Chapter 1
In the heart of a desolate facility, hidden away from the world, lay a girl named Flora. Only twenty years old, yet the weight of centuries burdened her soul. Stranded within the cold, steel walls, she was a captive of her own existence—a genetically modified demi-god of death condemned to a life of perpetual isolation.
The room, dimly lit with flickering fluorescent lights, cast long shadows that danced on the sterile walls. Flora’s eyes, once filled with a youthful glow of curiosity, were now dulled by the monotony of her confined world. She sat on a narrow cot, her frail form huddled beneath a thin blanket that offered little solace against the biting chill that permeated the air.
Outside her small cell, unseen eyes watched her every move. Guards in emotionless uniforms patrolled the sterile corridors, their footsteps echoing like a child’s lullaby. The occasional clang of metal sounded around her, as her breath formed to mist against the cold air.
Her skin, once radiant, now dry and pale. Dark unkempt hair fell in tangled strands around her face, and her once-vibrant golden eyes held a haunted look. Her body was quite well for living in the facility for so many years, although the guards usually forced her to actively move for five days out of the week, her body was slightly underweight. The weight of her powers, a burden no mortal should bear, pressed down on her fragile shoulders, bending her spirit to the breaking point. It wouldn’t be the first time she tried, but they bring her back. Every. Single. Time.
She was not born to be a demigod… much less than being a demigod of death. The cruel twist of fate had snatched away her innocence, leaving her with abilities that marked her as an outcast.
Flora could sense the impending doom that clung to those around her, an unwanted gift that condemned her to witness the suffering of others without choice. That was only a taste of the powers that consumed her.
The facility, a prison for those deemed too dangerous or too unique, became her sanctuary and her purgatory. That’s why Flora sat on her cot, with a metal collar around her neck and its bright red light to confirm the shackle is armed if she decides to activate her powers. Whispers of her past echoed in the empty corridors, tales of a girl who unintentionally brought darkness wherever she tread.
She longed for freedom, for the touch of sunlight on her skin and the caress of the wind in her hair, but such dreams were just distant memories, fading like whispers in the dark. The world outside had long forgotten her, and she, in turn, had forgotten the warmth of the sun on her face. Her only solace lay in the whispers of the dead, the voices that haunted her dreams and whispered secrets forgotten to share.
Loneliness wrapped around her like a suffocating shroud. The occasional bang of metal against metal and the distant hum of machinery were the only companions in this desolate world. Flora’s days blurred into a colourless existence, devoid of joy or hope.
As she stared out of the small, barred window, a pale crescent moon hung in the night sky, a silent witness to her eternal confinement. In that moment, Flora longed for release—from the chains that bound her, from the burden of her godly heritage, and from the crushing weight of a life steeped in darkness. The facility, with its cold walls and echoing silence, held her captive, crushing the hope in her heart once again.
She needed to get out of here.
