Prologue – A Mother’s Farewell
Age of 719X

A young woman ran like the wind through the dark trees of Neverend. She was a blur in the night, her long white dress ripped and tattered. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Strung over her shoulder was a wooden longbow, and on her back she wore a large leather rucksack, carefully padded with a blanket, for it held two infants within.

            Fear grew in her heart as true weariness sank in. Doubt hacked at her courage like a lunatic with a cleaver, yet every time she felt she could handle no more, every moment she nearly lost hope, the cries of her two infants rekindled her spirit, and she pushed on, running deeper into the forbidden forest.  

            “You will live. I promise you.” Her words were a whisper left amongst the trees.

            The rain was falling like the pounding of her heart, but she could not hear it. She could no longer hear the sound of her bare feet slapping icy puddles. The cries of the soldiers pursuing her seemed to fade away with each passing step. She knew she would soon reach the Edge.

She knew it was there that death would find her.

            “We thought . . . we could change it, but . . .” As she spoke, her voice drifted off into the dark, where it would keep her words forever. The last and only remnants that would be kept by eien itself. This was the realm of Soria, after all.

Droplets of water ran down her face, and she could no longer tell if it was the rain or her tears. She thought of him, then glanced at a red bandana that was wrapped around her wrist. The sight brought her courage, just as her foot caught one of the snake-like roots hidden so well in the dark.

Turning on pure instinct and twisting the sack to her chest, she felt her back slam into one of the tree roots. Pain wailed through her, and the anguish of her waning body was like her voice beneath the storm, existent, yet hardly felt.

            Despite the ever-approaching soldiers, she smiled as her gaze found the eyes of her two baby boys. Pushing away the doubt and fear, she stood to her feet and refastened the rucksack to her back. A fire unlike any other fueled her that night — the love of a mother.

Willing herself, one leaden foot at a time, she stood and ran on, pushing through the limits of what was possible. Yet, she was slowing. Her body was desecrated by cuts and bruises. She could smell her own blood, the loss of it sapping her consciousness.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and wither away. She wanted to give up. But she did not. There was no right way to run anymore. Had there ever been? There was only the fear of watching her own children being murdered before her eyes. And so she pressed on, further and further into the dark.

Time felt as if it had lost all meaning, yet she finally broke free, emerging beneath the faint light of two moons. She slipped as the ground changed to wet, smooth stone and mud, and screamed as one of the rocks slit open the bottom of her foot. Tumbling and cutting her hands, she found herself looking down at blank, black skies. As far as the eyes could see.

Standing slowly, she found herself standing at the cliff’s edge. It was the end of the world. The furthest place in existence from known civilization. There was nothing beyond it, and nothing below it. Only dark, starless sky. The cold wind of night felt like death’s touch upon her cheek. 

High above, the clouds parted, bringing a calm to the rain. The light of the moons was like a blanket, upon which she could feel warmth within. She had known from the beginning how her story would end. Pulling the sack carefully off her back, she placed it on the ground, then did the same with her wooden bow, which she held for a brief moment in her hands, before setting it down, respectfully.

“My boys,” she began. Despite the blood pooling into a puddle at her feet, she could not help but feel love as she looked at them. They were the very essence of all that made life beautiful. One of the boys was calmly smiling, his eyes shining beneath the night sky. She ran her fingers through his soft silver hair, and took in the sight of his eyes, a startling blue that reminded her of better times and summer skies. 

“Caim,” she said, the name itself restoring her courage. She rested her hand on his cheek, then pulled two silver chains out of her pocket. With still, yet bloodied hands, she fastened one chain around his neck. “In the old language,” she whispered. “Your name means protector. And the gods know this world needs one,” she grasped his little finger as her tears fell again. “Be brave, my son. And always look out for your brother, his spirit will likely be as wild as your mother’s.”

His brother was crying loudly, his hands clenched into tiny fists, sensing his mother’s suffering. His hair, dark as a moonless night, was the same color as hers. A drip of blood fell from the young woman’s face and onto the boy’s cheek. He opened his eyes. They were deep and strong, fiercely green with a tint of gold.   

“Storm,” she whispered, and she could feel his spirit. She took the other chain and fastened it around his neck, then ran her fingers over the engraving. 

“A memento from your father,” she whispered. “Whom loved you both more than anything. Remember, that in order to bring change to a world of ignorance, the winds must shift, and when the winds shift, a storm will inevitably follow. You, my son, are that very storm.” She raised her hands to the raining skies, gesturing to all around her.

“A remnant of the great storm sworn, and a true force of eien. Both of you were born on a day as tragic as it is beautiful. Your love for one another and your spirit give you the potential to do anything you can imagine . . . even bring forth the greatest change this world has ever known, if you so wish. But you mustn’t give in to fate, if change is truly what you seek. But know that I have seen something truly majestic, and if one forsakes fate for destiny, my eyes cannot lie.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“I knew when I met your father what would happen . . . yet I loved him all the same. And I, you.”

She smiled proudly, taking them in her eyes, taking in the entirety of their last moment together. Caim’s hand touched her own, and she found him smiling.

“That is the very courage you must never let go of. To smile, even in the darkest of times.” She took both of their little hands and kissed them gently, feeling the tears flow more and more down her cheeks.

She could not help but feel true love in her heart. No one knows how long this moment lasted for her, but it has been spoken, that just before you die, time slows.

So it was that in silent awe, she watched as the falling rain around her slowed to a crawl, as if by the hand of Time herself, and she knew the gods were with her. Even the wind had slowed until it could barely be felt, as if it were listening.

“Caim . . . Storm . . .” she began. They both looked up at her as if she were the stars themselves.

“I know we haven’t been with each other very long, but the small time we did have I cherish more than anything. I know that I’ve put you through a lot already, but I want each of you to promise me something.” She wiped her eyes, trying to hold back the tears.

“If there is one thing I will regret in my life; it is that I won’t be able to see you two grow up. I won’t be able to be there when you pick up your first sword, or speak your first word, or make your first friend. Throughout your life, you will have to make many mistakes in order to learn, and sometimes this will be difficult and frustrating. But always remember that the clever can learn from the mistakes of others.”

“Make sure you eat lots and lots of food, because if you are anything like your father, you’ll be needing your energy.” She smiled faintly. “Always remember that it is the simple things in life we must appreciate. Brilliance lies in simplicity; at least, that’s what my father always told me, and he is a wise man who leads a simple life. Don’t forget to get as much sleep as you can, even when you’re having fun . . . I know you two will be needing it. And don’t be afraid to commit to making friends, good ones, no matter where they come from, even if it’s just a few that will look out for you, as you look out for them.” 

            She wiped her bloody fingers on her dress before softly poking Storm in the stomach. She could feel his strength as he grabbed the tip of her finger. Turning to Caim, she pinched him gently on the nose and watched him smile. One of the slow falling raindrops landed on his cheek, and he laughed like only a child could. She smiled lovingly, before noticing Storm looking up at her, his eyes strangely inquisitive. There was a kind of subtle wisdom in his eyes, as if he understood more than what could be possible. 

            “You seem to be in question, my little Storm,” said Rose, letting out a coy grin. “You’re wondering, I imagine, that if I have the sight, why I can’t see everything . . .” Rose shook her head. “I daresay, you’re quite the insightful little one, aren’t you? You get that from your mother,” she kissed her two fingers and placed them on his forehead.

“And, well, your brother,” She saw Caim’s eyes following a little black moth as it flew beneath the moons, before it touched down upon his nose. She smiled, feeling peace from his soul. “Your brother has his own gifts,” she finally said. She took their tiny hands in her own.  

            “And although these words may aid you but little now, as they are nothing more but a mother’s last loving touch upon her sons, know that, perhaps, at a different time, and in a different place, my voice may be but a light for you in the dark. So hear this, my sons; that fate and destiny are sworn and ever-lasting enemies, and in every choice made, one prevails over the other. Always remember, that to resist fate is to find the strength to follow your destiny. And to follow one’s destiny is the strength to trust your inner voice, to listen to that which cannot be heard, but only felt. Never close your hearts to it. Or all will be lost.”

            The little black moth was still resting on Caim’s nose, who was still smiling despite. Reaching down, she let the moth crawl onto her finger as she heard something from the forest. The sounds of the soldiers were nearer than ever before. She could feel their footsteps through the earth she kneeled upon. But more than anything, she could sense the vengeful presence that was leading them towards her. The moth flew from her finger. She turned to look at an opening in the trees, staring through them and into the dark, watching and waiting for her time to come.      

• – –      –

            A dozen soldiers with bows on their backs moved swiftly through the rain and the dark. Creatures tucked away into their little holes as they swept past. They weren’t trying to move quietly, or in any way mask their presence. Their pitch-black armor caught the light of the moons, and a single flash of lightning illuminated the faces of the soldiers. They were all young women. Strong, silent, and fueled by one binding purpose.

            One of the soldiers came to a stop, her eyes entranced by something before her. She reached out, holding up her palm as a leaf floated down from a tree. The more she stared at the falling leaf, the more she could not understand what was happening. It was falling as if in slow motion; it’s subtle shifting sway slowed to the speed of a crawl, and it took nearly two full breaths to fall only a few inches and land on her palm.

            A hand fell on her shoulder, awakening her from the trance. She turned to face their leader, a stoic woman with long starlit hair and a single black eyepatch over her left eye. She was the only one without a bow. A dark longsword hung from her hip. 

            “Come, Arya,” said the leader in a soft but commanding tone.

            “Lady Scylla, something beyond us is here with the girl,” whispered Arya. She looked up at the sky, then at the forest surrounding them. The other soldiers had all come to a stop as well, each of their eyes captured by the slowly falling leaves around them. Even the rain had become nearly still. A shiver ran throughout Arya’s body. 

            “Whether there is something here with her or not,” said Scylla, who turned and faced the soldiers. “She will still die. The Great Laws of Soria are absolute. And we have sworn an oath to them. No matter the enemy, no matter the force, the justice of Soria will not falter.”

            It wasn’t long before the soldiers emerged from the last lining of trees and onto the cold, sharp rock of the cliff. The rain had returned to normal, and an icy breeze swept past their faces as they encountered the one they had been hunting. Each of them pulled their bows off their shoulders and notched their arrows, staring down their sights at their one helpless mark.

            A shift in the clouds cast a single ray of moonlight down upon the cliff, illuminating a teary-eyed girl with her hands clasped together, and her two sons, who looked longingly into the light as if it were the embrace of their own mother. The clouds passed, the light faded, and the shadows of the present were all that remained. 

            “Young Rose.” Scylla’s voice snapped open the girl’s eyes. She rested her hand on the pommel of her longsword and continued. “You are hereby accused of treason for willingly and knowingly breaking the Law of Blood. You have betrayed the people of Soria, and brought nothing but shame upon yourself. You will have no trial and have been sentenced to a hasty execution.”

            Rose unclasped her hands and looked up to the skies, her back still to the soldiers. The wind lifted her long hair out behind her. She cast one last look up at the stars and moons, then whispered something.

            “You pray meaninglessly,” the voice of Scylla behind her declared. “And know full well that after your death, the two half-bloods will be killed as well. There will be no pardon. There will be no trial. They will not exist, as they should have never existed in the first place.”

            “You will not lay a finger on them.” Rose’s voice cut through the air like a whip. She could hear the bowstrings tense within the hands of the soldiers.

            “She is but a curseborn girl, yet you flinch upon hearing her voice?” Scylla asked. She laughed, taking another step towards Rose. “She is nothing. Nothing at all.”

Rose could hear the amusement in her tone. It was the voice of someone who enjoyed the torment of others. Finally turning around to face her foes, Rose’s eyes radiated her steadfast will.

“You would do well not to underestimate me.”

Before her stood a dozen soldiers, poised to kill. Out in front of them all stood the lady in command. She wore elegant black armor that was smeared with blood. A simple patch covered one of her green eyes, and long straight white hair fell down the length of her back.

            “Lady Scylla,” Rose said, taking it in. She took a deep breath as she took in the sight of their world’s most famous heroine. “I suppose I should be honored, but I just can’t help but feel otherwise. It’s a shame. I’ve always looked up to you.”

            Scylla let a grin curl her lips. “Honored? I am but a soldier, and you are a traitor. I am here to make sure that you are the last person to ever break one of the Great Laws. You have twelve arrows aimed at your heart, Rose. You deserve to die. If you didn’t, then why would you be begging the gods for their mercy?” 

The moonlight shifted, revealing a smear of blood through Scylla’s hair.

            “Don’t lie to yourself,” Rose said through clenched teeth. “You loved him. This is personal.”

            Scylla met Rose’s gaze with a look of deep disdain. “You know not of what you speak.”

            “He told me about you,” Rose said, tightening her fist. “You’ve killed him . . . haven’t you?” There was a fragileness in Rose’s heart that echoed into her voice. It was as if with each word, she took a step further out onto a frozen lake, and with each step the ice cracked and shifted beneath her.

            “It is you who killed him,” Scylla answered. “Though I may have his blood on my hands, it is you who sent him to the executioner. You should have left him alone. You should have known your place.”

            Rose’s face remained stoic. “Your perspectives are an illusion that conveniently hide who you truly are from those around you, yet most unfortunately, from yourself. Always a wonder to find the most educated the most ignorant.”

            “And what would a curseborn girl know of perspective, I wonder?” Scylla mused.

“Perspective is a reflection of what we are,” Rose caught her eye. “But not always what makes us who we are. It’s a shame there are many in this world who would believe otherwise, and so let their minds create illusions that paint themselves righteous. But perspective is, and forever will be, like clothing, and can be changed just as easily. To know the truth, one must look deeper, and find the intention that chose the perspective in the first place . . .”

“I wonder what kind of intention makes someone a traitor to their own nation,” Scylla hissed. “It must have been your intention then, too, that coerced and poisoned his better judgement.”

“You know better than anyone that there is no one in the world who could have told him what to do, who could have manipulated him. Look at how you failed, if you need any proof. I only loved him, and I will never feel regret because of that.”

            “Ah, the lies we tell,” said Scylla with a condescending grin. “Yes. It was his choice. He chose to betray his country. He chose to walk the path of revolution where only one possible fate awaited. Never forget, that there are two types of people in this world. There are those to whom fate smiles, and there are those to whom fate condemns.”

            “And there are those who are not afraid to follow their hearts,” Rose answered, looking down at her sons. “Destiny will see to it that they will walk a different path. I will leave this world knowing that you cannot hurt them. The light of Vale has shined upon them. It is beyond even your power, now.”

            Scylla smirked. “Is it now? Is it not the Lady Vale herself who condones each and every Great Law? You are delusional from loss of blood and fear of death. Do you think they will survive this night and escape the judgement of Soria unscathed? Their fates will be the same as yours, and their deaths will be painful, that I promise. I will make sure you watch those half-bloods die, so you can exist soullessly in an eternity of regret as your penance. That, my dear Rose, is the only thing you will leave this world with.”

            Rose carefully picked up her wooden bow from the ground and stepped in front of her boys. The soldiers tensed once again, but their leader raised her hand, steadying them.

“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” Rose said. “They are the first of their kind. They have the spirit of the old and the blood of the new. It is they who will restore this world to its former glory. It is their chosen path. The tip of your sharpest spear is dull before the might of their hearts. I have seen it.”

“You have seen nothing but delusions,” said Scylla. 

            “It is alright, my children,” said Rose, hearing the two boys beginning to cry. “There is nothing to fear. We don’t give up in this family. No matter what dangers lie ahead. Hope is like the sun. You can close your eyes to it, but that doesn’t mean it will stop burning, so embrace it with all your heart and—”

            “I have heard enough,” Scylla said, her patience burnt out. 

            Rose had stopped, but not for cause of Scylla. She was not thinking. She was merely being, taking in the final moment with her sons. She gave them one last smile before reaching up to her hair and pulling out a long black strand. Focusing her thoughts, little crystals of energy and light materialized down her forearm and over her hands. Her energy twisted over the single black hair, transforming it into a sleek black arrow.

            Rose notched the arrow to her bow and pointed it straight at Scylla. “You may be stronger than me in every single way. You may have me outnumbered and completely outclassed. But you underestimate the strength of my will. It is a strength you will never understand. Unconditional love is the most powerful force there is. It has the power to sway gods, change fate, and never die. It is because of that love that you have no power to harm my sons.”

            As Rose was speaking, she did not notice the cracking of the cliff’s edge around her feet.

            “Farewell, my sons, and know this . . . your father and I will always love you!”

            As she stood before the soldiers, her love manifested itself in the form of energy, blossoming forth from her body. Several of the soldiers’ eyes widened at the sight. The aura of Rose’s resolve lifted up and around her, guarding her, until it flowed off her shoulders like a cloak of light and flame.

The crack of the cliff ran out and around Rose’s feet to the other side. She could feel the ground beneath her becoming unstable, but she remained still, focused and ready. She met Lady Scylla’s lone eye.

“Remember this, Scylla,” said Rose. “You did not end my life. I chose to be here.”

“Foolish to the bitter end,” said Scylla. “End her.”

Rose’s arrow shot forth like a spear of flame, hissing past twelve arrows fired upon her. She turned and lifted her arms out, protecting her sons as they pierced into her one after another. Blood pooled into her mouth as she continued gazing down at her sons. There was no pain.

            Rose felt the edge of the cliff lose stability as the crack grew deeper and wider, and she knew it wouldn’t hold out much longer. The boys looked back up at her, their eyes blank and unsure. She felt her body collapsing, her once beautiful white dress, forever stained bloodred. But she did not stop smiling. Despite every odd telling her that all hope had been lost, she did not give in. She refused to believe that it would end here. Her vision blurred as hope became the only thing remaining.

The voices of the soldiers were fading further and further away. Even with her eyes closing, she could see her son’s little hands, reaching for her. And just before she opened her mouth to say their names one last time, the tip of the cliff collapsed, and the three of them fell deep into the night. 

            Lady Scylla walked forward to the edge of the cliff, looking out from the floating nation in the sky. Along her cheek was a deep, blood-trickling gash, an unforgettable memento from the one person she most wanted to forget. Her simple eyepatch had been ripped off by the arrow, revealing her hidden eye, black-rimmed and ghostlike, with a pale light in the iris that glowed like flames burning at the end of a dim corridor. She looked into the dark for a long while. The fall would be long and agonizing, perhaps even endless. No one knew what rested beneath the lands of Soria. To them, it was only darkness, and always would be.