PROLOGUE: BEGINNINGS

“We have to do something!” Lumeria screamed at the rest of the table. Pale hands gripping her blue satin dress.

The Head Cleric of The Citadel had only taken the role for a month now. Her predecessor having died in the night raids a few weeks prior. It was a wonder that the Blues could muster up enough decision-making powers to actually choose a leader, though this one seemed determined to disappoint the rest of the Communion.

“Sola will be here soon with what she knows.” The First Speaker of the Yellows assured, her hands as usual, clasped on her lap in a sentinel of calm.

A shimmer passed between the air, almost imperceptible if not for the trained senses of the Enspired. Someone had used the transporter. A clever device that transports someone from one location to another, though it has limitations in certain directions. The great double doors opened, the First Speaker was about to rise in joy only to be disappointed when she saw who arrived.

It was the White General, also the Knight Keeper of this order.

“What brings you here Kariso?” The Prime Keeper of the White asked. His bald tattooed head, steaming in preparation for battle.

“News from the Second Hold sir.” The White General said.

Too young, the Prime Keeper thought. Most of the adjutants that now numbered their order were all too young, the older ones set on fighting the battle and now they were dead. The leader of the Ordana of White asked for the message. And with sweat still dripping from his head, most likely from having worn his helmet for hours on end, the white general repeated what the letter in his hand said.

Without reading it, “It has fallen sir. The Dawnhold is gone.”

“What?” Prime Keeper Ramaros questioned, his voice a hammer.

“That’s what it said sir.”

“This can’t be possible!” Lumeria, thankfully, did not scream. But her whispered words were harsh enough to be heard by everyone.

“It is very much possible, my dear.” First Speaker of the Yellow, Ganea, assured her. Her fingers already casting a web of new magics that would signal for the Maestra that her presense was required in the chamber.

“Do we know the details?” It was the High Secretary, a man of quick composure, young, but very well equipped for the task at hand. The Blues were thoroughly prepared for loss it seemed.

“None so far,” the white general said, eyeing his seat beside the Prime Keeper. Not every general was purposefully trained in war. “But we can confirm its veracity.”

“How so?” The High Secretary asked again.

So the Knight Keeper, temporarily commissioned to White General, explained that the Poet of Resistance, another adjutant of the Yellows, had received the message in encoded forms that only the Yellows knew about. Furthermore, a quick and voluntary spell of Veracion[1] was given. All that was spoken were truths.

“A veracion, Keeper? How honorable.” The Grand Warden of the Red finally joined in. Her bulking dark figure menacingly poised for attack even seated down.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Our Opposition is one of utilitarian tendencies, we cannot blame the white general for obliging her request.” Reasoned Ganea. “And we are familiar with the codes. We do not suspect our Yellow brethren.” She said the last part to everyone at the table. As the eldest, Ganea had a way of getting everyone in the Communion to acquiesce.

“As for the Maestra, I believe she is on her way here now.” The First Speaker added.

And not a second later, the Maestra, leader to the Yellows, arrives. Her hair has been thrown to disarray from her usual prim style. Her headdress was affixed strongly, as always, and her golden clothing of an armor was unscathed. No one expected any less, the Yellow General was one who fought from a distance when she knew she would win.

From the transporter she ran directly into the chamber, bypassing formalities and taking head of the table.

“I am sorry for my delay. There has been some matters that needed decisive action.”

“Hopefully not too much decisiveness, general. We still have to lead after all. There is a process to these things.” The High Secretary noted.

Normally the talented Yellow would have sent a piercing glare to the High Secretary but tonight she was silent.

“What is it sister?” Ramaros questioned, taking the Maestra’s hand. The Communion and everyone outside of it was used to the two’s affections by now. Many years have passed and there is no question that the two are very much not in love though a connection binds them strongly.

The Yellow General, leader of the Yellow Ordana, the Maestra, greatest of the Poets, lifted her bowed head, tears spilling like meteors. “I have trapped us here.”

“What do you mean, Maestra?” Still so polite, Ganea asked.

Taking a quick composure, the Maestra answered. She had been in the fourth level of the Citadel’s front walks where most of the battle was being done. She had been guarding the entrance, the only one since they had closed all the others from every floor. It was only half an hour ago that the Darklings began to attack. At first the armies of the Red quickly shut them down but soon enough a few of the better trained Darklings flew their spawns right near the walks. It was there that the Maestra had one of them trapped in a cage of flowing gold, to be given to the interrogators later. She would have left it at that but she saw the White General enter the Citadel with a message and in a brief reprieve she took a glance at her prisoner only to realize that it was no Darkling. It was a Hanan, with the point of his head tattoos peeking from under his helm. Immediately she took a closer look and had her suspicions confirmed. The Darklings were no more, and in their place a betrayal of mankind against the Enspired.

“You are a poet Maestra so I shall expect dramatics, but all of humanity you say?” Lumeria, finally rising to the occasion, clarified.

“It wasn’t just Hanans, Lumeria. It was everyone. I had a dozen or so of them trapped out there, all of different races, all of…humanity.”

“Did you not have them interrogated? Tortured? This Communion would more than allow a veracion to be performed. A hundred of them if you wished!” The High Secretary said.

This time is was Ganea that answered for her leader. “The Yellows have…a method. Information albeit truthful is not always the most honest answer.”

Looking at the shaken Maestra, she continued. “So, we take a peek at their hearts. That which feels never thinks to lie. And you ask it a question. It is painless unlike a veracion. But it is…cathartic. You are hearing the sounds of the heart after all, to be answered in the most raw form is disorienting.

“I am assuming that our leader has performemd this method. That is perhaps the reason why she is so uncomposed. The spell can be traumatic to perform but it does not afford falsities.”

“I—” The Yellow Maestra started before swallowing and continuing, “I had a keeper perform a veracion on some of them as well. I could not accept one-sided information. They have betrayed us, that much is true. Most of them at least. I had to let you know and- and there was another. Something worse had arrived, in a Nighspawn larger and more venomous that any I’ve ever seen. I wanted to fight but the truth of was clear to me.”

Her eyes set steely upon everyone else’s. “Our enemies…the people who have turned against us. They are confident. They trust in their victory. I see arrogance in their hearts and it terrifies me.

“I closed all the doors. Placed a spell that not even my deep sisters can unravel. We are trapped in here and our brothers and sisters shall all die out there. I know it. We must make a plan now before the darkness finds a way to bypass whatever efforts we’ve put to our safety.”

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