Chapter 1
Aurora
I don’t know when my mind first cracked.
The fracture is there.
I feel it every time I wake in this stone box with my memories scattered like broken glass. I know I had a life before this place… I just can’t recall enough pieces to prove it.
My back rests against the solid stone. The small confines they entrapped me in are permeated with overgrown roots and vines.
There’s a mosaic of sketches on every square inch of this cell. Jagged white lines of scribbled nonsense. I drew whatever memory that would surface in my head. The sun. The ocean. The mountains.
At first, I tallied to mark the days that turned into weeks, which turned into years.
I ran out of room once I marked 4,380 days.
So, I wanted to remember what the world looked like above these caves. The sun was a burning, golden ball in the vast blue sky. I recall the ocean smelling of salt and the snow-capped mountains dominated the borderlands in a place that I used to call home.
I resulted in overlapping, creating a blurred, chaotic mess. Chalk and stone. There was no more sun, no ocean, no sky. I can’t allow madness to consume me. Not yet. Even when I am better off, far from humanity and society, I want to remember what it was like.
If I can’t die, then I want to remember what it was like to live.
I feel something damp and warm drip down the side of my stomach. Blood has seeped through my fresh set of bandages. I unwrap the soaked cloth to assess the damage. The Harvesters always do a sloppy job of patching me up.
Lately, I feel it’s as if it’s on purpose. They don’t care how I am treated anymore knowing full well no infection or disease or blood loss would let me die through the relentless tests and experiments.
Unfortunately for me, I heal fast enough before any diseases can kill me. I’ve tried to end my life. Repeatedly.
Hadronos never cared to answer my prayers. A god of death does not waste their immortality and power on feeble humans like me. Why would they? It’s not like there aren’t others down here suffering the same fate. I’m no one special. Just an empty vessel.
Every square inch of my body erupts in agony every time surgery is performed or bones removed and when stitches are popped open before I am healed. Pain is a daily occurrence and I feel every inch of it on my body until I go numb.
In times like these, I’ve learned to treat my own wounds. I wonder if I should sacrifice the scraps of what barely passes as a blanket and endure the bitter cold of the night and use it as a make-shift bandage.
Golden blood slips from my wound and threads through the cracks in the stone, slow and heavy—too heavy—like molten metal deciding where to go. It gathers in a shallow puddle at my feet, glowing faintly, as if it has a pulse of its own. A reminder I am not human–that I never was.
I crawl across the prison cell, reaching for the tattered cloth. I pull onto the fabric, a long strand tears at the seams.
In the far right corner of the cell, water drips from the ceiling. I muster whatever strength I have to reach over and wet the cloth. Even the smallest of movements leaves me panting, exhaustion sweeping over me.
I wrap the bandage around my torso, knotting it tightly. The salt water sends a burning tingling sensation throughout my body. I take long breaths, controlling my breathing until the stinging pain subsides into a dull throb.
The Harvesters won’t be back until next week, so this will have to suffice until then.
I slump back against the cool stone, squirming to get in a more comfortable position.
The drip… drip… drip echoes in my ear as I stare at the puddle blankly.
In its murky surface, a girl stares back at me. She mirrors every movement I make, but she doesn’t feel like a reflection—more like a memory trying to claw its way to the surface.
Her eyes are what snare me first. So familiar. So impossibly real that for a heartbeat I forget where I am.
Hallucination. Dream. Fragment of the past. I can’t tell.
I don’t remember much about my life before this place, but something about this child tugs at the edges of a locked door in my mind. There’s a sadness in her expression—a solemn, lonely weight that feels too close to home.
The little girl has soft, milky skin kissed with a hint of sunlight. Long waves of silk-fine golden hair brushed to perfection. Wide, youthful eyes the warm transition between spring and summer—alive, bright, cherished.
I wonder who this girl is.
Or was.
Did her family miss her?
Were there people who treated her like she was their whole world?Someone who loved her enough to keep her safe?
Or did they throw her away?
Did they hand her over?
Did the people she trusted most betray her?
A sharp ache twists in my chest, and I swipe my hand through the puddle. The girl’s image shatters instantly—gone, scattered into ripples just like the life she once lived.
When the water stills, the reflection that returns is the truth.
Not a child adorned in gold or wrapped in frilly dresses.
Not someone precious or protected.
Just a creature who knows suffering and cruelty. A girl with no treasures, no autonomy, no past she is allowed to keep.
They took all that away from me—The Harvesters.
Because of what I am.
A freak of nature.
A rare, exotic thing to be harvested.
An abomination across the kingdom.
I deserve to be locked up. To be condemned in this eternal hellscape so I can never hurt anyone with these cursed hands of mine.
My attention snaps back into reality as the sound of iron gates clang open, slicing my thoughts like a blade. Heavy boots echo from down the hallway. The dangling keys clatter together, their sound growing louder with each approaching step.
What are they doing back here so soon? It has barely been twenty-four hours since my last surgery.
My eyes dart back and forth as the soul sucking dread festers in the pit of my stomach. The faint glow of the lantern reflects against the glossy stone as they walk through the inky dark halls.
My head throbs, feeling as if a long sharp needle penetrated through my brain and behind my eyes.
I exhale, my lungs rattle. No matter how many times I try to prepare myself for what’s to come, it’s never enough.
My heart is racing, fear freezing me in place.
Four tall figures stand in front of the bars of my cell door. I watch them insert the key–the object of my salvation and a far reach from my unobtainable freedom.
It twists open. The slow, heavy door groans, announcing another day I can’t escape.
They’re dressed the same as always—white from head to toe, scrubbed clean, bright blue gloves snapping against their wrists.
Two of the Harvesters step inside to secure my restraints.
“Alright, you know the drill, girl. Get up,” one growls.
They haul me upright, their gloved fingers digging into the bruises already blooming along my arms. My legs barely cooperate, so they end up dragging most of my weight as we move deeper into the maze of tunnels.
Two more walk behind us, as if I’d still have the strength to run. I tried once, years ago. Learned what it cost.
The manacles on my wrists and ankles clatter with every step.
“Say,” one of the Harvesters behind us mutters, “why does the Vivisector want another go at her? Didn’t we just harvest her yesterday?”
The man on my left exhales sharply. “Not our jurisdiction.” A beat of hesitation. “But I heard something… an unidentified figure was spotted above the cliffs. Sanctuary’s on edge. Boss wants to squeeze what he can out of the cargo in case we have to relocate.”
I feel his gaze linger on me behind the mask. “And dispose of any evidence.”
A cold sense of dread crawls up my spine.
“Ugh!” the Harvester on my right snaps. “She got her freakish blood on me.” He recoils like he’s been burned and nearly loses his grip, fingers tightening hard enough to force a small cry out of me.
“Relax,” the left one scoffs. “That’s what the hazard suits are for.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll relax once she’s locked back in her cell.”
“We should put pressure on that wound,” the left man says, more annoyed than concerned.
“Her blood goes for a pretty penny, and the Vivisector will throw a fit if any goes to waste.”
He presses a clean cloth to my torso, his hand sliding over me, brushing dangerously close to my breast. I can only tremble in disgust.
“She might be a mutant from the pits of Hadean,” he laughs, “but a vial of this could fetch a thousand Solai.” His hand slips lower. “But it’s really her bones that would make any man as rich as a king.”
Typical.
Another day of listening to monsters talk about me—and grope me—as if I’m nothing more than merchandise.
The inappropriate touching started once, I assume, I was no longer considered a child in their eyes. I think I’m around twenty-two now. But time has little meaning down here. So it must have begun about four years ago.
Each step we take feels like walking through quicksand, slow and agonizing.
Please, please take me somewhere else—anywhere but there. I beg that the separation from my mind to body eases my suffering.
Think about something–anything to take me away from here. My thoughts race as I try to find that place of peace. Your name. Think about your name. I must have one right?
My eyes are squeezed tightly shut. My mind drifts away, disconnecting from my physical self until my bare feet no longer feel the rough gravel digging into my toes.
I breathe deeply.
Inhale, and exhale.
I haven’t thought about my name in far too long. What was it? A–Amara… no…. A–Angelica?
The four masked Harvesters guide me through the passageway. Ten steps from my cell already. Fuck. I know it, I swear. We turn right and walk forty paces. Too close. Too soon. Auriel? No–Aur…
Left turn.
Another Harvester approaches us. The one on my left holding me tosses me over,“Get the merchandise to The White Room,” he releases his grip just for another to hold me, “Make sure all the lights are on and the room is prepped.”
The light. There’s never any light down here. Only darkness.
Two more turns until we reach the room. I miss the real light–the sunlight that blessed its warmth on a day the gods shared its gifts. A wave crashes into me, like a swell of relief. My name. I remember my name.
The name I was given, thought to be touched by the goddess of Divine Light. Aurora.
It’s a suffocating room of bare, blinding white concrete. This is the only time where I am taken out of darkness and overwhelmed with this hideous feeling of insanity. This room is cold, heartless, and unsettling. I would take the darkness of my cell over this any day. Fluorescent lighting sends the feeling of needles stabbing the back of my eyes as I try to adjust.
In the center is a metal table, restraints bolted onto each corner. There’s a nearby tray of gleaming scalpels and serrated blades directly next to the table.
They strip off my nightgown and remove the makeshift bandage. I watch them toss it into a trash bin labeled ‘Hazard’.
I climb onto the surface, the cold metal stinging my exposed skin. I look up and down—my bound wrists and ankles have me sprawled out like a piece of livestock, inspecting which part of me is the richest of meat to sell.
I hear the door open and close shut.
“Oh dear, let’s take a look at you shall we?” The Vivimancer clicks her tongue. Wild orange hair looms over me, blocking the blinding light which gives me momentary relief. “My, my, my! Two days in a row, how much fun!” Her sick twisted tone is full of hysterical curiosity, “You by far, are one of my favorites to work on. The other Children of Hadean are… boring.”
The woman caresses my face, her red lips smiles tight, lined with age. It’s as if her face has been pulled and poked to reverse the effects of time that mortals are cursed with.
It’s strange… She looks different than usual. The wrinkles along her eyes are smoothed, and her thin, emaciated frame seems fuller—healthier. Then I see it. Against the light, thin, faint veins of gold swim along her bony hands and pulse across the whites of her eyes.
“Now, little golden flower. It’s time to share those gifts of eternal youth of yours with the rest of us, hm?”
I start to squirm and jolt around.
“Now, now. Let’s not be selfish dear.” She walks away to grab one of her tools.
I feel gloved hands poke and prod as I lay there, unable to move. Something cold and wet touches my skin. She’s cleaning off the blood. I feel something tug and pull—she removes the stitches. I think she took my left lung yesterday. The week before, my liver. I wonder what today will be.
“This might pinch a little.”
My curiosity pops like a bubble as soon as I hear the shrieking growl of a chainsaw. The whir of spinning teeth sends vibrations through my bones as I realize it’s going to be cutting through mine.
It takes a special kind of machine to cut through pure gold without damaging it, and they managed to make one.
