Chapter One

2460 AoH

Strikes of lightning split the sky and annihilated the earth. Thunder crashed violently. The ground shook as it resounded through the kingdom. The road erupted. Debris scattered away from the explosion with deadly force. Citizens jolted backwards, crashing against the walls of their shops and homes. Their bodies flew through the air like dolls being tossed between children; their limbs flailed before shattering when they landed forcefully on the ground. Blood seeped between the cracks in the stone, its sharp scent scarring the air as a reminder for the days ahead of the destruction that took place.

The muddied boots of Librona's armored soldiers splashed across the cobbled road as they hurried to join the commotion in the town. Their battle cries were lost amidst the chaos of war thundering around them. Women and children scurried in every direction; their anguished screams and cries echoed and haunted the night. Deep voices barked orders only to be drowned in frantic desperation. Swords were drawn from their sheaths; the shwings of the steel threatened in unison. Their blades reflected the orange glow of a city in ruins. Unarmored citizens took up improvised weapons. Pitchforks, axes, and scythes paraded through the streets, gripped by calloused hands, eagerly joining the kingdom's army in the fight for their home.

The witch clad in black – making her almost invisible in the night – stood erect in the center of the town. Her golden eyes pierced the darkness as the dust lifted from the explosion. Her pale face was cold and hard, her jaw clenched. Her eyes narrowed in an angry focus as she stood in the wake of her attack. Her dark hair was obscured to the darkness of the stormy night, and stray strands of wet hair dragged across her pale face. The rain dropped like cold daggers, stinging against her skin. Her black dress clung to her small, delicate frame and wrapped around her legs with the wind. She raised her head as she looked over the cowering village and she lifted her arms above her, palms up towards the angry sky. A ball of fire grew from nothing above her, hovering just over her open palms. The flames flickered and danced, anxiously waiting to feed on the ruins of the village. The heat was warm and encouraging against her palms, and the glow of the flames was bright against the hollowness of the dreary night. Her arms trembled as the ball grew rapidly, out of her control, and as a result, it exploded above her. The force threw her backwards, but she landed swiftly on her feet and pushed herself forward once more to continue her attack. She threw her arms in the air once more, thunder rumbling above, and she summoned the fire within her.

The soldiers hesitated in their pursuit, their frightened eyes fixed on the magic that threatened their lives. The witch took advantage of their hesitation and hurled the fireball at her opponents. Soldiers and citizens scattered in all directions. Those who were too slow found themselves face to face with their death as the fireball exploded against the cobblestone road. The flames clung to the streets and rampaged through the village, feeding off of the wood homes. Bodies lay motionless around the city, burned and scarred and barely recognizable. The scent of charred skin and hair mixed sickeningly in with the metallic scent of blood. Women and children cried out to their husbands, brothers, and sons before scurrying away in desperate attempts to find safety.

The witch gawked at the sight of the marred and mangled bodies, feeling a twang of guilt in the pit of her stomach, but as the soldiers took up their weapons once more, she sent another fireball loose with a sense of desperate urgency. It exploded when it made contact with the burnt and battered road. Ash and debris flew into the homes and shops; their wooden frames split and shattered. Old, thatched roofs erupted into a hellish inferno. The fire engulfed the buildings within seconds. Screams escaped from the burning homes that no longer offered safety to its residents. Bodies stumbled through the black smoke, coughing and choking and reaching for one another. The witch hesitated, flinching as the screams of those trapped inside rose above the crackling flames and stampeding soldiers. Her wide eyes darted around the burning village until they settled on the kingdom's soldiers.

The soldiers rushed towards her once more with swords in hand, their battle cries rising above the panicked city. The witch's frantic gaze remained as she feebly threw her arms out before her in an attempt to summon another spell to throw at her attackers. Her face creased with fear when no magic burst forth from her open palms. Her eyes darted between the charging soldiers as she realized she had grown too weak to continue the fight. The magic she had grown accustomed to, flowing warmly through her body, was thin and cold. She was empty. She closed her eyes.

A flash of light struck the town, temporarily blinding those within its walls. The soldiers shielded their eyes with their arms until the light subsided. When the world dimmed, they peeked between their arms to see that the witch with fire had vanished.

Despite the disappearance of their enemy, the witch's threat loomed above the panicked village. The soldiers turned to the crumbling town. Defeated, they returned their swords to their sheaths.

"It will be back," the army's commander reminded his men. "We must remain on guard for when it returns and protect these people."

The soldiers nodded and murmured to one another. They hurried to the bodies of their comrades, checking for the pulses of any survivors. They comforted the citizens, aiding them in their search for lost loved ones, and taking away the bodies of those who had been subjected to the witch's power. The townspeople huddled together, their heads bowed as they consoled one another.

The rain continued to fall as the citizens mourned their friends, their hair plastered to their wet faces. Soldiers came together, mounting their horses to report to their king, while others stayed behind, protecting what remained of the little town. The soldiers urged their horses forward, their hooves splashing in the puddles along the cobblestone road as they headed out of the city and to the castle. The soldiers in the city kept solemn watch through the night, praying that the witch would not return.

#

The rising sun peeked over the distant mountain range, its purple summits just shadows against a yellow morning sky. A lush valley stretched away from the mountains, sparkling with the glitter of morning dew, and disappeared into a vast forest. Leaves of browns and greens tickled the waking sky. The old, decaying castle that belonged to the kingdom's enemy, Scarletta, sat quietly at the edge of the forest, under the looming shadows of the mountains. Black clouds stretched towards the mountain range, bringing with them the threat of a storm. Distant lightning flashed and cut through the sky.

Scarletta stood over a wooden table, worn and beaten; it's nicks and dips held memories of struggled years as Scarletta anguished over each spell and potion she had created. Her vivid red locks fell swiftly across her face from their hold behind her ears as she mixed the colorful liquids. The glasses bubbled and steamed as each liquid was married to another. Red, green, and black smoke billowed over each vessel, filling the room with a scentless fog. The witch was still as her concoctions came to life, but her expression remained cold and hardened. She filled a pointed, sharp tool with the magical liquid and walked to the far corner of the room where a dark shadow huddled.

Golden eyes split the shadow and scanned the room in fright. Scarletta knelt on the ground beside the young woman and inserted the syringe into her arm. The golden eyes winced slightly, but otherwise, were still. When the tool was empty, Scarletta rose and returned to the table to carefully rearrange the glasses.

The young woman in the corner stood and stepped into the warm, yellow light that streamed through the dirty window behind her. Her dark hair framed her pale face and nearly blended in with her dark dress. The dress made her look remarkably plain, but her facial features were perfection, as if carefully sculpted by patient hands over many years. Her eyes – pained and sad – and brows were stunningly symmetrical, spaced evenly apart. Her brows arched neatly over her almond shaped eyes. They seemed to frame her small, straight nose just so, in the center of her face, just above her soft, pink lips. A sunken dimple emerged when her lips twisted to the side, but otherwise, her skin was smooth and ageless. Not a scar or imperfection marked her young, delicate, but rigged body.

"Does it please you, Calliope?" Scarletta asked. She did not turn to the witch behind her. She worked at clearing the glasses and gathering the pages that were scattered on the table. "Does it satisfy you to disappoint me?"

The witch behind her did not speak. She remained perfectly still, waiting to feel the awaiting wrath of her master. The pain was something she knew would follow after every failed attempt to destroy the kingdom of Librona.

Scarletta, however, did not expect a response. She turned to the young witch, her wavy red hair twisting around her and caressing her frame. Her gaze narrowed on her witch. "You are careless," she scolded. "If you continue like this, they will not show you mercy."

Calliope nodded without uttering a word. She forced her shoulders back, appearing confident as Scarletta looked her over, but her heart raced and her knees trembled under her master's powerful glare. "I will be better," she said softly.

"I put a lot of time and effort into you," Scarletta said, her lips pulling into a slight sneer. "I expect you to use yourself to your full potential. I am not finished with you yet, but I will throw you to the Nequam if you continue to fail me."

Calliope winced at the remark, stepping back slightly as if to catch herself from a fierce blow.

A small smile pulled at her lips, and Scarletta turned back to the table, marrying the liquids together. "Destroy every last village," she said, her voice stern. "Do not come back until the job is finished. Then, we will go to Alryn together, and I will tear King Sloan limb from limb." Her voice hardened. "Spare your strength. Do not let me down."

Without a word, Calliope turned and let herself out of the dim room. Scarletta continued to busy herself with her potions for a moment, then turned and approached the nearby window. She smiled as she gazed out over the forest and toward the horizon. Though she could not see the village, dark plumes of smoke marred the sky from the earlier attack. There was no doubt in her mind that Calliope was far superior to her other witches, despite her carelessness. Soon, all of the kingdom of Librona would look the way Talmond did. Scarletta would have the revenge she waited for; Librona would pay for what they did to her.

The door behind her opened, bringing Scarletta out of her thoughts. She did not turn to welcome her visitor, but spoke nonetheless.

"After all these years, Mallius," she said. "After all these wasted witches; it is finally happening. Librona will know my true power, and they will regret their actions." She turned to the creature and smiled.

Mallius returned her grin with his own rotted smile. His teeth, thought stained and decaying, were sharp and deadly. His black, hunched gargoyle-like form loomed in the doorway, just barely fitting through the frame. The castle interiors contained unusually large rooms to accommodate the creatures Scarletta called her Nequam, but Mallius was among the largest and most terrifying.

"It is only a matter of time before Calliope finishes them off," Mallius said, his voice deep and harsh, though his grin was sly and eager.

"The spell is nearly perfect," Scarletta said, returning to the table. Among the bottled potions lay her notes, scattered and worn. "She's just the witch I need to complete this. The kingdom will not stand a chance." She paused and her lips twisted to the side. "Pity to see her sacrificed, though. She is truly the best of all my creations."

"Her death is just," Mallius reassured his master. "The kingdom will be yours. You will have no need for tools like her."

"She is but a pawn in this war," Scarletta confirmed with a nod. "And Librona is only the beginning. I will have my revenge on what this world has done."

Mallius dug his class into the wooden floorboards. His black, leathery wings stretched out beside him, nearly filling the width of the room.

"Patience, Mallius," Scarletta said, her voice smooth and endearing toward her excited pet. She turned back to the window, imagining a barren and burnt kingdom, all finally hers. "Once Calliope returns, we will have our fun."

#

Librona's soldiers traveled towards Alryn, the capital city of Librona where the castle of House Sloan stood tall at the northern border. They galloped their horses through the waking and unaware city, following the cobblestone streets up the hill and through the front gates of the castle grounds, stopping only when they reached the front courtyard. The captain of their battalion slid off his horse as they came to a stop and bowed his head to King Sloan as he trotted down the stone steps of the castle.

"There has been an attack on Talmond," the soldier explained. "One of Scarletta's witches."

King Sloan's jaw clenched. "What are the damages?"

"The city's in ruins. Everything is destroyed. There are many civilian casualties as well."

"Where is the witch?" he said between his teeth.

"It just vanished. I have dispatched my men to search for it." His tone changed, hopeful. "It appears to be weak."

King Sloan turned his gaze to the horizon. The corner of his lip pulled slightly. "That means nothing," he hissed. "Do not underestimate Scarletta's power." He turned his attention back to the captain. "We must be proactive in weakening Scarletta's defenses. Find that witch and destroy it."

The soldier bowed to his king, then mounted his horse once more. He shouted to his troops, ordering to begin their search through the kingdom of Librona. They took off at a gallop through the dark city and towards the distant forest that marked Librona's southern boundary where Scarletta's castle was tucked away between the kingdom of Librona and the kingdom of In'audis. The forest of Do'lor, however, was large and dense. Not only did it make travel difficult, but it also dettered the southern kingdom of In'audis from providing any assistance to Librona in their war against Scarletta.

Librona's only other neighbor and ally remained to the north of them; the seaside kingdom of Asmar. While the kingdom aided them in the past, they quickly withdrew after the death of their beloved king. The kingdom refused to help their southern ally as their own kingdom struggled to remain afloat under their young ruler. With no other heir, their focus was to keep their kingdom alive for as long as possible.

King Sloan stood on the steps of his castle, gazing over the waking city. The kingdom struggled in their war against Scarletta without an ally, especially after Asmar pulled out of the war. King Sloan never doubted King Rowan's decision, but they were crumbling under Scarletta's reign of terror, and Asmar would surely be next.

He absentmindedly stroked his beard, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Over the years, King Sloan couldn't help but to slowly lose hope in their war against the witch. He didn't know how much longer his kingdom would last; the odds did not seem to be in his favor. His stomach churned as his mind turned to his wife and children. He never wanted his children to grow up in world where war threatened their home. He would keep them safe at any cost. Perhaps King Rowan would let them stay in Asmar while the war raged on in Librona. Surely even he couldn't hold King Sloan's children responsible for the demise that had befallen Asmar.

King Sloan headed inside the castle as the sun came out from hiding beyond the horizon. With Scarletta's attacks still on his mind, he made his way towards the tactical room. Regardless of their situation, he had a kingdom to run and to fight for. He would fight to the very end for his kingdom, but not blindly. He needed a plan. He needed to ensure his family's safety and he needed to prepare his army for battle. Not only that, but he needed to warn the other six kingdoms of Praecanto. Should Librona fall, there was no doubt in his mind that Scarletta would turn her attention to the other kingdoms. She would not be satisfied until the world of humans was no more.

King Sloan stopped as he walked through the empty throne room. He gazed up at the banners that hung above the red, velvet throne and felt a sudden wave of defeat wash over him. He tried to be a fair king. Scarletta needed to be stopped, but with each passing day, that seemed less and less possible. He couldn't bear to think that he could be Librona's final king, but his options were dwindling rapidly.

Images of his father played through his mind as his gaze fell to the throne before him. As a child, he sat in that very throne, pretending to be the king, when he wasn't at his father's side. "Sloan, a king must be fair and just," his father would say to him. "Sometimes the solution isn't clear. Sometimes things aren't black and white. The world is grey, Sloan. It is your job, as the future king, to bring the color into the world. Do not be quick to judge those who have made mistakes."

He had always looked up to his father. He strived each and every day to be a king his father would be proud of and to continue to earn respect for the Martel lineage. His father never gave up, nor should he. He would fight for his kingdom, even if it meant fighting to the end. He would fight to bring the color back into their gray world.