CHAPTER ONE

ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN YEARS LATER

-[]-

Aryei was born under the three passing suns of the world, and the first time she'd seen them again was the night she lost hope in the ideals of mankind.

As she struggled across the sharp-tilted stones, she couldn't help but laugh at the irony of such an end. An entire existence, buried deep under the earthen colony of Haios, and the one time she'd been able to emerge, it was the end of her entire civilization.

Her long black hair mingled with her pooling blood, dark crimson against her olive skin. There was a wide wound across her stomach- one she didn't dare glance at- that had been bit open by a passing bullet.

In the center of the suns hung the crimson glow of the moon Khemera, which stared back down in its vengeful gaze, a shapeless icon of hubris long past. Perhaps it was a savior, perhaps it was mocking her; either way, she didn't care. She was done.

With her right arm, she positioned her upper torso so that she was gazing westward, far past the lift that would carry the gatherers to the surface, and deep into the trees that stood gnarled, grasping at a sun that had once singed the wings of Icarus in a time ancient and unknowable.

There he was- the man that had committed the crime, clad in strange, clicking armor, stark in silver and adorned in blood. Hanging from a massive shoulder pauldron was a royal blue flag, across its stitching a gold emblem unknown to her. Though it was formidable in its presentation, the man inside was anything but. His eyes were gaunt, hidden under a curtain of lengthy white hair. Despite all he'd just commanded, they were mournful. Surrounding him were his men, all engaged in an argument that refused to end. All of his attention was put towards her brother.

Elias. The weasel. The demon. He was crying, his sharp features drawn and hollow. How dare he. Of everything she'd lost that night- Braham, Vahran, Liet- he was what hurt most, because he was the one to live, and he was the one to summon him, and he caused this-

Enough was enough. There was a coremag rifle to her right, abandoned by one of the last few sentries to stand their ground, one cut down alongside her. Marcan. He'd died instantly; the lucky bastard. Earlier that day, when he descended into the village to deliver instructions to the gatherers allowed outside, they'd talked about the coming festival, about his daughter being old enough to handle larger crowds and louder environments.

It was over, now. Marcan couldn't make a change in any of this, but she could- she could make all of this worth it. All that had to happen was a singular, lateral move.

She extended her right hand, fingernails scraping against the stones, and grit her teeth. Gods, it was humid outside. The agony in her stomach was undying. It wasn't pain that she felt; at least, not in the traditional sense of the word. It was an emptiness, a lack of sensation that bothered her, as though something was missing. Who am I kidding? There is something missing. Even though she couldn't, she felt like laughing.

It was close, now. Every pull was a screaming muscle, every inch the growing sensation of her heart beating in her head, and every grasping hand a bleeding palm.

Finally, with one tug, the scratched wooden butt of the rifle entered her hand and was pulled close. It was one of the oldest in her people's collection, one built long before the Ashen Age. Despite not being properly maintained, there was the familiar warmth inside the barrel from a battle shortly past. Her mind was dwindling. All she wanted to do was fall asleep.

Don't. She wasn't often one to talk with herself, but she needed to, just to keep her motivation up. Don't.

She raised her left arm across her chest and used it as a firing level. A closed eye, a shakily held breath, a glance through the lens. First her aim was at Elias, then it shifted to the slaughterer, a change in priority. There was a firing procedure to coremag weapons. Long ago, Braham had taught her, if only to keep her need to explore the surface satiated.

Step one, pull the rear trigger.

Step two, wait for another click after the magnets are drawn together in reverse polarity.

Step three, load the coremag round.

Step four, fire.

She made it to step two before Elias, using the same weapon given to him when he'd turned eighteen, fired and struck her down.

-[]-

There, in the dreamless space between life and death, Aryei lingered as a formation of memory. It lie somewhere between emptiness and haven; though she wished only to move on to nonexistence, there was a comfort here, a peace. Pain had left, and though she was lonely, loneliness itself had its charms. At the very least, her father's incessant, humorless jests had ceased. Good riddance.

That memory, itself, brought her back to the reality of what had happened. There was the pain. Though she wasn't aware of how much time passed, she'd allowed herself to forget, even momentarily. At the very least, it would be over soon; at least she hoped. The end was near.

“It appears you have met a dire fate." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, all at once, and though she couldn't see- or feel, for that matter- the sensation of being watched came over her. It was the tonality of dry leather. “I have seen the same happen to many a man, and many by my own teeth."

Speech came with difficulty until she simply let go. “Leave me. Leave me, and let me pass on."

“I am not one for taking orders, and you would find it best to listen to my words. At the very least, I will be company in your final moments."

Just as I was getting used to silence. “Stop speaking in riddles. What do you want?"

“I wish to live, just as you do."

“I don't-"

A low growl. “Are you certain? Why is it, then, that you hold on?"

“I'm not holding on." She wasn't so sure. “ Why would I? There's nobody left. It's all gone!"

The voice drew nearer. “There may not be anyone left, Aryei, but there is something you can achieve."

She wished to cry. “What?"

“I can tell it, from deep within your mind- a need, a hunger."

That was right. Perhaps, if all worked within her ways, she could achieve redemption. She could, inevitably, make everything right.

“Decide, quickly. Time is short."

That was it. At the very least, she needed to try.

“I accept your offer, creature."

-[]-

Khitan swung his slim shoulders to the side, narrowly avoiding a forward strike from his opponent as it swept his fur. A tenth-stage prince of the eide people, it was far from a fair fight, but it didn't matter- there was something enjoyable about having the advantage.

Sweat beaded underneath his thick white fur, and dripped from the edge where his flesh led to the outwards onyxglass monitor. The azure blaze of esperstone within the monitor, a flame carrying his body's internal strength, allowed the traced image of an animalistic face to reflect in the smooth pane, and its eyes were focused, its jagged maw clenched. His black-tinged ears, long and pointed, were pitched back in calm anticipation.

After narrowly avoiding an overhand attack, he swung his staff sidelong, catching his foe in the waist. Khitan hadn't bothered to remember their name- he rarely did when chosen as champion of an argumentative duel.

It was held in the central rotunda found in the citadel of Heart, built within the mountains near the western coast, far from the squabbling of men, and disparate from the other intelligent races that adorned the land. It was a beautiful work of architecture, a framework of carefully catered gardens and gleaming marble through which his community prospered. Of all species to rise from the great burning, the eide excelled most. Perhaps it was due to the tenacity of their being, or, perhaps, it was their wit.

There had long been questions of what they were, exactly, and though they were a curious race of curious minds, they, themselves, never quite put the pieces together. They healed fast, and they died slow, and- no matter what- their esperstone cores never went out. They were neither automaton, nor being- half-alive, more often than not, was the agreed consensus.

Khitan wasn't here to kill the prince, no- a prince could never spill the blood of another. He was here to prove himself the higher position, as he knew he was. Some in the Society had pride, and others- like Khitan- were pride incarnate. And why shouldn't he be? He slaved for this, made himself into this, and as he swung the staff upwards and connected it with the other duelist's neck, it was over. Briefly the esperstone flashed out, leaving a blank void behind the glass where his expression would be, and he fell. Then, slowly, light returned, and the battle was truly won.

Khitan let his mind rest and slowly regained a grasp on the environment outside the arena. He had the irritating tendency to over-focus on any subject he set his mind to- an asset at times, a distracting nuisance at others. Standing on tiered rotunda seating was the inner consulate, a collection of nobles and princes that chattered among each other, the mouth lines shining through the onyxglass window giving him just enough to clue in certain words in combination with audible speech.

“..success ind-"

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“General-"

The crowd was hushed when, marching towards the center of the rotunda like a wayward bull, the highprince of Sanctuary accosted Khitan's ruler. “There was a direct imbalance in the capabilities of our duelists. I demand-"

“Yes, there was." Khitan couldn't help himself- an old force of habit. He spoke loud enough for it to echo through the rotunda. This drew gasps from the crowd, though he didn't mind, not one bit. “That is what a duel is for, no? To display the imbalance?"

His highprince raised a hand in warning, allowing his duelist's another moment to speak. “We cannot have a highprince without the rigorous specificity of standards, just as we cannot have a duel without proper oversight."

Khitan's highprince offered a sympathetic nod. “There is no need to worry, Vectius. We have ensured that both combatants are equipped and prepared equally."

Khitan felt his fur bristle, his monitor growing hot as the esperstone released more energy. If he could, he'd speak to Vectius himself- hells, he already had- but he knew where the boundary was, and he knew that he'd already brushed up against it. The last thing he needed was for glory to turn sour in the eyes of the consulate.

Vectius took the comment, his jaw visage tightening, before he turned and marched back the way he came. The announcer, a small brown-furred eide in a white robe, bowed before making the proper announcement. “The consulate recognizes prince Khitan as the rightful master of this engagement. May his valor rise, and may his accomplishment be acknowledged by the wider kind."

He bowed, himself, as the traditional mountainvine leaves were showered upon the aging marble around him. His combatant, expression one of masked frustration, tapped his monitor against his own- a symbol of mutual respect- before he turned and pressed onward, disappearing under the arched hall door.

Gaeva, his trainer, approached him. He was rather tall for an eide, and his dark gray fur was offset by the jagged frustration present in his red display. “It seems you continue to have a distaste for decorum."

“My opponent displayed no decorum."

“Your opponent displayed plenty of decorum, Khitan."

The frustration was building. “My duelist wasn't my opponent in this matter, were they?"

Gaeva groaned, the sound a tinny echo from inside his monitor. “You know exactly what I meant when I told you-"

“-The stairwell is constructed only of microcosms called steps.' Yes, Gaeva, I know. But that's not how I work. I care not for whomever they send into my ring, I care about my future as-"

A paw settled on Khitan's shoulder. “And that is exactly why you draw such contention in every move you make. You care about your future position, about leading a den of our people- are you aware of what you just did?"

“I made my point, and silenced a highprince."

Gaeva was unimpressed, his expression barely changing. “You denied your opponent the glory he deserved. A sign of foolishness, of greed."

The hypocrite. “He deserved no glory! He lost!"

“He fought for the glory of his den, Khitan. That deserves valor enough! I cannot train you without you understanding why it is that our Society functions, and why it is that our functions persist to this day."

The room was starting to dwindle, voices dying down as the consul exited the arena. There would be celebrations to come, and parades to follow in the coming day, and yet, all Khitan wished to do was retire to bed. His mood was, officially, ruined. “I will be present in the morn for our discussion of what is to come, and what can be fixed. Leave me for now, Gaeva."

His educator seemed genuinely hurt, and though there was a pang of guilt that refused to die down, he'd made his point clear. This was not the time for corrective action- he won, and he knew, deep down, that it was something Gaevan appreciated.

After the celebratory noise died down and the consulate dissipated fully, Khitan took his staff, sat to the side of the arena, and, in his solitary meditation, began to polish it. He bore a slight smile, esperstone light faint. He spoke to himself in a soft tone, a soothing tactic he'd kept since he was young, all those decades ago. A small smile crept across his monitor. “Another step forward, another two to go."

-[]-

Aryei was born under the three passing suns of the world, and the second time she'd see them was her awakening.

Gods, they were bright, so bright that they'd become blinding. Surrounding her were moving blades of grass that shivered freely. They clung to and wrapped around her boots, to her blood and filth-spattered clothes, to her cold , scabbed fingers. Her head was tilted to the side, and her neck was so incessantly stiff that she feared moving it at all. She watched as an insect, thick-legged and with four stone wings, descended and was promptly pulled beneath the earth, just as she read in the records.

Often, she and Elias would sit, nestled between overturned boxes in the cave archives while they studied the aging texts. It was something of a ritual. They were only allowed to do so because of their father's status within Heios, of course, but that factor never made itself present. After everything that she'd just experienced, she considered just how much the others weren't allowed to know. She never knew there were other people left outside their village at all.

It was then that the alien nature of her environs finally struck. She was far, far away from what remained of Heios, and, worse of all, alone. In a panic she lifted her shirt, revealing a deep, red scar where the wound was, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Her head felt whole, too, thank the suns for that.

She refused to stop and riddle out everything that had transpired- doing so would just kill time, and time was the last thing she could afford. Instead, she took inventory of herself, finding nothing but the belt around her waist and a journal to her side- nothing to write with, of course.

As she clambered to her feet she couldn't help but pick out each and every individual sound around her. Unlike the thunderous, echoing conversations and rumbling work of the cave in which she'd lived, the outside's noise was more tranquil in its nature. Weasels, white-furred and red-eyed, crept out of knots in the trees and carved bark away for later eating with their curved talons, and under the marbling sky's azure-and-violet hue birds communed at treetops. There was something else; the footsteps of something lumbering, stalking its prey. It was time to leave.

Though she'd been miraculously healed, each step still fired pain through her aching muscles and healing cuts. Direction wasn't considered, nor was destination; all she could do was walk in a stumbling gait and consider what had happened.

Was it Khemera himself? Despite not believing in the higher beings, she'd never perceived the god of destruction to have a merciful mind. For as much as she riddled and poked at every conceivable possibility, none of them made sense. What had happened happened, and what was to come was unknown. Everything she knew was locked away in Heios, and Heios was long gone. Death to memory, onwards to knowledge. She liked that. Maybe, if she had a godsdamned pencil, she could've written it down.

“You are awake."

That voice. The same one from her death, the same one who offered his pact. She froze, hands shaking, unsure of whether to face it or not. This was her doing, and yet, when faced with the possibility for answers, the thought of knowing them brought dread. Still, she turned to face it- not because she knew it was behind her, but because she could feel it.

There, shadowed behind a collection of fanning luminescent leaves, was a creature. It stood on two tall, muscular digitigrade legs, black claws pushed into the soil. Its shoulders were broad, back hunched, long arms forwards on the ground. Its entire body was covered in thick golden fur, and round its neck was a dark mane, which flowed with a gravity of its own. Its eyes were infinitely, impossibly black, ringed with a golden iris, and though its snout was thin and pointed, four large, curved fangs poke out of the jowls.

The combination of shock and post-sleep haze that had been protecting her up to this point finally wore off, and she found herself on the ground, backpedaling as best she could, until her back collided with a large, overturned stone. Her entire body couldn't stop shaking, and she found it hard to remember how to breathe. She'd never felt anything like this, even during the massacre- pure, unadulterated panic.

The creature approached slowly, head low and steps paced. She couldn't look as it nuzzled its soft-furred head against her own, and when it spoke, its tone was calm, reassuring. “It is alright, child. You are safe." She couldn't face it. “Rest calm. Rest easy."

Finally, she found the courage to breathe, and it happened in deep, shaky gasps. It took a few moments, but soon, against her best intuition, she stood and embraced the monstrosity's head. Even though she hadn't been able to for years, she allowed herself to cry. They remained together as the winds whipped the forest, until, finally, Aryei felt able to move on.

The beast swept its thick, bushy tail across the dirt as she withdrew. “You are stronger than I expected. I should have known; I carried you for miles."

The words were hard to form. She was humiliated enough as is. “It comes with work."

“Mm. I see." He paced around her, pushing past the bushes. With every step, his claws sunk into the soil. “I was worried, you know. I could not predict if you were to make it. Sometimes an empath passes halfway through a pact; I would have remained dead, myself."

She felt a pang of irritation at his insistence on speaking around her. “Please, explain yourself. What's happening to me?" Her throat was so dry that every word hurt. “Water."

“What?"

“Is there water nearby?"

“Yes, there is a stream-" He tilted that large head, and it was all the indication she needed.

She bolted for it, and though she'd momentarily forgotten the muscular pain it was right back to where it started. The water was fresh, clean. After drinking her fill, she took large handfuls and ran it down her face, clearing it of old sweat and blood.

The creature followed, walking on all fours, and settled next to her. “I will answer your questions, as best as I can. Tell me first: what is it you plan to do?"

“That's a vast question, creature."

“I only ask to that I may assist you best."

For a moment, Aryei considered lying, telling him a more noble goal. The time for nobility was dead- it served her best to be honest. “I intend to kill the bloodspiller of Heios, and then I'll kill my brother."

There was a low, growling laugh. “I see. Is it true that you do not know?"

Another drink. “Know what?"

“Of the realms of man, those free of your dwelling."

“No." It was then that his knowledge of her mind struck her. He did call her by name. “How are you aware of that?"

“I have peered into your memories- at least, momentarily. The process of forming a pact is a strange one."

“It's true. I was taught that we were the only humans left."

“Then that is what many wanted you to believe. It is possible that your leader was unaware, himself; generations have a tendency to neglect, to forget. There are few humans left, but they remain strong in their number, the same as other creatures in destruction's wake." He dipped his head and took a drink, as well. “Some live free in settlements like your own, and others in larger collectives. I saw a glimpse, in the twilight of your mind. A glimpse of a man bathed in blood."

Though she didn't wish to remember, she needed to stop locking things away. “Do you know who he is?"

“I am unsure of his identity, specifically- I have ceased to exist for twenty years- but I know the symbology of the flag on his pauldron. He is a servant of the Grand Decree, the single largest unification of man after the grand combustion. I served an Empath in my last life, one under their banner. We were brethren- as best brethren two entities as disparate as man and Guardian can be.

“Though our companionship was pure, the deeds we committed were anything but. The realms of man are always contentious, and the Decree is conflict made manifest. It would do you well to abandon your need for vengeance, Aryei. No good can come from touching the sun."

He was a hypocrite, then- of course he'd bring her back, just to take her purpose away. “Then what else am I to do?"

“We keep going, and we see what we can achieve. Perhaps, even, a new life, one peaceful and solitary. I am a tired god."

As if he couldn't get worse. “What are you?"

“I am Luciaphon, and I have been known as many things. A beast, a god, a spirit. I suppose all are true, in some way. Under service to the Grand Decree, I was known as a Guardian, and I suppose that suits me well enough. Some humans are known as Empaths- their terminology, as well. When an Empath encounters a specific event- be it trauma, or death, or injury- they may be chosen by a Guardian for a pact. Doing so binds them together."

It made sense, then, why there was an underlying familiarity. “Then what does that bond entail?"

His dark eyes were unreadable, though he sounded sick of explaining himself- if he'd lived and died several times, it made sense. “You die, I die. I die, you die. We are bound. We can speak through our minds- it will take time for you to learn the process. Most importantly, you have access to my capabilities."

“Which is?"

“Each guardian has their own. Mine is of the earth. You will see. There is one final aspect to our companionship- your time is limited, borrowed. Five years is all you have left."

It was too much to take in, particularly now. Five years. “Why did you choose me, then?"

“My spirit was wandering mindlessly. We only gain conscience when near a calling Empath, a soul on the brink. There were two left alive. I was drawn towards you, in particular. I see myself in you." He looked through the treeline suddenly, and bared his fangs. “We must hunt. I am hungry."

His change in tone after such a miserable set of circumstances was flabbergasting. “I thought you were a god."

“Something of a god. Even gods had their feasts."

KNOWN FACTS OF OUR WORLD

DIREWOOD

After destruction comes life anew, and this is no different for the fauna of the world. In a bid to survive, plant life evolved rapidly to grow faster and larger. Additionally, many species developed more carnivorous appetites. Asntelligent organisms must be just as careful around their environments as they are with predators.