A sorrowful journey trekked amongst the cold plains of the Overworld. What used to be a great nation is now turned into survivors.

Gray clouds loomed over their heads, almost as a grim reminder of the tragic night that lingered with them. White, frozen flakes fell from the sky; to some of them, it might as well have been ash. At least that was what Lyra thought. She couldn't help but worry about the survivors, especially Kaelen. Her sympathy for him was too great, as she also has lost loved ones, so she stayed by his side but at a distance. His arm wrapped around his mother as she was starting to get cold.

This image of Kaelen and his mother was common as they traveled. Even Aeris was getting cold within her cloak. Lyra enveloped her with her own cloak and huddled close to share what remained of her body heat.

The snow began to appear denser as it fell, and the wind was harsher, lowering their visibility. Soon the front of the group was no longer visible, the snow sticking to the ground and worse—their clothes. Lyra noticed that the speed of their walk began to slow as they began to pass the rear.

"They're losing their will," Kaelen said, feeling his will becoming weak as well.

"We can't be too far." Said Lyra.

"We have been traveling for hours. The people are getting tired, and we haven't had any conflicts. We need to make a stop."

Lyra paused before she spoke. But before she could, she fell down a hill, Aeris almost following her if it wasn't for Kaelen. Snow crept through the openings of her clothes, sending a chilling shock throughout her body. Once she stopped rolling, she tried to quickly get up, but the snow had other plans as it slowed her movements.

"Lyra!" Aeris yelled from the top.

Lyra looked up from the base of the hill but could barely make out their silhouettes in the heavily dense falling snow. "I'm fine!" She called back.

She began to look around. It almost felt familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Lyra began to walk further, and the ground beneath started to give easier than it was above. She shoveled the snow off the ground with her hands and found dirt. She shoveled again and found it had the same result. Lyra's eyes winced as she tried to survey the lands. Only to find the snow beginning to pile, but one thing stood out. It was the level of the snow—even for as far as she could see.

"I think we're passing some farmlands!" She said, doing her best to shout over the quickening winds.

Kaelen slid down, and his mother followed. Some of the other lycans followed and stayed close. Kaelen plunged his hand into the gathering snow, deep into the dirt. He could tell that the dirt is unusually fertile. Lyra saw his gaze wander in the winter landscape.

"These fields were laid going that direction," he said, pointing parallel to the hill. "We need to hurry, or the track will get lost."

Lyra nodded as she made her way along the base of the hill. His arms braced for the harsh winds that began to blow snow on her face. Feeling as if they'd walked a mile, Lyra saw a square silhouette in the near distance. She pointed it out to everyone, and they acknowledged it. The survivors made their way, and luck seemed to be on their side as the winds began to die down the closer they got, realizing it was a barnhouse. Lyra peeked around the corner only to be greeted by a gust of wind nearly blowing her back, but Kaelen was there to catch her.

The two observed a well-lit house just perpendicular to the barnhouse. Lyra pointed at the house and began to walk, bracing the snow once more. With hope driving her resolve, the trek through the snow was short. She knocked—no response. She knocked again but ended in the same conclusion. Kaelen walked up to the door and banged his fist on it, startling Lyra as she thought he would break it.

A moment later, a lock was barely heard unbolting from the other side. The door swung open and the warmth of the inside of the house coiled around them but it was short lived. A man stood at the doorway—old, weathered, and tired.

"We need help!" Lyra shouted.

The man looked at Kaelen, who towered over him in his werewolf form, and his eyes widened then narrowed.

"I'm not gonna to help you!"

Aeris stepped between them and introduced herself.

"I am Aeris Veil, daughter of Elveris Veil!"

"You're the daughter of that stupid senator?!" The man said, his words laced with disdain. Aeris was taken aback. "What does she know about peace? She creates problems, not realizing how many lives she's affected. That's not for the people; that's for herself. I am not going to entertain this any longer; get off my property!"

The old man began to cough violently, nearly collapsing, but he caught himself on the door.

"Father!" A warm voice came from inside, thick with an accent that rounded its words. A younger lady came running to him, followed by two kids. "You mustn't overexert yourself; you know it's bad for your health. Go with the kids now; you must rest." The woman looked at the three and gave them a quick scan. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"We are survivors. My people need help!" Kaelen pleaded.

The lady gave a deep sigh and grabbed a nearby lantern. "Follow me, but don't say a word!"

She trekked through the snow and hurried the best she could to the barn, the lantern guiding the survivors. The lady took a key out of her bosom and unlocked the door. It creaked open, and all the survivors began to funnel in. Aeris, Lyra, and Kaelen were last to enter.

"Thank you so much!" Said Aeris, bowing her head. "You have my gratitude."

"We don't need gratitude," she snapped. "We need change." Aeris gave her head a tilt, a brow raised as confusion riddled her train of thought. "My father's family has been honest farmers all their lives. This war provided a stable income as what we produced became rations for the soldiers. But since the armistice, the traffic we used to get is a joke.

My father's brother, a few years ago, decided to become a smuggler. A darn good one at that. And the stupid man brought my sister with him. One day, they never came back from a job. Days have passed, and he's been asking the officials, but they brushed him off like mud under their boots.

They don't care about us anymore. It's what they want and not what we need. I'm sure your mother was lovely, lass. Maybe she had the best interest of the nation at heart. But the struggle in these outer lands doesn't get heard, and the tension can't go any further."

"Then I implore you," said Aeris, stepping to her. "Come speak with the Senate. I will ensure your voice gets heard."

"You can sound confident all you want," said the lady, her words lost in sorrow. "But those are just words."

"Then take the chance! With me! I will be your voice; I will stand by your side. Give me till the next full moon, and by that dawn you will have a stage."

The lady's eyes flickered with hope, like a match striking against something wet.

"You're stubborn, I'll give you that." A corner of her lips curled, and she began walking away. "The animals will keep you warm but make sure you respect them!"

Kaelen and Lyra closed the door, thankful that the lady left her lantern as it helped light the others that hung on posts. The two looked behind them as the survivors took a pitiful state—but the shivering stopped.

There was a loft above the animals, almost like a second floor, where some of the overflow of survivors decided to settle. Aeris, Lyra, Kaelen, and his mother decided to do the same.

Lyra let out a deep exhale as her bum crashed into her makeshift bed—hay. Her knees curled to her chest, and her head lay on them as her arms held her legs close. Kaelen's mother went down to help the survivors settle; Aeris took after her example.

Even with all the discord and noise down below, it felt silent to Lyra. There was a faint sound of cries and banging metals in the cadence. The images of last night burned into transparency behind what she was already seeing, blending her reality.

"What burdens you?" Kaelen asked, snapping her out of her trance.

"It's just been a long day."

Kaelen slowly sat next to her, his feet hanging over the edge of the loft.

"There are many more like that to come."

Lyra saw him being swallowed by the abyss that was despair. The idea that there were more like her and Aeris never crossed her mind, but realizing it deepened her pity. She steeled herself for what was to come as she shifted herself to the edge alongside him.

"I'm sorry," she said simply.

"You have nothing to apologize for; you were not in the wrong."

"I know," her hands began to move side to side as if they were sifting through a dictionary to find the right words. "I'm more sorry at the fact that I couldn't do any more for you."

She saw his eyes scan the movement of the survivors, a ploy to keep his mind busy.

"Just when everything was going right." He murmured to himself.

Kaelen's eyes began to gloss, but not with sorrow, but with frustration.

"I understand what you're going through—"

"You understand nothing!" Kaelen screamed, his teeth gritted and his face near hers.

Lyra could see the tears stream through his white fur; his hair on the back of his nape stood. She felt sorry for him more than she was scared. Without knowing it herself, her hand slowly traveled to his cheek, feeling his soft fur.

"I understand more than you know." Before Kaelen could speak, she held a finger on his lips. "I have lost people too; I only have one person left in this world that I care about, and I will not lose her. I think you do too."

Kaelen's anger simmered to a stop, and his face softened as he realized who she was talking about. Lyra watched his eyes search through the survivors, and Lyra pointed her out to him.

"We have so little, yet we love so much," Lyra continued. "Do not fall into the darkness, Kaelen; even if you were to make it out, so much would have changed, and you will be left behind."

He watched his mother provide support to a family, and the gears in his heart began to turn again.

· · ─ · ◯☽✵☾◯ · ─ · ·

Darkened skies by the red miasma loomed in the air, making the moon's silver glow turn red—the seas on its surface seemingly filled with blood.

Though the Underworld seemed dark during the day, only the torches were able to provide any light during its darkest times. The capital of the Kingdom of Nasherux remained busy. Order by chaos was the law of the land.

Despite their primitive look, the technologies they had were magically advanced. These technologies were spearheaded by the Mage Court, a group of magically brilliant demons. Their tower could be found in The Garden of Moslerigier, a building dedicated to the Great Mage that tamed an abyssal creature at the cost of his own life—but that was legend.

Now they gather around a spherical device brought to them from the Overworld. Since it was more technical than magical, their minds had to think differently. The needle on the gauge slowly dwindled, nearly empty since they got it.

Time was of the essence.

"Our leads say there is a vampire boy who is key to this device," said Onygu, one of the researchers. His build was rather large but made up for in height. His skin was scaled and dark, and a tail whipped from behind him. "Where is this boy now?"

"Should be here anytime soon!" Said a servant.

"Civet will be here any moment; we cannot disappoint!"
The servant bowed and left the laboratory. Onygu looked at the obstacle before him, frustrated as it looked so simple. And suddenly this came to the door as they opened it, and the servant was standing at the doorway holding Draven by the arm.

"I found this boy wandering about."

"That's the boy, you idiot!"

Onygu grabbed Draven and directed him to the ball. Draven recognized it as Lyra's, and now he finally found it. He reached for it, but Onygu slapped his hands away.

"You have the power to unlock this, yes?"

"I'm not sure—"

"Let me see!"

Onygu enthusiastically pointed to the sphere. Draven didn't want to make his matter worse, so he decided to make Arna seem like her report was fabricated. Draven held his hand out to the ball and pretended like he was giving it his all, but to his surprise, the ball began to react to his presence. It was practically made for him. He had a better understanding of his power thanks to Lyra, but the device said otherwise.

"This must be a mistake," said Draven. "I was born without magic."

"It seems your magic is different," said the mage. "It's as if you draw from nothing and concentrate it. Or! Your magic is scattered, and when used, you pull them to you, allowing you to manipulate space."

"I don't understand."

"This magic is almost unheard of," Onygud said, scrambling to a bookshelf.

His finger brushed against the spine of a book but the doors swung open again. His head whipped around to see a young boy—his hair blonde as sunshine falling just shy above his earlobe, skin white as snow, and pointed ears. His eyes were filled with a fiery amber. His clothes draped from his body like ceremonial clothing. A grin revealed sharp teeth and an arrogance. Draven grew weak to his presence.

"I heard there was something interesting going on here today," the boy walked up to Onygu, completely ignoring Draven. "I do love your experiments, Onygu. They're. . . entertaining."

"Civet!" The mage said with honor. "This is the device that I've told you about. It harnesses strange magic, magic I've never encountered before."

"This magic is familiar," said Civet, circling the device, studying its very purpose. "Perhaps we can explore it. What's the worst that can happen?" His grin grew cynical as he asked a rhetorical question.

"This boy can harness that power as well!"

Civet finally gave Draven a look, straightening his spine in the process. Despite his size, his aura wreaked of despair and impending doom. "Show me."

"I can't do magic," Draven replied, trying to enforce his story.

Civet walked behind him and placed his palm on his back where his heart would be on the other side.

"The boy claims he can't use magic." Onygu retorted, chuckling to himself.

"Am I stupid, Onygu?" Civet's voice, despite sounding calm, had a twinge of irritation.

"Of course not!"

"Am I stupid, boy?"

Draven couldn't help but feel annoyed at the question. "Not at all," he replied.

"Then why do you lie?" His palm smacked Draven's back, and a dark-purplish orb floated in front of him. "I can sense someone's Source. Though yours is faint, you have one."

A source was the measure of someone's magical capabilities. Civet was able to see his source and even lure some of it out; this was only a fraction of his power.

"A very strange color," Civet's hands caressed the floating orb, amazed. "I've never seen anything like it. How do you use it?"

The question hung over his neck like an ax. If his answer was anything but what he wanted to hear, Civet would end his life regardless of whether his power was weak—possibly a punishment worse than death.

"I haven't been able to understand it."

Onygu clicked his tongue and snickered.

"Show me."

At first Draven hesitated, but he got in a stance that helped him focus. With the gathering of his thoughts, he pushed the desk that held Onygu's research papers, scattering them on the ground as the desk skidded across the floor.

"It's not air," Civet said, tilting his head in observation. "It's more than that. It's... spatial." Civet's smile turned cynical as he started to look around the room. "That's why your source seems so small; it really isn't." He pointed at particles in the air. "That's a part of your source,"" he pointed at one farther away. "That's a part of your source too!" He laughed maniacally into his hands. "This is amazing! I've never tasted such magic!"

Draven swore he saw Civet's mouth water. He looked at Onygu, who was slowly walking away backwards.

"That's all I can do," he hesitated to say.

"Not. At. All." Civet appeared in front of Draven in a blink of an eye. Possibly a flash step, but it was hard to tell. "I can show you, if you'd like."

Draven didn't want to owe Civet any favors, but he wanted to learn his power to become stronger. So he nodded his head, and Civet laughed as he took enthusiastic steps backwards. He held his hand out to Draven, and he took it. Something inside felt wrong, as if his life force was being sucked out of him.

Civet suddenly let go of his hand and told him to observe. The space around Civet began to warp, unstable at first, then it calmed. A grin appeared as Civet looked at Onygu's desk, and the space began to warp. He took a simple step forward but appeared by the desk.

"I am only limited to certain things, but you understand. Now you try." His tone, like a kid giving up a swing at the playground.

Draven tried to feel the magic within him, but nothing surfaced. He tried again but got the same result. "I don't know what's wrong."

"You lack imagination," Civet said, taking another step and appearing next to Draven. "See in your mind's eye where you're going. Feel the Source, its warmth in your heart, the magic in your veins, and in your fingertips. Let it go."

Draven studied his words and focused. The space around him began to warp; he looked at Lyra's device and took a step forward, and he appeared next to it.

Civet began to clap like an excited child. "Well done, my boy! And there's so much more." He turned to talk to Onygu, talking to him about Draven's Source.

Draven wanted to experience it again, so he focused. He saw the warping of space but decided not to make an exit. Draven stepped in, plunging himself into a dimension that nearly fractured his mind. Squares with scenes appeared in what he couldn't perceive to be the future or the past.

An endless corridor of time.

No matter what direction he chose to look, the hallways never ended—infinitely going up, down, left, and right. He couldn't grasp what was happening; his heart raced, and his nerves fired up to pay attention. First he noticed he was floating, but the presence of warmth and cold did not exist. He began to move amongst the scenes, seeing himself practicing his magic in the orchard where he met Lyra.
Just the thought of her shifted the scenery of this monolithic maze. Draven saw many scenes with Lyra, curious as if this was her past or her future. But even then, it all felt surreal for him. He floated down and found a scene where Lyra was packing clothes. He saw the device on her table. His hand reached but was stopped by a barrier. Lyra turned back with alerted eyes, eyes that stared right at him but at the same time through him. He wanted to warn her about her device, but she ended up taking it with her.

Draven began to notice he was running out of breath. He gasped for air that wasn't there, and the hairs on his body began to stand. He thought of the laboratory, and the space shifted again. Draven picked a random place and thought about it in his head, and the space warped around him, dropping him onto the floor. His lungs burned when air filled them; he coughed violently as if he weren't already suffering.

Civet ran to him and observed him. "What did you do?" Draven couldn't reply to him without the urge to cough every time. "You were gone only for a second."

Draven's head was filled with confusion. He felt as if he was in that space for minutes, maybe even close to an hour. He shook his head as he began to regain his bearings. "I don't know."

"Did you see it?" Asked Civet, his smile revealing his sharp teeth.

Draven's brow furrowed and his head tilted as he asked, "See what? It was just dark."

"The great mage Moslerigier, I remember now, he had this magic. That's how he found the Abyssal."

Civet ran to Onygu again, explaining his train of thought on the great mage. Draven didn't care to listen, but he found his way out. Once he gathered his breath, he grabbed Lyra's device and saw that the needle was spiking, overloaded with the energy his magic left. It almost felt warm to the touch.

Onygu looked at Draven and began to point at him, screaming for him to put the device down. But Draven stepped into the dimension once again.