Prologue

(Eliezer)

“I want you to hope…” The voice rang clear in a dreamless sleep, as clear as springs in a meadow. It was so dark, so empty, yet so vast. There was nothing, but the potential for everything. A canvas without art. “…when there is despair.” The cold, the sheer ice of it, shattered bones. Even the most stable of firmament, cracked under the tendrils of the night. All there to do is shrivel up and float in the sadness, the hopelessness. The chill of fear was severe. Climbing to anxious heights, like the shards of mountains, their crowned peaks piercing the sky. The shrill dread went beyond the depths, like caves so deep, so lost to sight. However, the voice filled the oblivion and the stygian gloom evaporated.

“I want you to shine in the darkness…” Specks glittered into being, shining, filling the void. It was a woman’s voice that was sure. It lilted and reverberated as an eternal echo in a canyon, it was everywhere. The specks grew larger, forming patterns and symbols. Stars and constellations. The loneliness began to dissipate, like when a family arrives home after having left for so long. “…when you are the only flame.” Suddenly, there was a seething, and everything seemed to pull into one point, a gravity weaving togetherness. Then, it released into a force that reached into the shadows and small places. Like a wave on a stormy sea, it weft all that there was into one. The heat had the strength of eternity, it bored and consumed all that it could. It filled the cold and the terrors. “For it takes but only one to ignite another.” And in the pales, the blues, and the iridescent of the stars, were joined by the oranges, the reds, and the yellows. There was a song amongst them, and it tied what was into unity.

But, the song fell short and the instruments stuttered. The lights flickered out, like a candle without air. They sizzled and smoked and left. They always left in the end, they never stayed. The voice tried to speak again, but it was garbled, interrupted. “You are- “

*

It was still nighttime when the boy shuddered awake, gasping in air, his lungs burning having been without. Sweat made his clothes cling to his body, his skin felt chill. It was a clear night and the full moon shone brightly, among the night and the ancestors. The patterns of the stars told their story across a dark tapestry. According to Raisa, they signified the sigils of the Lost Tribes. The Eyn Menur, the First Men, had the largest constellation. A patchwork of hundreds of stars, depicting a crowned crone. There was a slight breeze, as he looked to the ancestors, the Cor. The boy bowed his head in anger and sadness. His people were gone as well, just like the Lost Tribes.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“You dream too much, kahleht.” A man said, slight disdain in his voice. He sat back to a large tree, keeping watch for the night, as he peeled an apple with a long knife. He had an accent to his voice, one that came with the men across the Western Sea. But, time had softened his voice. The blade scraped across the vibrant red of the fruit, the peel rolling up. His name was Brendt, but Aldrin above, if someone ever called him that, instead of master.

“You do not dream enough, Mestar.” Eli responded, the grinding of Kiel, the language of the Westmen, ached his jaw. The boy adjusted his hands, the iron shackles clinking along with the chains that bound them together. Azyn made him feel sick but did not burn him as it did the Elven forefathers in their height of days. Eli shivered at the thought. There were prophecies that foretold of an Age of Man, but the Elves had never heeded them. They thought that their power and silver blades would be enough to throw off any invader. They almost succeeded as well. But, the West triumphed.

“Kahleht, you should sleep.”

“I do not feel the need to, sir.” He was afraid of the nightmares that Brendt called dreams.

“If you slack tomorrow, as you did yesterday, I will kill you like I have this apple.” His dark eyes glinting from under his hood, not with malice, but with the sincerity that came with the Iron Law of the Pennaeth. The Westmen that came from a far land called Pennyl. Wherever they went, they brought their law with them, no governance of any other land ruled them. Their Ferrous swords sworn to the King-across-the-Sea.

Eli nodded lightly and turned over onto his side, laying down from my crouched sitting position. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift off to sleep, with a pang of fear. He so dreaded the darkness.

I want you to hope…