1 Prologue: Prisoner of Fate

The spirit stone glistens in my hand. It warms up to my body heat, shedding itself one frozen layer at a time. A mixture of blood and prophecy aura stains my feet. I glance at the empty space before me while the cold floor stings my aching body. With every movement, the rusty shackles dig deeper into my scabby skin. The searing sensation passes through my veins, reminding me that I'm no better than a caged animal.

While the night wears on, a thick silence settles over the cell. I cast my gaze to the candle on the table, watching as its withering flame bears the shape of the wind. The waning light drapes a shadow over the guards standing watch, and it carves their features into the likeness of the netherworld's beasts. Blistering winds slip through the barred windows, scathing my peeling skin, mocking me with its whistles and howls. I stare up at the cloudless sky.

One star, bright and burning, shines just above the Empyrean capital and paints it crimson. It's the Orion, home of the Scythes and the place I wish I'd known all my life. Time can't seem to pass quickly enough. Ignoring the aches and pains that tear through my body, I force myself to roll over until I'm facing the prison bars. The guards stiffen. Pressing my ear to the ground, I listen to the echoing footsteps and the hushed voices drifting down the corridor. My lips tremble with unspoken blasphemy. I'll save that for later.

An Empyrean guard bursts through the cell door and snatches my collar, his breath hot against my ear. "Move it."

Pain collides with my body as something shoves against my back, and I nearly drop the stone. Every muscle screams at me to stop moving, the chains sapping my energy with each step. I can barely keep my head up. The guard shoots me a devious grin. "Scythe dogs can't even walk straight, huh?"

His whip lashes against my legs until my knees buckle. Biting my lip to stop a cry, I wince as he drags me down the hallway. Moonlight spills through the arching windows, its rays bleaching the crimson speckles leading to the throne room. I keep my eyes to the ground. Tonight, the last Scythe passes through these halls, and my blood will join the fallen.

As the marble flooring rises into polished, silver steps that unfurl into a dais, a curse escapes my lips. Statues of guardian lions stare back at me, their images ensconced at the foot of the dreaded throne. I lift my eyes to meet theirs as a mark of respect for my people. To look death in the eye and not even flinch, that's how I know that I'm ready for the fight.

The guard grabs my hair and forces my head up to meet the Empyrean Chancellor's gaze. He smirks until a scar reveals itself at the corner of his cherry-red lips. His auburn hair extends past his shoulders now, the only evidence of the passage of time. His perfect, translucent skin still bears no wrinkles. While he examines my face, I imagine punching his nose into his skull until his brain bleeds. My fists tremble at my sides, but they don't carry that power anymore.

These chains are sucking the life out of me.

The Chancellor regards me with disdain in his vermilion eyes, his stare burning holes through my skull. My gaze skirts down his long, flowing robes. The scarlet fabric sweeps the ground like it's wiping away the blood spilled behind these closed doors. The Chancellor leans forward and snatches the spirit stone. "What does it say?"

An explosion of heat fills the air. The stone shatters, and the fragments disperse and dissolve. Ignoring the panicked whispers in the court, I wring my hands until they ache.

The stone takes on a life on its own. Bright light scampers across the walls until symbols and words appear in their wake. Whispers tickle my ears in the vile language of the Empyreans. I watch as the luminous script spreads across the ceiling, never once touching the marble floor.

"Answer me!" The Chancellor bellows, his voice echoing off the walls.

My lips curve into a smirk as I observe the hint of fear in his eyes. "You're asking a traitor for answers? With all due respect, Chancellor, your lack of intellect is painfully obvious. Surely, your people will trust my words."

He swallows visibly, and I bite my lip to stop a smile before turning to the writings. "Out of the serpent's den, a Scythe will be born. She knows nothing of her origins or the power in her being until it manifests after a Firestorm. It is said that the Empyreans would rule over the land for seven years, but the Scythes will prevail. It has always been that way."

The hilt of a guard's sword smashes against my head. Another fist flies to my neck and knocks me backward. Air escapes my tortured lungs. I blink away the pain, but I can't help the throaty chuckle that masks the agony.

Flicking his robe back, the Chancellor walks down his throne and grabs my face with his filthy hand. "Enough games, Scythe dog."

"It's not what you want to hear, but that doesn't make it any less true."

The Chancellor raises a calloused hand, and a loud smack sends me flying into the pile of shattered stone. Sharp fragments stab my back, and molten warmth soaks my tunic. My skin burns from the Chancellor's slap, but I know better than to say anything. The crazed man bends down and caresses my swollen cheek.

His breath tickles my ears, but I'm too tired to pull away. "Don't worry, we'll have a special audience tonight, so I expect you to say what those words really mean. A Scythe never backs down from a challenge."

He walks back to his throne with a sneer stretched across his monstrous features.