•Chapter 1•

Darkness.

A darkness so complete and eternal that it consumed, that was the feeling within and the surroundings I find myself in day and night. It has been so long since the sun has kissed my skin, since the wind has tussled my hair, since water has splashed my skin.

I am not even sure I really remember what it feels like to be outside and free.

But, see, in this moment it isn't the cold or the dark that's keeping me down, but the fear of stepping back into the light.

All I feel is cold, yes, but hollow too.

And all I see is darkness.

I hardly remember who I am, the only reason I hang onto this pitiful life is because of the legacy I must uphold and the story that is mine, the story of them too.

And so I stay here, with bitterness in my bones and with the feeling of always wanting for more.

I let out a snort into the emptiness of the room and it echoes just as I knew it would, for I had screamed into this cold dark for hours at a time just to hear it echo.

Just to remind myself that I'm still alive

My family is dead. Why am I not?

But I quickly remind myself to bury those thoughts deep.

Nothing good will come from a spiraling Aculiac queen.

A sudden felling hits me as my once still body jerks up a little. Something is coming. Something big. Monumental.

That hollowness becomes more prominent as I don't find it in myself to care about the state of the world above.

I shift on the filthy, grey stone. A bath would be nice, but who am I to complain about such things.

I move my head to rest against one of the walls of my cell. I am so tired and so lost.

I am not even sure I know who I am anymore.

Such a loaded question.

Who am I?

The one question I do not have an answer to.

The past, present and future tenses seem to all blend together inside my weary brain these days. Too much information seems to packed up in there. Two and a half centuries or more of lessons, information of every person I have encountered, and a tired part up there that has spent the better part of my life surpassing emotions.

Another shift of my head.

I have this feeling inside that is like a sinking rock, the weight pressing heavier and heavier by the second and this weight, it is a condemnation of what is to come. I can feel the anticipation deep in my bones and now it is only a matter of waiting for the world to go to hell, and when it does, I will help it burn.

Or so my head tells me. All I can think about most days is revenge, but my heart never seems to be in it.

After all these years my head is still telling me to be the person my father wanted me to be, no matter how much it hurts my heart. Two sides of me are in a constant battle for dominance.

I have learned, over the years trapped in solitude, that when you spend so much time trapped in shadows, you can learn their language and when the shadows sing, you can sing back in the very language that once was set to condemned you.

You also learn that the shadows aren't so bad and over time they become a blessing, rather than a curse, a shield from the pain of the real world.

I feel a pressing against my wrists. He must be trying to break free from me again. I let out a noise of exasperation.

I might not have my heart in revenge, but Galen sure does.

I feared for any that would cross my path today.

I pull my left leg to my chest, straightening the other to rest against the grey of the floor.

I nearly jump as cold invades my nearly bare leg.

The funny thing being is that the cold doesn't really effect me, I've just gotten so good at doing what's expected of me.

Another thing my father did to me.

Something was coming. Right now. I could sense it. As could Galen if the previous push to get out had been any indication.

One moment the world sat bathed in silence. The next I start to hear distant footsteps echoing off the hollow, stony halls, then see a distant, lanky, shadow taking form. A minute later I see the faint outlines of a slender man with boney fingers from what I can see. I can also see the outlines of a suit that looks to be tailored within an inch of its life and of the finest make.

Before he approaches me he straightens his bow tie, his fingers twitching ever so slightly.

Letting myself fake a cruel laugh I speak for what seems to be the first tine in forever, "Nervous are we?"

"Hello," he says this and I can hear the slight purr in his voice, as if a predator looking down upon its prey.

Of course I am no prey, but I could understand the demeaning look he gave at my pitiful state.

"What do you want," My voice is slightly raspy as I have not used it in ages and my tone holds an edge that tells the man to tread lightly.

As he steps into the better light I can see his shape and the barest details of his face. I barely contain my gasp at the slight eye brows, the delicate bowed lips, the evergreen eyes,

I would recognize a descendent of my friend anywhere. A true member of the Wright lineage.

"Not one for formalities, I see."

"What do you want?" I repeat myself, but I know it is useless, a man like this will only reveal information when he wants to do so.

I once knew people like him, people who liked to have complete control of the situation.

It's a good thing I'm better than he ever could be at these games.

"But of course I understand. Your time is valuable and I am but the poor fool to waste it. But you see, I myself am no waster of time. I-" he lets out a sigh of defeat, "I have need for you."

I remember Lyra to be more evasive and if anything, a line of descendants always seem to carry the same traits. The one dependable thing to count on in this flame forsaken world.

For a moment I think about what game he's playing, but the desperation is clear to me. The twitchy fingers, the clearly fake facade of confidence, the faultering of his words

Perhaps, he too, is a bastard born child. Muddied blood could have raised him.

I cock my head to the side.

He stands there for a moment more with a gleam in his eyes as he contemplates an answer to my silence. What he says shocks me for a moment, but I doubt he can see my face, much less read it.

Wrights have human eyesight, much to their own displeasure.

"War is brewing top world and Varsillia needs your help, the Varkeshian Republic makes to eliminate us and without our power source, we won't win." he says all this in a matter of the fact tone as if he knows everything and I am just a lowly mortal, not the true queen of Varsillia, not the keeper of the gate between life and death, and not the girl who splintered the coalition into a hundred pieces.

But I can tell, I can always tell, he's a fake. Trying to impress me with a confidence he does not possess.

"If you think I am going to help in your war, you top world lackeys are in a worse state than I had first imagined."

•1343•
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