him to go even further. Against his better judgment, he walked forward tiptoeing towards the noise. After taking only a few steps forward, his chest collided with something in front of him. He reached out his hand to touch it, and his fingertips felt something solid yet flexible, slippery yet firm.

A paradoxical experience.

What in Gaia's name, he thought, perplexed at what he had discovered.

Tapping the invisible structure with his right index finger, ripples started to form. The rays of sunlight glistened off it, revealing a ginormous barrier. It stretched as far as the eye could see vertically and horizontally.

Out of his gut reaction, he forced his hand backward and retreated a fair distance away, observing the area around the barrier with his full, unbridled attention.

After fully grasping what he had uncovered, he tried to approach it once again. He almost made it too, when he heard a familiar voice shouting in the distance which was carried with the wind.

"Lucian!" a female's voice echoed through the trees, coming from the direction of the spring. "Come on, this isn't funny! We're going to be late for the ceremony!"

"Okay, Rosalie!" he shouted, hearing his voice bounce off the surrounding trees.

But, he didn't want to leave. That weird feeling inside him that made him go towards the barrier in the first place tried to plant his feet on the ground. His eyes lingered on the barrier and his body was in a trance-like state, but the voice of his sister snapped him out of it, and he tore them away from it. Something was going on, but he didn't have the time to figure out what.

Another day, he thought, picking up a steady pace into a full sprint. I'll come back another day.

He raced faster toward his sister's voice.

Each stride toward the cold, unforgiving village of Caelum reminded him of who he was and what he was, bringing him back to his senses.

To a reality that he couldn't afford to forget.

After jogging for what felt like forever, Rosalie's figure came into view. The tension in his body started to ease up just by looking at her. Right as he could just make out the worried expression on her face, he skidded to a stop, not wanting to collide with her small, frail body.

Just in time, he thought, panting heavily.

Heading back, Rosalie revealed a shocking situation, "Father hit her. . . He thinks she's 'seeing' someone else behind his back. What's going to happen to us, Lucian?"

"It's okay, Rosalie," Lucian said, gently grasping her hand in his own. "Nothing's going to happen to us. I'll protect her too from now on. . ."

"Then, who's going to protect you?" Rosalie asked, gripping his hand tighter.

Lucian looked into her eyes, and he confidently said, "Don't worry about me. . . Father knows he can't get rid of me until my Succession Ceremony, so nothing will happen to me. . . for now."

Rosalie suddenly hugged him from the side solemnly proclaiming, "Don't say that! We're all going to live happily ever after just like the family in momma's bedtime story!"

She smiled brightly at him wholly believing that they would end up like the children in the bedtime story. Her warmth comforted him. She was the only good thing to happen to him since his mother died. He stroked her silver head, combing his fingers lightly through them. That same silver hair served as a reminder to him that he wasn't the only one struggling. A foreigner's blood ran through her just as the blood of the ancient god of destruction ran through his.

Off in the distance, he heard the old bell chiming.

"Come on, Rosalie, that's our cue."

Tightening his grip on her hand, he tried to run toward the village. However, Rosalie stopped him, pulling him backward with a powerful tug.

"What's wrong, Rosalie?" he asked, turning to look at her.

A look of fear crossed her face, as she asked, "What do you think will happen this time, Lucian? Do you think that perhaps — "

Shaking his head, he denied, "No, Rosalie, the ceremony will end the same as always. After all, the entire thing is just a — "

"—show," she said, finishing his statement.

Patting her head with his other hand, he said, "Yes, Rosalie, it's only a show."

Tolling and tolling and tolling, the old bell called until all the citizens of Caelum heard its beckoning and assembled at the Holy Chapel.

It was finally time — time for the next Succession Ceremony.

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What do you think will happen at the Succession Ceremony?
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