Sands, scorched by the sweltering sun, clung to the soles of her bare feet as she scrambled through the forest. Dark, twisted vines blocked every path her small body attempted.
Other than the sound of her desperate breathing, she knew she was leaving a trail—a trail of blood that undid all her hours of futile running. Her hands groped blindly for direction as she stumbled into trees, her limbs bruised and trembling.
He was still chasing her.
She burst into the open—only to meet the edge of a cliff.
The vast ocean stretched out endlessly, waves roaring below like a beast hungry for life. One misstep, and she would vanish into the abyss. She stood frozen at the edge, gulping the last of her saliva. Her pale, sightless eyes turned back.
She could feel him.
The terror she would trade half her life just to escape.
He chuckled—a cruel, broken sound between damaged teeth.
"You finally stopped, brat. Damn, you run fast. I almost missed you."
She gasped, the voice cutting into her chest like glass. She slipped, barely hanging on to the cliff's edge.
"Aah!"
He chuckled again. "No matter how I look at it, you're one hell of a brat. Blind, yet still didn't fall." He snorted. "Although... watching that would've been amusing. But no, it's not your time to die yet."
He stepped closer.
"Now be a good girl and come back with me."
No one in a thousand years would believe that.
She took a shaky step back, still catching her breath, ears straining for the sound of his movements.
His crinkled face twisted into a frown.
"White. You're not dumb enough to jump, are you? That's suicide... and I know you. You won't do it."
He was right.
Suicide wasn't an option.
But trying was something else entirely.
"Are you going to abandon them?!"
The words hit like a hammer to the chest.
She had run—left her family, friends, her entire clan. It was betrayal, no matter how she justified it. But returning? Impossible. She couldn't step back into that world.
"And Macangro?"
Her knees buckled.
Macangro—just hearing the name broke something inside her. She ached to see him, to stay with him. But she knew it was a lie. A trap.
"You're... saying he's alive?" she asked, her voice rough from silence.
The man's face lit up with delight.
"Yes! Yes, he's alive."
The hesitation in his voice gave him away.
She clenched her fists, heart pounding. She could hear his slow approach.
She wasn't going to let him take her.
Not in this life.
Not in the next.
"Aah?! Aargh!! Shit! White!!"
He ran to the edge, eyes wide with horror as she leapt—arms wide—into the wind and the roaring waters below. Even blind, she could still see the faces she'd left behind. And Macangro's voice-if it was even real- was already fading.
"No! No! No! You useless brat!!
WHHHHHHIIIITTTEEEEEEEE—!!"
🌌 The Age Before Flame
In the age before flame, when the world was raw and the winds had no name, mankind lived scattered—fragile, unguided, prey to the wild magicks of the earth. Desperate, they turned skyward, their voices woven in praise and sacrifice.
And the gods listened.
From storm-torn skies, from molten depths, from whispering shadows—they descended. They chose mortals. They shared their essence. And with divine power came order. With order, division.
Humanity split, forming great nations under the gods they served.
But none rose higher, nor burned brighter, than the Ruinical Kingdom—a citadel of stone and starlight, sworn to the Sky Dragon Vaeltheryn the Tempest-Eyed.
Perched amidst the floating isles of Zephyros, the Ruinical Kingdom ruled the skies. Its warriors wore thunder as cloaks; its mages whispered to the winds. Gifted with the dragon's breath, they wielded stormfire and lightning—masters of the clouds.
Their banners bore wings stretched wide, crowned by a broken rune—the mark of the bond between mortal will and draconic fury.
Floating Isles of Zephyros:
Stone Wall > Ten years forward>
"Aaaaaahhh... I'm hungry! How long 'til the end of our shift?"
The wind danced along the towering stone wall, carrying the voice of the watch guard. A few nearby guards shot him annoyed glances.
"Didn't you eat before we started?" one asked, exasperated.
"Well, yeah," he muttered. "But can't I just take a break? Zephyros is a floating empire—it floats for a reason!"
"And your point?" another grumbled.
"Why are we watching the skies all day? We're impenetrab—"
"Silence."
Thunder murmured across the skies, distant but heavy—like the breath of a sleeping god.
From the heart of the Ruinical Kingdom, the ancient gates of Zephyros Stone Wall began to open with a groaning hiss, as if the very stone was reluctant to part. The runes embedded along its arch flared with azure light, pulsing like a heartbeat. The watches stood straighter, breath caught in their throats. Something far above their pay grade was happening.
She was coming.
Cloaked in silken armor that shimmered like lightning trapped in crystal, Empress Seryphira Orelia Vael'ryn, Windborne of the Sky Dragon, descended the stairs carved from floating slate. Her long silver veil rippled behind her—not touching the ground, sustained by invisible air currents that obeyed only her. Her presence wasn't merely regal. It was elemental.
But the Empress did not come alone.
They moved in her shadow.
The Velshari—the shadow agents of Ruinical. Ten of them, emerging from the mist like echoes made flesh. Each wore masks carved from obsidian and stormglass: jagged, asymmetrical, faceless. No two masks were alike. One bore the cracks of a lightning bolt. Another, smooth and featureless, reflected the sky. Their robes were layered in feathered silk and scale-mail, colored in deep blue and muted silver, vanishing into the air like smoke. Not one made a sound.
Even the guards stepped back when they passed.
The Velshari were not meant to be seen.
If you saw one and lived, it was because they wanted you to.
The Empress paused at the threshold of the opened gate, her eyes scanning the windswept plain below, a stormcloak swirling at her shoulders. Her voice was soft, but when she spoke, the wind itself seemed to carry it into every ear.
"Someone is here."
The lead Velshari tilted his head, whispering to a crow perched on his shoulder. The bird cawed once and took off.
Moments passed.
Then the wind changed.
A guard raised a hand, yelling from the top of Zephyros. "Movement... at the base of the cliff!"
They rushed forward.
Just beyond the cliffs' edge, nestled between rocks slick with seawater, lay a lady. Motionless. Soaked. Pale as moonlight. Her snow white hair tangled like seaweed. Blood trailed down her arm from a long, half-clotted gash. Her body rose and fell—barely.
"Alive," one of the Velshari rasped.
The Empress walked forward, kneeling beside the girl without hesitation. She did not fear blood. She did not fear fate.
Gently, her gloved hand brushed the girl's cheek.
''Her breathing is weak Lady Orelia.'' The lead Velshari mused.
"You were supposed to die today," the Empress murmured. "But you didn't."
Her voice was neither cruel nor kind. It was ancient. Resigned. Awakened.
She rose to her feet, silver hair caught in the wind, eyes reflecting distant lightning.
''This isn't what the law commands.''
The empress reply to the Velshari words were,
''It's what I commands.''
TBC.....