“Let me out!” Iris shouted, her voice cracking and hoarse from the relentless screams of fear and panic that had echoed through the watery abyss. Each desperate cry was swallowed by the sloshing sound of water encircling her like a living creature, taunting her with its fluid embrace.
What are they going to do to me?
A cold grip of dread tightened around her heart, fueling her every action with pure, unbridled panic. The world around her blurred into a whirlpool of uncertainty, each thought spiraling deeper into despair.
What if they decide to erase my existence entirely? The thought sent shivers racing down her spine. I’m scared. I’m scared. Iris’s body trembled violently, shaking like a leaf caught in a tempest. Her knees buckled beneath her, surrendering to the smooth, slick surface beneath her feet as she huddled into herself—a fragile shell seeking refuge from the unseen horrors lurking in the depths. She wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing them close as if to shield herself from whatever fate awaited her.
The water swirled around her, glimmering with an eerie luminescence that danced like mischievous spirits in the dark. It whispered secrets she couldn’t grasp, each ripple a reminder of her vulnerability. In that moment, she felt utterly alone, trapped in a whimsical nightmare where reality twisted and turned like the currents that held her captive.
What am I going to do? Who can help me? I’m all alone—A sudden gentle caress brushed against her cheek, a warm and soothing sensation that wrapped around her like a soft blanket on a chilly night. It sent a ripple of calm through her, momentarily easing the storm of fear within.
“Eh?”
Iris tilted her head upward, her wide, anxious eyes searching the shimmering water for the source of the comforting touch. But all around her, the world remained unchanged, the water swirling in playful eddies that sparkled like tiny stars caught in a dance.
Perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me, she thought, doubt creeping into her heart. With a heavy sigh, she lowered her gaze again, feeling tears threaten to spill over like raindrops on a delicate petal. Just as despair began to settle in her chest, a soft yet powerful whisper floated through the air, wrapping around her like a gentle breeze.
“I’m here.” The words resonated with warmth and reassurance, filling the space around her with an ethereal glow. It was as if the very essence of comfort had taken form, reminding Iris that she was not alone in this watery realm.
She felt an invisible presence beside her, a sweet promise that hope still lingered just out of sight.
“W-who are you?” Iris asked, her voice a hoarse whisper that trembled like a fragile leaf in the wind. She glanced around in confusion, her body finally beginning to relax as the intense fear that had gripped her began to ebb away.
As she waited for a response that seemed to linger just beyond reach, the flicker of hope that had ignited within her quickly dimmed. A wave of emptiness washed over her, loneliness creeping in like shadows at dusk. Her eyes glazed over, staring into the swirling waters that danced around her as she waited for something—anything—that likely wouldn’t come.
This isn’t good. I’m starting to hear voices in my head.
With a deep sigh that felt like a surrender, Iris let her shoulders slump. Strangely, her mind felt calm amidst the lingering fear, as if a gentle lullaby had wrapped around her thoughts. The dark tendrils that curled around her hands felt oddly comforting, like soft ribbons of night embracing her with a tender touch.
In that moment, she realized that perhaps the darkness wasn’t something to dread but rather a companion in her solitude. It whispered sweet nothings that danced through her mind, weaving tales of wonder and mystery.
Iris continued to kneel there, paying no mind to the minutes that seemed to have quickly passed before something caught her attention—the sound of the water had suddenly stopped, and as she looked up, she now saw the four ancient beings looking down from their thrones at her.
"Stand up, girl." Neris now spoke with a bit less of her previously cold tone, but her face now held more of a stern expression. Iris had also noticed the serpent in the outer left was more irritated and upset than his usual calm demeanour.
As the girl finally managed to push herself to her bare feet, her legs were still shaking from the previous panic and the emotional state she was in. Iris mustered all of her remaining courage to look back at them, her gaze lingering on the serpent, who was clearly the most upset of the bunch.
Her eyes then darted around between all four of them, trying to get a full assessment of their plan from their expressions.
"We have come to the conclusion that your presence brings far too much danger," Petros began, once again with his authoritative voice that carried a noticeable coldness and contrast to his earlier arrogant display.
"W-what? But I don't intend to harm anyone!" Iris immediately said, now defending herself as the threat that she represented suddenly became much more apparent to the group.
No! No! This can't be happening! Iris's body began trembling uncontrollably, and the girl became completely overwhelmed by fear and the thought of what the spirits might do to her.
"Your powers are the risks here," the fairy king now explained, lifting his hand up only to drop it seconds later. "Rest assured, we have no intentions of harming or even executing you."
"T-then.. what will you do?"
"We shall transport you to a restricted chamber where you will be permitted complete freedom of activity and no ability to cause harm or harmful effects." Neris now responded back with a light tone, but the severity of just exactly what those restrictions and conditions would be continued to cast an uneasy mood over the situation.
So their solution is to lock me away?
"But...." Iris's gaze had now fallen towards the mineral that had yet to be tainted by her touch. The small flicker of hope that had began to rise within Iris's heart was quickly smothered by the new prospect of being restricted and trapped inside a dark chamber all by her own.
All alone. Forever. No. I can’t go through that again.
Again? The word echoed in her mind, a dark whisper that sent her thoughts spiraling into chaos. Confusion gripped her, halting her racing heart as she stared blankly at her feet, the smooth surface beneath her feeling both familiar and foreign.
She shook her head violently, trying to dispel the haunting memories that threatened to resurface. I've hurt so many creatures since I woke up. I shouldn’t be selfish.
“But…?” Neris urged gently, her voice a soft breeze pushing Iris toward the truth, despite the overwhelming weight of the moment pressing down on them both.
But that’s not what I desire. That is not what I want.
“Th-that… I…” Iris stammered, her voice trembling with a mix of sadness and confusion. She felt like a marionette caught in a tug-of-war between two sides of herself—one yearning for freedom and the other shackled by guilt.
Why does it matter what I desire? The thought slithered through her mind like a serpent, coiling tightly around her heart. It’s for the greater good, right? Desperation clawed at her as she sought any rational reason to accept the council’s decision over her fate. The voices of the other spirits began to swell around her, their murmurs blending into a cacophony that heightened her anxiety.
But for who?
That last voice echoed like a thunderclap in her mind, splitting her thoughts apart. Her heart raced, feeling as if it might burst from the intensity of her internal conflict. The shadows of doubt loomed large, threatening to consume her.
Iris felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she grappled with the weight of choice pressing down on her shoulders. Would she fight for herself or submit to the will of others? The darkness whispered promises of safety and acceptance if she yielded, but it also threatened to extinguish the flicker of hope that still burned within her.
"Do I have a choice in this matter?" Iris’s words now come out slightly timid and meek, her head still tilted downwards as she struggled to even look towards the spirits. Shadows danced around her, swirling like playful spirits—but they offered no comfort.
A scoff escaped Petros's lips, his tone dripping with mockery. “Do you wish to keep living?” he asked coldly, his gaze piercing through her like shards of ice. The air crackled with his superiority, making her feel small and insignificant.
“Of course I do!” Iris shot back, lifting her head to meet Petros’s gaze. A sudden flare of anger ignited within her—a flicker of defiance against the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded her.
But Petros remained unfazed, his expression fixed and unbothered, as if her anger was nothing more than a fleeting breeze. “Then the only choice you have to live is to accept our proposal and live like you’re already dead.” His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Iris felt a whirlwind of emotions swirl inside her—anger clashed with fear like thunderclouds in a storm. How could he say that? The injustice ignited a fire in her chest, but alongside it came the creeping dread that coiled around her heart. What if they were right?
What if I’m already dead? The thought sent chills down her spine, making her tremble as she fought against the tide of despair threatening to pull her under.
"Petros!" Argastal suddenly raised his voice, his head now twisting to the side to face the earth creature.
"She needs to realise the reality of her situation." Petros replied bluntly to the fairy king, whose explanation was very vague. Now he looks back at the girl, his icy and cold glare seeming to freeze her in her tracks. "Your presence is a hindrance to all life and will not be welcomed by anyone." He jabs a cold and sharp finger at the girl.
As Petros’s words hit her, Iris felt a great wave of despair wash over her, and suddenly even a little flicker of faith and hope seemed to have been completely lost. The girl now stood frozen like a deer in the headlights, unable to say anything at all.
This isn't fair. I didn't ask for this.
The tip of the earth creature's stone-like finger was like a knife piercing directly into her heart, making her feel completely weak and powerless.
As she struggled with the tempest within, a soft whisper brushed against her mind—a gentle caress that felt both foreign and familiar. Submit. The word echoed like a lullaby, wrapping around her like silken threads. It promised safety but demanded surrender.
“Why should I?” she whispered fiercely to herself, yet doubt gnawed at the edges of her resolve. What if this is my only chance?
Tell them what you want. Another voice suddenly spoke up in Iris’s mind, which directly conflicted with her own thoughts. Her heart raced as she weighed the options before her. Anger surged within her like a tidal wave, battling against the tide of fear that threatened to drown her spirit.
I won’t let them take me! But with each passing moment, the whispers grew louder—voices from the ancients urging her to yield.
“Be angry.” The voice echoed in her mind, deep and resonant, stirring the embers of rage that flickered within her.
“Be upset.” This voice was unfamiliar, a strange intruder in her thoughts, urging her to embrace the chaos swirling around her.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Scream!” it demanded, a hunger that clawed at her insides, desperate for release.
“Hurt them until everything feels better.” This voice was furious for her, a tempest of emotion ready to unleash its fury upon the world.
Iris felt as if she were caught in a storm, each voice battling for dominance within her. It was as though a different being existed inside her mind, one that didn’t want to be confined to her body any longer. Was it actually her own voice? The thought sent shivers down her spine.
For a split second, the urge to release her pent-up emotions surged within her—a tidal wave of frustration and injustice that had been imposed upon her life without consultation. This choice, she thought bitterly, was made without me.
Iris stood at a crossroads within herself, torn between two powerful forces: the fiery anger that demanded justice and the chilling fear that urged submission for survival. Each side pulled at her heartstrings, creating an unbearable tension that threatened to tear her apart.
The desire to let loose flickered through Iris like a fleeting dream, a brief flash of rebellion against the suffocating weight of expectation. But then the memory crashed over her—a painful encounter with the pixie and ringtail, who had been caught in the storm of her uncontrolled emotions. The image haunted her, a reminder of the chaos she could unleash.
As if to silence the rising tide of anger, she bit down hard on her soft, gradient lips, feeling the sting as a small trickle of blood drizzled down. It was a desperate attempt to halt the intrusive thoughts that clawed at her mind, urging her to unleash her fury.
Stop it, she thought, but the voices only grew louder.
Iris felt the last remnants of her fight and resistance slip away like grains of sand through her fingers, her gaze sinking downward in quiet defeat. “I... accept,” she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips, heavy with resignation. But even as she felt herself drifting toward submission, a flicker of defiance sparked within—What will I lose? The question loomed ominously over her like dark clouds ready to unleash their fury.
“It seems you’re not that lacking,” Petros remarked, his voice dripping with condescension. Yet his words fell flat against the tumultuous storm brewing within Iris. She continued to stare aimlessly at her feet, the smooth mineral surface beneath her reflecting the dimming light of her spirit. Each flicker of illumination seemed to fade, a subtle crack forming where her hope once resided.
I shouldn’t have come here, she thought, the realization hitting her like a cold wave crashing against the shore.
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On the edge of the ruined borders of the former city of Triskellion, the duke himself had currently taken a role in helping and overseeing the restoration process which was currently ongoing.
The people who were in this area appeared to be much more calm, happy, and even spirited as they worked to restore their home to its former glory. Things seemed to be looking up once again, as if the city had finally begun to find peace and move on from its last disaster.
Home. The duke's began to feel a strange knot in his stomach as his mind continued to ponder that word; it was unfamiliar and strange in his mind, yet it brought about a comforting feeling as well.
Something felt quite amiss when he thought about the term, the knot in his stomach shifting a little in intensity as he continued to think more about this odd sensation.
"Sage." The duke suddenly called out to the woman, who was mere steps behind him. He had already sensed her presence purely based on the calm and cold energy that surrounded her—one that was quite similar to his own, although hers had a slight warmth hidden under it.
"The Eldorian specialist troops arrived, carrying an abundance of supplies and provisions." The stoic woman's rather stern voice cut through the air as Azrel turned to face her, his gaze swiftly landing on her pointed eyes, which were upturned and coloured like clover leaves. Her ice blonde hair, on the other hand, was neatly tied into a high ponytail and remained a calm counterpart to her sharp eyes.
“They are providing medical aid to the wounded and have offered to transport the severely injured back to the capital for more advanced and specialised care and treatment.” The stoic woman’s voice now continued, explaining further what the specialists had planned.
The duke nodded in acknowledgement. "How many casualties did we take?"
"Half-dozen men."
“I see…”
"Please oversee and monitor the Eldorian troops closely, ensuring that they assist us with our wounded and any parties that require aid." The duke’s tone now shifted to a much more doubtful and weary attitude.
"Understood." And with that single simple word, the woman acknowledged the duke's true orders.
"You're dismissed."
Sage's actions were swift yet graceful, as she bowed her head and immediately turned around to walk away. Her movements remained quiet, even with her armour on as she departed.
Just like that, she was gone without another word spoken between them, leaving Azrael alone once more.
As the duke turned his attention back to the scene of his men—who were hard at work rebuilding the defences, he found his eyes now glancing over to the forest just outside of the current location. His gaze remained fixed on the wooded area for a few moments, an eerie sense of unease now beginning to wash over him.
No matter how hard Azrael tried to focus on his workers, their diligent hands shaping the earth into something beautiful, his mind wandered back to the deep and dense grove that loomed just beyond the reach of his domain.
The Highland Forest, a place steeped in mystery and folklore, whispered secrets that tugged at the edges of his consciousness, beckoning him closer with each passing moment.
The recent earthquake had stirred more than just the ground beneath him; it had awakened something primal within. Nightly creatures plagued his thoughts, their haunting forms dancing in the shadows of his mind. Alongside them came unfamiliar voices—dark, seductive whispers that curled around his senses like smoke, enticing him with promises of power and knowledge.
Azrael's gaze remained fixated on the lush boughs and overgrown foliage of the forest. The vibrant greens seemed to pulse with life, drawing him in with an irresistible allure. Each rustle of leaves felt like a siren's call, igniting a flicker of curiosity that he couldn’t quite extinguish.
He had always been captivated by the supernatural—the intoxicating power it wielded was both enchanting and terrifying. It was a dance of light and dark, a delicate balance that thrilled him to his core. Yet with that fascination came a deep-seated disdain for the dark beings that lurked within those shadows. They were grotesque manifestations of chaos, yet there was an undeniable beauty in their forms—an elegance that both repulsed and fascinated him.
What might lie hidden among those towering trees? Azrael pondered, an aching desire clawing at his insides. He felt as though he were being punished for resisting the forest's beckoning call, each moment spent away from its depths intensifying the strange longing within him.
His holy powers pulsed in response to the darkness, a magnetic force that compelled him toward it. It was as if the very essence of the forest recognized him—a kindred spirit caught between two worlds. Might there be something lurking there? Something that calls for my blade to clear the path?
The thought sent shivers down his spine, igniting a thrill of anticipation mixed with dread. He envisioned himself stepping into the grove, surrounded by shadows that danced like flames. Would he find beauty there or only destruction? The duality of his nature warred within him: the holy protector longing to vanquish evil while simultaneously feeling an inexplicable pull toward it.
As he stood on the precipice of decision, Azrael felt rage simmering beneath his skin—anger at the beasts that haunted his dreams and anger at himself for being drawn to them. They were abominations, yet he couldn't deny their allure; they were enchanting in their darkness, captivating in their chaos.
With each breath he took, he could feel himself teetering on the edge of submission to this dark temptation. The voices grew louder now, urging him to embrace what lay within those woods—to surrender to the intoxicating power that awaited him among the shadows.
But deep down, a flicker of resistance remained—a desperate plea for clarity amid the chaos. I am not just a vessel for destruction, he reminded himself fiercely. I am a guardian.
Yet as he gazed into the depths of the Highland Forest, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that perhaps embracing this darkness could lead to something greater—a chance to wield power beyond comprehension while still holding onto his purpose.
With every heartbeat echoing in his ears, Azrael stood at a crossroads—caught between duty and desire, light and shadow—each choice heavy with consequence as he prepared to confront whatever lay hidden within those ancient trees.
There was no doubt that the woods held secrets, and as Azrael contemplated the idea of an entity lurking within the dense forest, an overwhelming rush of energy surged through him. The thought ignited a primal instinct—a yearning for a being crafted to be his perfect prey, one destined for his blade to sever, one whose ruin he could inflict with pleasure.
He envisioned this creature awakening, becoming a worthy adversary, and the mere possibility sent a thrill coursing through him. Excitement bubbled within, causing him to dig his fingers deep into his palm until a small cut appeared. Yet, he felt no pain; instead, the sight of the crimson bead only intensified his hunger to venture forth.
This being is meant for me, he thought, the fated one.
But as quickly as that thought emerged, Azrael shook his head violently, trying to dispel the distasteful yet alluring visions swirling in his mind. The very idea of finding beauty in darkness both fascinated and repulsed him. He was drawn to the supernatural, intoxicated by its allure and potential, yet loathed the dark beings that thrived within it.
a 'Fated One'.
This was how the elders of spirits had described him during their first meeting, labeling his powers as an ancient blessing—powerful and holy. Yet, they could never fully grasp the true nature of his abilities, leaving them perplexed about their origins and scope.
Azrael scoffed at the concept, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. The term "ancient blessing" felt excessively theatrical, a grandiose title meant to elevate him into a role he never desired. It was as if the spirits were crafting a hero for their own narrative, but the duke was far too pragmatic to be swayed by flattery.
What hero would harbor such twisted and depraved notions? The question echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of the darkness that clung to him like a second skin. His powers had made him a target for the deadly beasts that roamed the land since his youth, subjects of nightmares that had left indelible scars on his psyche.
Each encounter had been a brutal lesson in survival, yet despite the terror they inspired, he could not fully extinguish the flicker of fascination they ignited within him.
As he grappled with these conflicting emotions, each thought spiraled deeper into obsession, feeding a hunger that threatened to consume him whole.
The elders’ words echoed in his mind like a twisted mantra: You are destined for greatness. But what did greatness mean when it was tainted by darkness? What kind of hero would he become if he succumbed to these desires?
Azrael’s heart raced with conflicting impulses. He longed for clarity but found himself ensnared in a web of contradictions. The ache within him intensified as he wrestled with the seductive pull of the forest—the call to embrace both his holy powers and the darkness that sought to entwine with them.
In this moment of turmoil, Azrael stood at the precipice of his own identity—Was his power truly considered to be a blessing? The man himself could never answer this question, and so it remained a constant thought of his.
"Your grace!" A familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
The presence of the approaching figure was one that radiated both cheeriness and sheer nervousness; it was an interesting contrast to the stoic and cold demeanour Azrel felt from his earlier encounter.
The difference between Magnus and Sage's energy was indeed night and day, and it brought a certain level of amusement to the duke.
He turns to see his right-hand man looking concerned, his brown curly hair looking dishevelled and his protruding ebony eyes darting to the ground just for a fraction of a second—a clear indication that the companion had brought some less than cheerful news.
"The elders of the Highland... there has been no word from them."
Ah, what a pain. The duke's face remained unchanged, yet he took in a deep breath, knowing that he could not fully provoke the ancient beings but that his work being disrupted was highly bothersome.
"The catastrophic earthquake must have affected them as well. Given their proximity to the mountains, it's certainly possible that they endured significant damage or destruction to their own structures and settlements." Magnus was swift to offer his thoughts, realising that silence would likely follow after the news.
Azrel understood that this habit was Magnus's way of assuring him and neutralising the potential tension, yet he understood its purpose and valued it nonetheless.
"Let us return to the base to further discuss this matter." The duke's response was brief and concise, his hand resting on Magnus's shoulder for a moment. With that, he walked past the now curious man, leaving Magnus to ponder the potential discussion that was to come.
The duke walked in silence, his sharp eyes sweeping across the walls of a ruined building—now made new and restored with advanced and intricate technology.
Regardless of how much time was required for the completion of the repairs, the duke was comforted by the fact that the repairs were ongoing.
Triskellion was a massive plot of land, one that would undoubtedly require a significant amount of time to fully heal and repair. However, the simple sight of the ongoing repairs was reassuring to him—as he could now feel confident that the damage caused would be mended soon.
"—We're going to die?!"
There came a shriek from around the corner—a sudden, startlingly loud sound that made both the duke and his right-hand man hesitate and stop in their tracks.
Well... that thought was nice while it lasted.
The loud and sudden cry was followed by the sound of children bickering, their voices echoing through the area. "I didn't say that, dummy!" A deeper-sounding voice scolded the younger voice, coming from a boy who was clearly slightly older than the others.
"Then what did you mean by that?!"
"I just said that the earthquake must be a sign!"
"A sign of what?" Another voice, this time belonging to a third child, chimed in with the question, their tone filled with curiosity.
The arguments had become slightly more intriguing to the duke and his right-hand man as they eavesdropped on the conversation, trying to discern what it was about as they remained hidden from the children's line of sight.
"The prophecy!"