Prologue
1457 AoH

Black and white. Light and dark. Mortal and immortal. Two sides of the same coin; one cannot exist without the other. This, Ryenna knew. Yet, she also knew life was not so simple. Between mortality and immortality, there was life. Between light and dark, there was dusk and dawn. Between black and white, there were colors. Colors of varying shades and vivid hues. Colors that made up the entirety of the world in a way that none could describe. It was something that could only be witnessed; experienced. And from that, one could learn and grow. From those colors, one could define their opinions and choices, their ideas and values. One could shape their life. Fate was theirs to chase, to hold on to, to mold. Their story was their own.

This was a truth. This was a truth despite all Ryenna had been told. Like the humans of Praecanto, Ryenna never knew of a world inhabited by witches and wizards. It was a truth only her ancestors had known; the Cæli were those who had created the lands, but were not mere Gods. A truth that was lost on most of humankind over the last thousand years. There she remained, the last surviving witch of Praecanto, tasked only to see to the safety of the thriving human world. A world, as she was told, that was far better off than the world her ancestors had created. The human race, without the resources of magic at their disposal, were far kinder to their world than the witches had been.

But that was only one side of the coin. As the Cæli had learned, their creations did not come without a cost. The witches and wizards that were once blessed with life on the lands of Praecanto soon came to abuse their given privileges. The magic granted to them eventually brought chaos and destruction upon the world, destroying everything the Cæli had created. As punishment for their abuse, the magical beings of the land were banished, doomed to live forever in the Inbetween – a vast, empty void where only shadows remained of the land they once called home.

And so, the Cæli tried again, this time, with the creation of humankind; a mortal race without the power of magic. A race that would surely be kind and forgiving to the land they were blessed with.

However, they were not so quick to assume that their mortal creations would not be without fault. The future was clouded with darkness, but what they could see confirmed their suspicions; the mortal beings would find themselves in grave danger, due to no fault of their own. So they created another being; a spirit much like themselves that would manifest itself in the world when it would be needed most.

But the destruction left behind in the wake of the witches left a darkness upon the land which tainted the purity of the spirit. Wretched with the despair the witches had felt after their banishment, the spirit split into two, singular orbs, one of gold, and one of silver. The two orbs promptly vanished, leaving Ryenna's ancestors with only the hope that they would still manifest themselves in Praecanto when the need was greatest.

Ryenna carried this truth with her. Truths that had only turned to legends before soon being forgotten completely. The human race had thrived for a thousand years, and it seemed likely that they would continue to thrive for a thousand more without any foreseen destruction.

But Ryenna was no fool. As the years went on, her vision of the future became more and more clouded, tainted by the darkness that threatened the world of Praecanto. Though she kept her troubles to herself, the legends were not lost on the kingdom of Re'iam as they were with the rest of the world. Even her trusted advisor – her dearest friend – could see the darkness that clouded the future of Praecanto.

It came to Ryenna as a relief when Arandel finally approached her, her vision just clear enough to warn Ryenna of the destruction that was about to unfold.

Arandel bowed her head low to her queen. The tall, pale skinned witch queen with the white-blonde hair smiled down at her advisor, speaking in a warm, comforting voice.

“Arandel, what has you so tense?”

“Your Grace,” Arandel started. “The time has come. The Aethereya have risen.”

Ryenna narrowed her eyes on her advisor, her breath caught in her throat for a moment. She pulled her shoulders back slightly and raised her chin as she spoke. “And what of the Aethereya?”

“The prophecies seem to hold true,” Arandel continued. “I have seen it myself. It will only be a matter of time before the two Aethereya reveal themselves. One will take the form of a young witch.”

“A witch,” Ryenna whispered to herself. Witches had not existed in Praecanto for over a thousand years. “That cannot be.”

“I cannot see how it is so,” Arandel said. “Which can only mean that a dark power is involved.”

“And what of the Silver Aethereya?”

Arandel hesitated. “I have suspicions that it has already manifested itself, but I cannot be sure where it is.”

This did not come as a surprise to Ryenna. Dark magic always clouded her vision of the future, and the future had been clouded for some time. It only made sense that a dark magic was involved, but Ryenna could not explain how the darkness came to be in the first place. The witches had been sealed away all those years ago. “Is there a break in the Inbetween?”

Arandel shook her head. “The seal remains intact. I can only assume a witch has escaped your ancestor’s curse and remains hidden in the world.” She paused a moment, then met the queen’s gaze. “They will try to kill her,” she continued. “Without her, the world you’ve built will fall. She must be protected.”

Ryenna grew wary. Something about the two Aethereya didn’t add up. It didn’t make sense that the future of one was much clearer than the other. Which could only mean that the Silver Aethereya was tainted by a dark power. Two sides of the same coin. Light and dark. Good and evil. Ryenna knew that the split of the spirit would only mean a great war between them. “When will the Golden Aethereya manifest?”

“Soon,” Arandel said. “And in three years time, she will be found in the kingdom of Librona. Allies will be broken and trust will be lost. War is on the horizon. With no one left in line, the kingdom of Asmar will be a nation without a leader. Kingdoms will fall. The world of Praecanto will crumble.”

“This war is between the Aethereya,” Queen Ryenna said. “I will not see the six kingdoms destroy themselves over the Golden Aethereya, or this world will already be lost before the real war can even begin.”

“King Sloan holds his own secrets,” she continued. “I believe we can use this to our advantage. A love child, born unbeknownst to him, who will take the throne in Asmar and end the war between the kingdoms before it goes too far. I will go to Librona myself and reveal this to King Sloan.”

“You will lie to him?”

“If Asmar remains without a king, they will destroy themselves as a nation. They will pose a threat to the Golden Aethereya. She will be killed.”

“She must survive,” Ryenna said fiercely. “Do whatever it takes to make it so.”

“I must admit, Your Grace, that I cannot see the future of our world,” Arandel continued. “Even if the Golden Aethereya is spared by Asmar, the dark powers at hand continue to cloud my vision.”

Queen Ryenna hesitated. Though she couldn’t say for certain, she feared that despite all their efforts, the Golden Aethereya would fall. In the war between the Aethereya, darkness would prevail and the witches of the Inbetween would return, ending life as the mortals knew it.

“What will you do, Your Grace?”

Queen Ryenna turned her back to her advisor, her gaze on the long banners that draped the throne room walls. Each banner bore the mark of her ancestors, the creators of the world of Praecanto. She could not see that world fall after all her ancestors had done to keep it safe.

“I will do the only thing that can be done,” she said softly. “I will be sure that the Golden Aethereya will live to protect this world.”

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. Stray strands of wet hair blew across her pale face. The rain was like cold daggers against her cheeks. 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. 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 before exploding 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 she summoned. 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 ball exploded against the cobblestone road. The flames clung to the streets and rampaged through the village. Bodies lay motionless around the city, burned and scarred and barely recognizable. Women and children cried out to their husbands, brothers, and sons before scurrying away to find safety.

The witch gawked at the sight of the marred and mangled bodies but sent another fireball loose with 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 into the air, attempting to summon another spell to throw at her attackers. Her face creased with fear, her palms empty as she threw her arms in the air above her. Her eyes bounded 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 their world dimmed, they peeked between their arms to see that the woman 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 still. 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.

“Calliope.” Scarletta turned to the young woman, her wavy red hair twisting around her and caressing her frame. “You’re back to your normal self. Now, no more mishaps; I can’t keep saving your pathetic ass.”

Calliope nodded without uttering a word, careful not to upset her master. She forced herself to stand tall and confident as Scarletta looked her over, but still her heart raced and her knees trembled under the witch's powerful glare.

“You're welcome,” the witch said with a sneer.

“Thank you.” Calliope's quiet voice shook as she spoke. “I will be better.”

“I hope so,” Scarletta said, narrowing her eyes at her creation. “I put a lot of time and energy into you. I expect you to use yourself to your full potential. I'm not done 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. Scarletta smiled, pleased with her reaction. She turned back to the table and continued to mix liquids. “Destroy every last village,” she said, her voice stern. “Don't come back until the job is finished. Then, we will go to Alryn; that's where King Sloan is. I will tear him limb from limb. Spare your power and strength. Don’t let me down.”

Calliope nodded and without a word, she turned and let herself out of the dim room. The woman approached the nearby window and smiled as she gazed toward the distant town, marked by the heavy smoke that lingered from the earlier attack. Calliope was much stronger than Scarletta's other witches; her results showed in the ruins. Soon, the rest of the kingdom 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 thought.

“After all these years, Mallius,” Scarletta said, not turning to welcome her visitor. “After all these wasted witches; it's finally happening. I will have my revenge on that kingdom. They will know my true power, and they will regret the torture they had me endure.” She turned to the creature and smiled. Mallius returned her grin, his teeth rotted and stained, yet sharp and deadly. His black, hunched gargoyle form loomed in the doorway. His large, powerful body just barely fit in the doorway of the castle, despite its unusually large rooms to accommodate the creatures that Scarletta called her Nequam.

“It's only a matter of time before Calliope finishes them off,” the Nequam said, his voice deep and harsh; angry, despite his sly and eager grin.

“The spell is almost 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 won't stand a chance. Pity to see her sacrificed, though. She truly is the best of my creations.”

“Her death will be worth it,” Mallius said. “The kingdom will be yours. You won't have a need for tools like her.”

“She is but a pawn in this war. And Librona is only the beginning. I will have my revenge on what this world has done.”

Mallius dug his claws into the wooden floorboards; his black, leathery wings stretched out beside him, almost filling the width of the room.

“Patience, Mallius,” Scarletta said, anticipating his excitement. 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 its capital, Alryn, where King Sloan's castle stood tall. They galloped their horses through the waking and unaware city and up the hill into the castle courtyard. The head soldier – a knight of Librona – dismounted his horse and bowed to his king as he trotted down the stone steps outside of his castle.

“There has been an attack on Talmond,” the knight explained to his king. “One of Scarletta's witches.”

King Sloan cursed under his breath. “What are the damages?”

“The city is practically in ruins,” the knight said. “Homes and shops destroyed. We lost men and citizens.”

“Where's the witch?”

“It disappeared. My men searched the city for her, but it was nowhere to be seen. Just vanished before our eyes. It grows weak, though.”

King Sloan sighed. “That means nothing. I know Scarletta. She'll come back with something stronger.”

“What will you have us do, my lord?”

“Find that witch. If it is weak, we may have a chance to destroy it. That will put a thorn in Scarletta's plans for now.”

The knight bowed to his king and mounted his horse once more. He shouted to his troops, ordering them to begin their search through the kingdom of Librona to find the witch. The knight and his soldiers took off through the dark city once more and towards the distant forest that marked Librona's boundaries. Scarletta's castle lay just beyond the kingdom, tucked away deep in the forest. Scarletta's castle stood just outside their southern neighbor, In'audis' northern border. The southern forest of Do'lor was too dense for travel. This made it nearly impossible for the kingdoms to aid each other, especially in Librona's 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 King Rowan's 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 in Asmar and he needed to prepare his army for battle.

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.”

King Sloan 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.