Prologue

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He could hear it; he could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest. How it frantically tried to pump his blood to his exhausted limbs. To his enormous, and quite bothersome at the moment, wings. He could feel the strain on his muscles, the exhaustion down to his very bones. 

Could feel the warmth of blood flowing down from his forehead, maybe his eye? Past his cheek and down towards his chin. He noticed that the night sky was becoming darker and darker with every passing second. How that dark seemed so, so intent on swallowing him whole. 

He choked on the smoke in the air, his lungs burning from it. His eyes watered and ached, the quick flashes of light from their bombs blinding him again and again and again. He could see wisps of smoke wafting up into the sky, the random fires they had started in the forest engulfing and burning everything, it touches. 

He could see how angry it was, how it licked the trees and reached towards the skies almost as if desperate to devour it. Although, if given the chance it very well might, he mused. Dimly, he noted the lights weren't as bright anymore, and the fires seemed smudged, as if a filter was coming over his vision. Ah yes, the darkness, how she hates being ignored, so vain and self-centered.

But who was he to deny her what she so badly wanted? Let the darkness swallow him whole. Let the darkness provide him the warmth, the quiet he so desperately, desperately needed. What was his purpose in this world? What was the point of his existence. Was it to slaughter? To mercilessly wipe away his enemies without a second thought? All for what? 

"Why? What was the point of this senseless war? What's a war without a purpose?"

Was it truly as simple as becoming the new ruling family to the Atrians? Be these barbaric merciless fighters, only to battle and kill to figure out their own hierarchy? Was it for land? To prove he and his kin were the strongest and most blood thirsty of them all?

Seemed a bit vicious, but then again, his people where nothing if not brutal and simplistic people. 

He wasn’t stupid, he knew this war would decide either forced peace between them all or wipe them entirely from existence. Who, would eventually rule over all of Atria and its inhabitants, wouldn’t matter much if they all ended up killing each other in the end.

 The ruling family would be crowned by brute force and christened in blood. What a way to set the mood for the new age that would come when the new king was finally crowned. So, it seems, he might be the winning vote. His father had ensured he would be trained to become one of the strongest, fiercest and most intelligent warrior on the battlefield. 

Although he knew that one day he would have to take his father’s seat on the throne, he dreaded it with his entire being. He wasn’t any good at playing politics, he hated those that spoke in riddles and double meanings. 

Either speak your truth or take your forked tongue and sugar coated lies elsewhere, he had no time for it. 

"Become a King? I'd rather eat my own liver than deal with those fools’ day in and day out. Father was always better at dealing with those clowns than I ever was."

He was so tired, so very, very tired. His wings faltered and his body dipped for a second. He gritted his teeth and forced his wings to keep flying. Why though? He didn't know the answer to that. 

Maybe it was from years of conditioning his body to push past the point of exhaustion, or maybe it was the feeling of unfinished business. The feeling that he hadn't reached where he needed to go, his soul restless, his body agitated as well as exhausted. 

He pushed and pushed and pushed. Pushing his body well past the point of no return. He could hear the tendons snapping in his wings, could feel the slow burn crawling up and into his spine. His muscles beginning to fail him, one by one. Before he could truly understand what was happening, he was falling.

Falling

Falling

Falling

His body smashed onto the unforgiving earth. Skin tearing, bones breaking, nerves screaming in agony from the onslaught of information with which it was being bombarded. He felt the air leave his body, his breath wheezing out of his weakened and bruised lungs. Yet through the agony, the disorientation, he felt it. 

Felt the feeling of attainment, of completeness, of purpose. He heard a gasp, his muddled pain laced mind trying to orient itself enough to figure out from where the noise came from. 

He forced his broken body to cooperate and used the last of his waning strength to turn his head to the side. His failing eyes scanning the environment as best as he could. Dark inky spots began to pop up in his vision. He could see a small figure making its way over to him, it looked like it was…a child? 

No, it looked to be a small female. It looked like she was running towards him? He was tired, his body an array of misery and agony, yet he had never felt more at peace than he did at this very moment. As his vision began to fade out, they centered on a pair of bright blue eyes. Over the roaring in his head, he heard her soft and dulcet voice distantly. 

"I've got you; rest now nosweh"