𝔼𝕣𝕚𝕔 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕒𝕖𝕦𝕤: 𝔸𝕝𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕖ʙᴏᴏᴋ 𝟶 (ᴀʟsᴏ ʙᴏᴏᴋ 𝟼) ~ ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕝 ~

── · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ──

𝔸 𝕂𝕀𝕂𝕀𝕋𝕆 𝕃𝕐ℕℕ 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪.

ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴏᴏᴋ, ғɪʀsᴛ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 𝟷sᴛ 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻

ᴇʀɪᴄ ʟɪɴɴᴀᴇᴜs – ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴇ ɪs ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏғ ғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ɴᴀᴍᴇs, ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs, ʙᴜsɪɴᴇssᴇs, ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛs, ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏʀ ᴜsᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ғɪᴄᴛɪᴛɪᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɴɴᴇʀ. ᴀɴʏ ʀᴇsᴇᴍʙʟᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴs, ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛs ɪs ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄᴏɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ.

ᴛᴇxᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏʀɪɢʜᴛ © 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻.

ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄs ᴀɴᴅ ɪʟʟᴜsᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀʀᴛɪsᴛ: @ᴇɪ__ᴢʏ (ɪɴsᴛᴀɢʀᴀᴍ, ᴛᴡɪᴛᴛᴇʀ, ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ) ᴄᴏᴘʏʀɪɢʜᴛ © 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻.

ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ.

ɴᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇᴅ, sᴛᴏʀᴇᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsᴍɪᴛᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ғᴏʀᴍ ʙʏ ᴀɴʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴs, ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛʀᴏɴɪᴄ, ᴍᴇᴄʜᴀɴɪᴄᴀʟ, ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏᴘʏɪɴɢ, ᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪsᴇ, ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ᴏʀ ɪɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛ, ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʀɪᴏʀ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ.

ᴀʟsᴏ ᴀᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙʟᴇ ɪɴ ᴘᴀᴘᴇʀʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀʀᴅᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴀᴍᴀᴢᴏɴ. (on the 1st >:])

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ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕤 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕚𝕟 𝕎𝕒𝕣.

𝒩𝒶𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒾𝑒𝓁 𝒦𝓁𝑒𝒾𝓃 - 𝒟𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇, 1998.

In the deepest of the winter months, amidst the silence of death, the moon holds no judgment. It kisses the blood-stained snow with indiscriminate grace and brightens the night all the same. Ice crystals twinkled back at it like earthbound stars among the litter of discarded weapons as I traveled alone across the expanse of churned earth.

Half-frozen bodies marred the way, and I stopped when I reached the crest of a small hill overlooking the battlefield. I crouched to rest, laying my sword across my knees as I did. The air was laden with ash and carried the scent of death. Bitter cold stung my cheeks, and dried blood pinched my wounds together, making the skin uncomfortably tight.

Dirt ruined my freshly pressed clothes, but the true tragedy is that my boots are now scuffed. I don’t expect that will buff out. With an exasperated sigh I rolled my shoulders to relieve the tension and tried to ignore the dull ache of my muscles. A better person may have felt the echo of the loss before them, and wept for the blatant waste of life, but I am hollow inside. I look upon the broken, lifeless bodies of both enemies and soldiers alike in the same way a table might regard its chairs; they exist around me, but I wouldn’t notice their absence.

Overhead, streams of iridescent turquoise floated in the night sky like suspended chandelier crystals—the aftermath of massive magic usage. Our enemies presumed they could cross three of our barriers and continue unimpeded toward our castle; they were mistaken. They chose a predictably poor path through the mountains and I greeted them with a legion of guards in the valley pass. It was a successful ambush, and the battle was short. It lasted all of a day.

It felt almost too easy.

The idea nagged at the corners of my mind, ruminating itself into a growing feeling of unease. Was it possible this was something else? A test? A distraction? Did they have a larger force hidden somewhere? Had I missed something? A breath of air swirled a flurry of fresh powdery snow into a spiral. It pulled at the longer strands of my hair, and departed across the wasteland like a whisper, as if urging me to follow.

I watched it melt away with wistful speculation before the crunch of ice under heavy boots drew my attention as someone came to stand beside me. The tall bulk of my cousin, Markos, loomed with the confident assumption that his very presence wasn’t disturbing my peace. It was.

“Another of the poisoned ones?” he spoke, and I glanced up confused.

“Pardon?”

The man smiled down with his narrow foxlike eyes, regarding me as if I had said something funny and he were holding back laughter. I’ve always hated that about him. His overinflated ego serves his holier-than-thou demeanor and reinforces his bitterly cynical nature. More often than not, the thin corners of his mouth pull upward into a self-satisfied smirk, as if he were the cat that swallowed the canary.

He allowed the silence between us to draw out, reveling in knowing something I did not, before gesturing past me to where the corpse of a woman lay forsaken. Solidified blood glued her plain brown hair to the ground, her eyes were glassy with decay and she stared eternally into the abyss. She wasn’t special among the other casualties, and hadn’t previously garnered any of my attention, nor did she truly earn it now.

Her loss was a shame only because it represented a spent resource. She was one of our ‘Pets’—a human trained from birth to serve us, but her death was inconsequential. Like paper after it is burned, she no longer served a use and her ashes would crumble away, never to be thought of again. In a matter of years she would be replaced with another, and not one of us would remember her sacrifice.

“She’s not a poisoned one,” I answered Markos’s question with begrudging reluctance to participate in his games.

“Oh, excellent! Then I will have her delivered to the carvers for butchering,” he preened as if he hadn’t known the answer all along.

“Do whatever you like,” I commented in an unemotional cadence as I pushed myself up and turned away from the body. Humans might consider us monsters for our diet, but we are not wasteful.

Standing side by side, Markos and I are of a similar constitution. Both tall, we share the same straight nose and rectangular face. Decades of swordsmanship and combat training have left us well built with a muscular contour too similar not to be ancestral, but this is where the familial resemblance ends.

To the uneducated, all Fae look alike with our white hair, pointed ears and the vertical slit of our pupils, but Markos is older than I by a century. He lords his superiority of age over me as if I were a child, despite the fact that it grants him fine age lines. His hair curls into soft waves, while mine is primarily smooth with an irritating kick that cannot be tamed no matter how I try.

My eyes are inherited; viridian green and carry the weight of my family line going back for millennia, while Markos’s are soft lavender from his mother’s side. They hold an elegant upturn at the corners as if in confirmation that he believes himself better than everyone else, and hide his cunning disposition behind the false premise of kindness.

Few would suspect the inner machinations of his mind when all outward appearances are so unassuming, and I pity any who fall prey to his kind smile. Having known him for the entirety of my life, I know better than to try and outwit him. It’s far safer to wield the superiority of my lineage over him instead.

The man lingered despite my wish that our conversation might be done, and when the silence became uncomfortable I broke it in hopes of prompting his departure, “Have all those who were injured been collected?”

“They have,” he made a convincing effort to sound casual before probing further. “Do you still plan on leaving?”

So that’s what this was; a surreptitious interrogation. “You won’t change my mind,” I preempted his unwelcome opinion.

His eyes pinched as he smiled, but there was no sympathy there, it was all bite. “You’ll probably die.”

“Try not to sound so pleased,” I shifted my gaze sideways to glare. Markos is also a fickle man, he holds little interest for anything that doesn’t serve his own purposes, and I got the distinct feeling he was only entertaining himself at my expense.

“Me? Pleased? Next you’ll tell me cats can bark. My only thought is for the worms that might feed on your body, the spite you carry would poison the poor creatures.”

My lips twitched involuntarily with amusement, and I folded my arms knowing I’d lost this round, best to save my efforts for another time. “One day, someone’s going to overhear you,” I warned, reminding him of his place.

The clatter of others approaching drew our focus before he could respond, and we swiveled simultaneously in the direction of the sound. In the near distance what remained of the infantry was spreading out to collect any abandoned weapons that hadn’t been broken, signaling that our time was up. With a begrudging sense of foreboding I turned toward the tree line beyond the edge of the valley. The road ahead would be long and hard. It would garner me no favor nor thanks, but it would, if luck was on my side, end the war.

“Take care of my brother while I’m away, don’t let him do anything foolish…” I added more softly without meeting his gaze.

“Even I can’t prevent the inevitable,” Markos dismissed the request as if I had asked him to lasso the sun, but I knew he would try nonetheless. Even for all his deficits and the malice he held toward my family, I trusted this selfish man more than was practical.

“Do your best, I’ll return soon,” I ignored his doubt as I stepped off the small embankment to begin the journey.

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