1 Chapter Two

Elise sat at the grime-encrusted window of her small bedroom and watched the sunrise. At this moment, the sky was painted in lovely hues of pinks and oranges. Elise did this often to clear her mind. Life had always been hard with just her and her father. The small town they lived in offered barely any necessities let alone luxuries. And their village was so small and unheard of that it wasn't named and it didn't enjoy the protection of the usual cities here in the Ash Nation. Usually, there were garrisons of soldiers at the bigger or richer towns, but not this one. Elise swiveled her gaze to look at the small ugly building that was so out of place it was almost laughable. It was made of rough stone blocks and covered in moss and ivy. The one soldier that was enlisted to protect the town was now in his seventh stage -when the mind starts preparing for its end- and had retired years ago. He now lived with his wife and children and no one had thought to replace him. Elise let out a sigh. Time to go help her father make breakfast. She walked down the stairs and came into their small but cozy kitchen. Her father was sitting at the maple wood table with his head in his hands and when he raised it to look at her, there were gross bags under his eyes.

"Morning father," she addressed him, concern edging her voice. Merek smiled at his daughter in his comforting way, but it didn't reach his eyes. Elise's father was a good-hearted man -a little mild and quiet but good-hearted nonetheless- who had crinkles by his eyes from smiling or worrying, Elise didn't know. He always made sure to provide for her and loved to read. They had spent many nights discussing politics over dinner and Merek always found ways to insult the royalty and government all the while making his daughter laugh. He brushed off his quiet revolutionary comments with a kind smile and a twinkle of his eye, but as Elise got older, she started to understand the depth of these remarks and the danger that he was putting himself in by making them. Sometimes she wondered if her mother were still around, he would make the same treasonous notes. But she had left many years ago when Elise was too small to remember her. Her daydreams crumbled away into reality as her father spoke.

"I was thinking we could have some fuzzfruit crumble for breakfast today." He said it with a smile. This made Elise even more worried. He knew it was her favourite and he only made it on special occasions or when something bad was going to happen in their lives. But she hid her frown and grinned back at him.

"You know it's my favourite. What's the occasion?" She asked with convincing innocence. But, her father evaded the question.

"Why don't you go pick up the first batch of the summer and we can enjoy a nice breakfast together for once. Doesn't that sound nice?" He didn't leave space for a reply and instead glanced worriedly out the window. Elise sighed, knowing he was done talking to her and pulled on her battered leather hunting boots. She opened the door and looked back once at her father whose head was back in his hands. She shook her head, wondering what was wrong, and stepped out into the early morning light.

Elise watched the rough cobblestone street rush by under her booted feet. She passed brightly painted stalls advertising their merchandise. To the right, there was a lime green and neon yellow stall selling tea and other beverages. To the left, a patchy orange and blue stall housing a grouchy man named Tybalt made it known that he sold fresh vegetables from the next town over. Not that there was much considering the town took ten minutes to walk through. Few people were out this early in the morning, which was a relief because everyone knew everyone in their village, so she enjoyed the peace and the morning light by herself. If Lyra -Elise's best friend- were here, she would chat it up with everyone she saw. But Elise stared at the ground and kept her hood pulled tight over her head, leaving her face in shadows. Their village was surrounded by other tiny towns and forest for miles. Elise ignored the nice weather and pretty view of the neighbouring forest. Her thoughts were focused on her father. He had seemed unlike himself when he had seen her off. He had used a clipped tone and kept looking out the window as if expecting someone to hop through it at any second. The Ash Nation had become a little tense due to the war between the Cinder Empire and the Ember Kingdom. The royal guards had been making more arrests to the townsfolk, but her father had no reason to be arrested did he? She racked her brain, trying to think of something he could've done to get into trouble. The only thing she could think of was his rebellious conversations with her and no one outside their household knew about his rancor toward their kingdom. Well, if something was up, he would never tell her anyway.

A loud sound whipped her back to the market and her head swung toward the source. A young man, not much older than her, was standing in his stall of silver and green. He was turning his yearly supply of fruit -which seemed to have turned mouldy- into ashes. A trait all folk from the Ash Nation had. Elise almost flinched as the wooden crate then went up in flames at his silent command. This was also a trait that everyone -not including the neutral folk who didn't have any abilities- in their known realm had. He turned his head toward her and grinned savagely. His slate-gray eyes were cold as ice and wild as a windstorm. But the most unnerving part was his total lack of emotion. His ivory-skinned face was wiped clean of all feeling. He looked at her as if he could see right through her soul and into the deepest parts of her being. What was strange was, Elise didn't recognize him from anywhere. She was a little frightened by him but for the most part curious. Their gazes held until the boy tore his gaze away with a sly, dangerous smile. Elise wasn't the sort of person to break eye contact first so she was used to this. She shook her head to clear it of thoughts of the strange boy and returned to her mission. Must be a newcomer. She thought. Although that didn't feel entirely right, and they hadn't had a newcomer in many years, she left it at that. A couple minutes later, she stood in front of the stall selling fruit. The merchant was a man in about his 5th stage -when your body and brain are both fully matured- with short salt and pepper hair and tanned weathered skin, suggesting he used to live in a desert town, most likely a refugee from the Ember Kingdom. Traveling outside your birthplace was technically illegal, but no one cared about a lowly desert villager. Dunstan took one look at her and nodded.

"Elise, I'm guessin' you want the first batch of fuzzfruit?" His voice was gruff and rocky with a distinct accent, but Elise could hear the suppressed smile in his words.

"Yes, that's right, sir." She answered, not surprised by the accusation.

"Saved 'em just for you." Dunstan smiled this time, showing his teeth. Elise smiled half-heartedly back. She liked doing business with him. He was just the right amount of quiet and friendly. He didn't talk about gossip or unimportant stuff, but he was always kind and warm in his odd, rough sort of way. But Elise was just too worried about her father to enjoy their conversation. She reached into her satchel that was slung around her shoulder and pulled out two copper coins. She laid them on the wooden counter and Dunstan, noticing her silence and lack of smiles, patted her on the shoulder.

"Cheer up, girl. It's summertime. We should all be celebratin'. That was one rough winter. All the trees bloomed late, didn't have any stock for a while too long. But now that the weather will be warmer, we can all go back to our pickin' of berries, and our cuttin' down of trees." He smiled warmly at her.

"Yes, of course." She replied and plastered a more convincing smile on her face.

"That's the spirit!" Dunstan approved. "Now here's your fruit. One of the nicest batches I've seen in my days. Better enjoy 'em." He said with a wink.

"I will. You always find the best ones. My father will be happy." She replied.

Dustan nodded at that.

"You tell that father of yours to come out more often. We all miss seein' his face."

Elise nodded her head a few times before departing back the way she came. As she wound her way through the colourful market square, she tried to convince herself that everything was fine. It was like Dunstan had said, she was just tense from the rough winter they'd had. She should enjoy her fuzzfruit crumble and spend time with her father. She had finally assured herself that she was just being paranoid when she heard intense conversation float her way. She stopped in the street, bent down, and pretended to fix the laces on her boots. She was too focused on her task of eavesdropping to recall that her boots weren't lace-up, they were slip-on hunting boots. Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized two weaver's wives gossiping vehemently about something or rather. She was about to put it off as boring lady gossip when she heard a key word that pulled her instantly back into the exchange. Bits and pieces trickled toward her like a slow-moving river that only partly filled your water flask. But, it was enough for Elise to finish lacing up her boots and take off down the road. She streaked past the hall of learning where the kids of the village learned their skills in hunting and stealth, climbing, and endurance. Nearly identical wooden huts blurred by as Elise ran and ran until all she knew was the ground under her feet and the wind in her hair. It felt like a lifetime she was running, always running. First, her mother had run from her, then her father had run, then when the soldiers had come, two months back and threatened the towns, they had all run and hidden from them. Now she was running. For what? To keep their freedom, their safety? But how are you free when you're always living in fear of what harm will come to you if you stop running? Finally, after what had felt like hours, but had been a mere four minutes, she skidded to a halt. She found herself at the door of her father's cottage. Her home. The door was partly open and she silently crept inside, taking the small knife out of her boot as she went. The room was utterly empty. Elise felt her heart sink further and further as she scoured each and every room of the home, not once finding a living soul. A lump formed in her throat and she sank slowly to her knees. Not a sound came out of her, for not a soul greeted her at the door. Not a soul stroked her hair softly when she was hurt. Not a soul would help her get him back. For once, the weaver's wives were right. The soldiers had taken someone prisoner; her father.