Chapter 1
Chapter One – Blue Eyes
(Auria’s Opening – Chapter 1)
“The veil between the Kingdom and earth is never as strong as we wish it to be. When man’s suffering grows loud enough, even angels must listen.”
In the beginning of time, a towering new city was born from two rivers, overflowing with life. Along the edges of the waters stood tall, lanky palms and bright green cattails swaying in the wind. Beyond those palms and serpent-like waterways was nothing but endless sand — a world of heat and silence.
The sounds of wagon wheels and mingled tongues — some foreign, some long forgotten — bounced from the sandstone walls of the city. Years later, storytellers would call this place Babylon.
At its heart rose a great tower, surrounded by a high circular walkway where guards kept watch over the markets below.
As morning light pierced through the canopy of green, a boy — no older than fifteen — crouched in the shadow of a wicker basket filled with salted fish. His body was thin, his skin smudged with river mud, and the smell of rot clung to him like a curse. The fish oil seeped between his toes, yet he did not move. His blue-green eyes searched the market for scraps.
When the merchants lifted their colored canopies and filled the air with shouts of fruit and spice, the boy saw his chance. Hunger had made him fearless.
He slipped beneath the tables, crawling through dust and dropped grain. Shadows were his armor; the crowd, his disguise. At the table of fresh flatbread, he hid behind the cloth and reached out with trembling fingers — just far enough to brush the edge of a loaf.
A low growl froze him.
From the darkness under the table came another thief — a wild dog, ribs sharp, eyes yellow with rage. The animal lunged. Its teeth sank into the boy’s neck, drawing a muffled cry. He grabbed its throat, choking it with all his strength until the creature whimpered and tore free.
The dog bolted, dragging the tablecloth with it. Bread scattered. The boy was exposed.
“Thief!” a voice shouted.
Five guards turned, their leather armor glinting, spears ready.
The boy’s heart hammered as he leapt over a fruit stall, scattering apples. The guards pursued, boots pounding the stone. Through the maze of merchants and cries of “Fresh grain! Best pottery in the city!” he ran — a flash of rags and terror.
He burst into the open courtyard, where women knelt washing clothes in the shallows. As he leapt the last step toward freedom, pain struck his leg like fire.
An arrow.
He fell into the water with a scream, the current turning red.
From the towers above, archers nocked again. One arrow missed by yards; another drove deep into his shoulder.
Still he crawled.
“Stay still, thief!” a guard shouted.
But he would not. His breath came ragged, his body shaking. More archers joined, five now — their bows creaking in unison.
The boy lifted his face to the sky. “Mother!”
The arrows struck.
He fell silent, six shafts jutting from his small frame.
A guard prodded him with a spear. “Like a rat,” he muttered.
Then the air changed. The river stilled, as if the world itself held its breath.
A blue light rose from the boy’s chest — a soul, trembling, newborn. A shadow coalesced above it, blacker than night. Bone fingers closed around the glowing orb. The Reaper had come.
He lifted the soul to the heavens and screeched — a sound that made the air shiver.
From the fracture between light and shadow, something answered.
“Reaper,” a woman’s voice rang, “put the soul back!”
A figure appeared — an angel with hair of white gold, her wings sweeping the air in fury. She drew a golden spear that burned with dawn’s fire.
“You will not release him yet,” she declared. “He is mine to protect — I claim him for my own!”
The Reaper hissed, tucking the orb beneath his cloak. His scythe rose high, gleaming.
The angel struck first. Her spear clashed against bone and shadow; sparks burst like stars. Each blow rang like thunder over the city, though mortals heard nothing but a sudden wind knocking over pots and stirring the river’s edge.
“Reaper!” she cried. “Let him go. I take full claim.”
He swung, striking her across the chest. She staggered, wings folding to shield the pain. Still she stood.
“I call the rights of the Angel of the North,” she said, voice trembling but unbroken. “I claim this soul.”
Silence fell. Even the Reaper hesitated.
The angel’s tear shimmered as it fell. The Reaper looked skyward, then back at her — and drove the soul into the boy’s chest.
The guards turned in horror as the child’s body convulsed. Arrows fell away; ripples spread through the water. The crowd fled screaming.
Silence, then the first breath of dawn broke the spell.
The guard recoiled, pushing the body toward the current. The river took him, carrying him away beneath the rising sun.
Far above, the Kingdom tilted — listening.
