Amon

Amon had always been a skilled climber, and scaling one of the tall pillars that stood in the church was no challenge for him. As he neared the top, Eve's voice drifted up to him from below, "I don't think we're supposed to be here..."

He paused, hovering just below the ceiling. With a swift movement, he shifted over onto one of the sturdy support beams and settled in for a rest. The wood creaked softly under his weight as he perched there like a bird on a branch. "Don't be such a wuss, Eve. Come up here!" he called down to her.

She hesitated, glancing around nervously. "But what if someone sees us? Can't we just go back home?"

He shook his head. "Up here, no one will find us. We have the perfect view of everything going on below." He looked out over the old church interior. "And do you really want to go back to playing kick the can with Sonja and them?"

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "No."

"Then come on up," he urged with a mischievous grin.

Slowly but surely, Eve made her way up the pillar. She was not as quick as him but he had never once seen her fall down during their many adventures. Perhaps being born in the Undercity shaped you into being a natural at movement. Amon shifted to the right, making space for her as she made her way to the top.

"I guess it is pretty cool up here," she admitted with a smile, settling down beside him.

Below them, the old church interior sprawled out. The wooden pews were lined up in neat rows, their once smooth surfaces now worn and dusty from years of use. Amon spotted spiderwebs clinging to the corners of the room. On the walls there were painted mesmerizing murals, depicting old gods and scenes from ancient myths long forgotten. There were two old doors, leading to who knows where, and a staircase going downward. Maybe they could explore that later too.

“I wonder if the light coming through those windows will fill the room with colors,” Eve said, gesturing towards them. Amon gazed at the stained glass. They were colored in shades of green, red and yellow.

“I imagine so,” he responded. If they were lucky enough to catch the stray sunbeams. Sunlight was scarce in the Undercity; the only consistent source of light came from the lamp posts scattered throughout the city. However, the abandoned church lay on the outskirts, too distant to benefit from their glow.

“We should come back here tomorrow morning then,” Eve said.

“What happened to not wanting to get caught?” Amon raised an eyebrow jokingly at her.

Eve opened her mouth to answer, but Amon quickly clasped a hand over it. “Shhhh!” he hushed at her, gesturing with his index finger against his own lips. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she gave a small nod.

Faint footsteps echoed from the stairs, and voices grew louder and louder. Amon held his own breath as seven hooded figures emerged, walking forward to stand right below them.

“So, you would have us stand at the edge of the cliff blindfolded?” One of them hissed.

Amon and Eve exchanged nervous glances. He slowly put his hand away from her mouth and they both listened intently. This was clearly a conversation not meant for their ears.

“No, but these signs cannot be dismissed. They have been too widespread, too coincidental.”

Amon froze. That was his father’s voice. What was he doing here?

“You want us to risk everything for a mere children's tale, Marcellus!” A third voice filled the air. Amon could not seem to recognize whoever was addressing his father.

“And what happens if we do not, Lucas? If we do not strive for change, there will be nothing in the future to risk.” Another familiar voice; Amon’s uncle.

“Indeed. Gideon is right. We have a responsibility, my friends – a duty. We must act before it is too late,” Marcellus said, causing several figures to nod their heads in agreement. “We must dispatch more than half our members tonight.”

“This is ridiculous! I will not stand here and listen to any more of this. I did not come here to start an open rebellion,” Lucas said, turning away from the others. “You might be willing to risk the life of your own wife and child, Marcellus, but I will not.”

Amon took a sharp intake of breath. His father had told him his mother had died in the mines. What was going on?

Lucas stormed towards the entrance, his frustration evident in his stride. But as he reached the door, a sudden force slammed into it with thunderous power, causing it to crash inward. Before anyone could react, a fierce cut of wind took his head clean off his shoulder. Lucas' head rolled to the ground, eyes open still in shock.

Chaos erupted. Eve’s scream was drowned out by Amon's father yelling out commands and the heavy steps of people rushing into the church. They wore uniforms Amon recognized from when a soldier had visited the mine for inspection.

Amon pulled Eve closer to him and she dug her tearful face into his shirt. Underneath them a battle had ensued. The clash of metal, shouts of anger and cries of pain mingled together. Already five of the hooded people had fallen, their bodies lying still, blood painting the floor crimson.

The soldiers had formed a circle around his father and uncle, but the two men stood their ground with unexpected ferocity. Amon watched in horror and awe as his father wielded his blade as if it was an extension of his own arm, parrying blows and launching counterattacks, holding the soldiers at bay. His uncle was just as impressive, expertly wielding two daggers.

Breaking away from the circle, a soldier charged forward, letting out a blood curdling scream as he hoisted his sword above his head. Amon held his breath. The man’s armor looked slightly different from the others. Marcellus spun to the side, and the soldier's blade hit the church floor with a resounding clang. With a quick movement, Amon’s father drove his own sword through the man’s chest. The soldier’s eyes rolled back into his skull, and he collapsed to his knees. Blood spilling onto the floor as Marcellus withdrew his sword.

“A pity… I had high hopes for him.” A woman's raspy voice echoed through the church. All eyes turned towards the entrance, drawn to the commanding figure that stood there.

She was a towering presence, wrapped in a pristine uniform of winter white with golden details. A cloak as blue as the sky hung from her shoulders, its fabric adorned with swirling patterns of gold that seemed to dance and flow like molten sunlight. Silver hair cascaded down her back, and a mask, as white as bone, covered her face, revealing only a pair of piercing black eyes.

“It's tough training skilled swordsmen, yet, in just one movement you made a fool of a Captain,” she remarked, each step forward as graceful as a serpent's slither. Amon felt a shiver run down his spine. “If only you had been born in the Uppercity…” she trailed off wistfully, shaking her head slightly. “It's truly a shame to see such talent go to waste,” the woman sighed.

“If there was any justice in the council, birthplace would not determine your worth,” Marcellus retorted, clenching his sword.

The soldiers reacted to his slight movement and lifted their weapons again, ready to strike.

“Stand down,” the woman commanded, her voice slicing through the tension. A singular sweeping motion of her arm was all it took for the soldiers to fall back, their spines straight and their weapons back at their sides.

She circled around them, her eyes flickering between Marcellus and Gideon. “You fail to recognize my authority or else you wouldn't dare to address me with such insolence.”

“I am aware of who you are,” Marcellus replied, his tone ice cold.

“Are you now?” She paused in front of them, her gaze challenging. “Then you must be aware that if I deemed you worthless, your life would have ended by now.”

“And what could a high-ranking General possibly need from us?” Marcellus asked, holding her gaze.

“Your little rebellion has caused us more trouble than we would like to admit… Your competence is commendable.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“The man whose life you just extinguished was not only a Captain, but the Overseer of our Second Mine. His position is now left open.”

“And if I decline?”

A smile spread across her face, devoid of any warmth. “I will not be merciful like I was with poor Lucas.”

Amon could see his father tensing up at the mention of Lucas name. He must not have expected her to know so much about them.

Gideon turned to Marcellus. “Accept the offer, Marcellus! We can create change from within with you as an Overseer!”

“No.”

“Why must you always choose the difficult path?” Gideon said, desperation seeping into his tone. “Say yes and everything we have built so far, every life lost, won’t have been in vain, brother.”

“You're mistaken, Gideon. If we align ourselves with them, we will become part of the very thing we are fighting to stop,” Marcellus countered fiercely. “I refuse to partake in it.”

Gideons gaze searched Marcellus face, his hand resting heavily on his brother's shoulder. “Is there truly no chance you will reconsider?”

“I will not, brother,” he replied with a finality in his voice.

“Lucas was right all along…” Gideon muttered under his breath, his hand falling to his side in disappointment. “I had hoped to provide you an opportunity, a second chance. But ever since her passing, you truly have become selfish.” With a swift move, a glint of steel flashed as Gideons dagger dug its way into Marcellus abdomen.

A silent scream left Amon, as he watched his father crumple to the ground, groaning in pain. He wanted to run to him, to do something—anything—but he was frozen in place, unable to move. Gideon towered over Marcellus, a storm of rage and sadness on his face. “You were always too stubborn,” Gideon spat out. “You could have had everything we ever wanted if you just chose to compromise.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“You made the right choice, Gideon,” the woman said, her eyes flicking away from Marcellus' crumpling form. “Informing us of your meetings showed me where your true loyalty lies. You will take the Overseer position.”

Gideon turned away from his brother and bowed towards the General. Amon felt sick to his stomach. His uncle had stood by his father's side when Lucas had objected, so why? Why was this happening? Why had he sold them out?

“Let's depart, there is nothing more left for us here and the stench is starting to bother me,” the woman commanded, and they started to move. Gideon did not spare a backward look as they exited the church, leaving his own brother behind to die.

Several minutes that felt like hours passed before Amon dared to move. But when he did, he moved so fast and with such force that Eve almost toppled over. He rushed to his father’s side, who lay unmoving on the cold floor, blood pouring through his clenched fingers.

Tears blurred Amon’s vision as he knelt beside him, ripping off a piece of cloth from his shirt to stop the bleeding. “Father,” Amon choked out between sobs, pressing the cloth around the dagger protruding from his stomach. He didn't dare pull it out.

His father’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths but there was no response. Amon shook his head frantically as more tears fell down his chin. “No…I won't let you die. You cannot die. You cannot leave me alone.”

“My son…” came Marcellus weak voice.

"Father! Please, hold on, I will get the help you need—”

“You must…” Marcellus' voice was barely audible now, a mere whisper through labored breaths. Amon leaned in closer to catch the last words. His eyes widened in shock as his father’s lips brushed against his ears. The meaning of the sentence burning into Amons mind.

“Promise me you will,” his father continued weakly, a gurgling sound escaping from deep within him.

“I promise father,” Amon vowed through gritted teeth and teary eyes, “I promise.”

Kerrigan

Kerrigan was lost in his book when a ball rolled right between his feet, breaking his concentration. He paused and set the book down on the grass, bending down to pick up the baseball instead. As he straightened up, he saw a figure jogging towards him. It was a boy that he vaguely recognized from this morning's opening ceremony.

“Hey, can you throw that back?” The boy's footsteps slowed as he approached, but as his eyes met Kerrigan’s, his smile faded into a fearful expression. “Oh… Sorry, I hope it didn't hit you. We are just playing, and Darrow hit it too hard.” The boy's eyes looked everywhere but at him.

"It's okay," Kerrigan replied, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. He knew what people were saying behind his back - that he was dangerous and best avoided.

"Here, you can have it back." Kerrigan threw it, expecting the boy to easily catch it. But instead, it hit the boy's nose and blood spurted onto the ground. The boy fell to his knees with a cry of pain. Kerrigan quickly stood up and hurried over. “I didn't mean–” he started with a worried expression on his face.

“Tom, what's taking you so long?” Another boy approached them. His face turned pale as he saw the scene in front of him, then quickly twisted into anger. He pushed Kerrigan away, causing him to stumble and hit the ground.

“What have you done?!” the boy yelled as he helped the boy called Tom back on his feet. Before Kerrigan could explain himself, Tom cried out, “He hit me!”

“What?” Kerrigan stood up again, his fists clenched as he ignored the throbbing pain in his lower back. He hated liars. “I thought you would catch it with your hands, not your face!”

“Shut up! You did it on purpose!” Tom used his sleeve to cover his bloody nose. “My parents were right; you are a freak.”

Kerrigan heard more footsteps running towards them, and three other boys joined them. “We heard Tom yelling. What happened this time, Darrow?” one of them asked.

“The freak showed up,” Darrow sneered, pointing at Kerrigan.

The group of boys all turned to face Kerrigan with hostile expressions. Their eyes drawn to the scar that ran from his neck down his right arm.

“Why are you even here? No one wants you around,” one of them spat.

“Yeah, that's right. He is already out of control,” another one added.

Darrow stepped forward, slowly walking closer to Kerrigan.

“Don't get too close to him, he's dangerous. Remember what happened to his father,” Tom's muffled voice cried out.

Kerrigan felt his scar prickle, and anger started bubbling up in him as memories of the night he lost not only his brother, but father as well flooded his mind. "Don't talk about my father," he growled through gritted teeth.

“I will talk about whoever I want to talk about,” Darrow said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “Or will you set me on fire like you did your own family?”

Kerrigan clenched his jaw. He could feel his control slipping away.

“I asked you a question, freak,” Darrow continued and punched Kerrigan hard in the shoulder.

Something seemed to snap inside him. Without a second thought, he lunged at Darrow and tackled him to the ground. A chaotic frenzy of punches and screams engulfed them, but he was too consumed by his anger to care. Then, the impact of a fist colliding with his head sent him spiraling into a void of darkness.

* * *

Kerrigan hesitated outside the door, feeling a mix of dread and pain. He knew his mother would hear him entering, and that she would want to know about his first day at the new school. But he didn't want to face her. Not yet. Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the front door and stepped in.

“Welcome home Kerrigan!” His mothers cheerful voice rang out from the kitchen. “How was your first day?”

“It was alright, mom,” Kerrigan answered, fumbling with his shoe laces. If he could run into his bedroom, she would not see his face. He would come up with an excuse and say he was feeling sick, preventing her from entering the room. But why weren't these laces untying!? His hands had started shaking and he felt his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“Kerrigan?”

He looked up, and his eyes fell on his mother standing in the doorway. His stomach dropped.

Her eyes widened in alarm. “What happened?” she said as she rushed to his side.

Panic surged through Kerrigan as he tried to avoid her gaze, staring down at his shoes. “It's nothing, mom,” he heard himself say, his hands still shaking with the shoelaces.

His mother gently placed her hand on his. The warmth of her touch calmed him slightly and he felt a knot forming in his throat.

“Here, let me get those for you.” she said softly, quickly untying the laces and helping him to his feet. She guided him to the kitchen table and sat him down in one of the chairs before disappearing out of the room. Kerrigan bit the inside of his cheek. He wondered how disappointed she was with him. The first conversation he had with a classmate had led to a fight.

His mother returned, holding a first aid kit. She sat down in front of him, and inspected his face. As she began cleaning the cut on his eyebrow, tears filled Kerrigans eyes. “Are you angry with me?” his voice was but a whisper.

She paused, looking at him. Kerrigan avoided her gaze once more. “Kerrigan, look at me,” she said, cupping his cheek.

Reluctantly, he met her gaze.

“Why would I be angry with you?” she asked calmly.

“Because…I was in a fight.”

“Well, did you hit them first?”

Her response caught him off guard, but after a moment he shook his head in reply. A tear ran down his cheek and his mother wiped it away with her thumb. He took a deep breath and started telling her about what had happened. She listened patiently, and when he finished, she simply smiled reassuringly at him.

“I'm so sorry that you had to go through that today,” she sighed, as she placed a bandaid on his eyebrow. “But I'm not angry or disappointed in you at all. You stood up for yourself and your family.”

A wave of relief washed over Kerrigan at her words. She wasn't angry with him. He hadn’t disappointed her after all.

“Kerrigan, there are people in this world who will judge you before they even get to know you. Those types of people are best avoided, the kind who don't take the time to form their own opinions,” she continued as she began to clean the cut on his upper lip.

“Are you talking about the prophecy?” Kerrigan asked, looking down at his right hand. The burn mark peeked out from under his sleeve.

His mother’s expression darkened for a moment, but it faded away as quickly as it had appeared. “Yes, the prophecy,” she answered softly, her voice laced with sadness. “But listen to me Kerrigan. You are not defined by that prophecy or by the opinions of others. You are your own person and no one can take that away from you.”

Kerrigan didn't know how to respond, so he gave a weak nod. He had always felt like an outsider because of it. But maybe in the future, things could be different.

“What matters are the people who truly care about you and accept you for who you are,” she said, pulling him into a hug. They sat like that for a moment, and Kerrigan felt his worries starting to melt away.

“Now, come on,” she said, breaking the hug and standing up from the chair. “Let's make some hot chocolate!”

A small smile broke across Kerrigan’s face, his first of the day.