Prologue
Prologue:
It took a second.
All it took was a second, and every person he had known, was dead.
His body lay helpless in the snow, as he watched the chaos in shock—his friends, his teachers, his comrades lay in the snow as well, blood soaking into the white, a contrast of colour that was blinding. His eyes seemed unable to escape the scene, as monsters and men fought and fell.
“…He…help…me.” His eyes wouldn’t move towards the sound.
A hand gripped his useless limbs, pulling their body up to grip his clothes. His breath grew ragged as the owner of the voice forced himself into his line of sight, giving the boy no choice but to look straight into his eyes.
The injured officer looked nothing like he remembered. Deep cracks spread over his skin, with only darkness in between their gaps. The man’s veins seemed alive, black, with frantic, pumping movements underneath his blue skin, as if insects were pouring from his heart and eating through his body. His bones cracked and shifted unnaturally; the crackling noise would never leave the boy’s ears. The man’s eyes… His eyes…
He couldn’t look away.
The man nails raked over the boy’s cheek, cutting through his skin, the raspy cries for help slowly died, as mounds of pulsating bumps over the man’s skin grew in size; in number.
He couldn’t speak, but his small shaking hands took the knife sheathed to his side, and with dry eyes and cloudy lungs, he brought the knife to the thin skin of the man’s neck.
The crude cut let blood splatter across his face reeking of rot. The blood of a being rotting from the inside, body a puppet to those who made love with darkness. Snowfall coloured the world, numbed his shattered limbs and blurred his vision as everyone he knew was twisted, crushed, torn apart, and pulled from the inside out. No longer in control of their own actions. Now mutated, conscious in skin no longer theirs.
The puppeteer appeared in the flurry of snowflakes. Veiled and extravagant in white, her cackle a disturbing background to the act of war. The scent of magic seared his nose until blood poured down his face. He remembered the pain it brought to his eyes as he prayed for it to end; he remembered the fire that spread through him as if his head was being bashed by metal.
He would never forget her. Her magic. The taste of iron and smell of sulphur, the colour of dark plum and bright red.
But somehow the sulphur overtook the scent he knew should have been burned into his senses.
What a shame. Through the haze, the child vowed to remember.
Yet…
He could never recall the scent of the witch who wiped away his life in a single flick of her wrist.
“Mama! Look!”
The woman, dressed in silks adorned with embroidery, lace and ribbon reached over to her child, holding out her arms as the boy rushed, sprinting into her embrace, tugging her along with him and pointing to the sky. “Darling, I told you not to run on the veranda. It is dangerous!”
“Mama! Mama!” The little boys voice was almost frantic in excitement, he clearly wasn’t listening to his mother. Instead, he pointed at the sky, practically jumping up and down with glee. “The stars are falling!”
The woman chuckled, bringing her beloved son up into her arms, and walked to her lounge chair, relaxing near the hearth of her private balcony. “It is a meteor shower darling. Watch it closely. The astronomer says there won’t be one like it for centuries to come.”
“Mama, will it not hurt when it lands?”
“No, darling. Our land is protected by the gods and the stars.” She couldn’t help but smile at her child’s precious innocence. She held his tiny hands, and played with his fingers, touching his fourth finger on his left hand with hers, the boy was preoccupied with his star gazing, and unconsciously wiggled his fingers. “They live in the sky and watch over us. If you whisper to them, they listen to you, darling. If you wish, we can ask that the stars that fall will not suffer.”
Her son was too mesmerised by the view to listen. Like white paint streaking across a black canvas, the vision was breathtaking, and the boy’s face lit up, eyes filled with fascination as the sky tore open, blades of celestial bodies slashed the night apart. The bright light burned, burned so brightly…
It blazed red.
The Empress held the boy close to her chest. Tightly as if to put him back inside her heart, pack him safely where she could hold him forever. The little boy stared at his mom, the sudden worry that drenched her face made his elated jumps turn into anxious jitters, and he gripped at her dress. “Mama…What’s wrong? ...Are the stars bleeding?”
The woman was caught in the sight. Unable to tear herself away from it. “…Get your baba darling. Go inside, quickly. Do not come out until he says it’s safe.”
The child frowned, but the feeling of his mother’s anxiety spiked fear into his heart, making his awe turn into terror. His lip quivered, holding back tears from the sudden shift in his mother’s expression. He tugged at her, but she shook her head without looking at him. “Go, now!”
Startled by the jarring change in his mother’s tone, the boy turned and started into a sprint to find his father while his mother watched in horror as the sky was split upon, pierced by a fiery blade. Dread caressed her skin, and her mind was overrun with hazy static thoughts that she could not decipher—a mixture of confusion and a creeping, towering feeling from a source she was unable to identify.
She did not know why, but deep in her heart, she knew this was a grave omen.
As the boy ran through the halls, his tears fell, and sobs crackled through his lungs. He forgot to pray. He forgot to pray. The stars will suffer. The stars will suffer because he did not pray.
The stars do not forget. The night does not forgive. The world whispered apologies, and the boy whispered prayers.
But really, the stars fall in silence… One must wonder, who listens when a child prays?
