That’s the thing about pain,
It demands to be felt.
He could still hear them scream. Sharp, piercing cries filled with pain and rage that made his body crawl with goosebumps. Each time sleep wrapped her soft tendrils around him, the howling screams would jolt him awake. Then as if relieving it, he would then smell the burning bodies, charred flesh sizzling under the moonlight, see the blood splattered across the grass, such a contrast to the dew he had seen decorating the green blades in the morning.
There were just so many bodies strewed across his land like they were nothing but miniscule. Cast aside without a second thought. His parents, .... Boden wanted to make an example of them so he impaled them, took a page out of Dracula’s story and impaled them on ten foot poles for his whole pack to see. Crippled by the witch’s powers, Atlas could do nothing but hear them scream. Watch their blood stream down their bodies in small rivulets. The King and Queen of the White Crescent Pack, given a less than merciful death in front of their sixteen year old son. Boden the Terrible they called him with his Raven Call Witch destroyed one of the most powerful packs single handedly that night.
The Luna Goddess could do nothing but weep and as such what was left of the White Crescent Pack never worshipped her again. The remnants of the pack were now nothing more than rogues, alive due to Boden’s mercy, his grace as he liked to boast at his parties.
No one knows how Atlas survived that day. It was a mystery none dared quench because that sort of thing breaks the strongest of men, what more a sixteen year old boy? The pack that was to be his was decimated, turned into crow food, the rest used as fertile for the earth. How was a sixteen year old supposed to live after seeing everyone he had ever held dear die in such a gruesome manner. But he did. In Greek Mythology, Atlas was given the heavens to shoulder as punishment, a task so gruesome to even the most of the powerful Gods themselves, in this life through no fault of his own, the burden was that of living with the death of his parents and most of his pack whilst trying to keep the few alive.
Atlas, his mom called him. Bearer of the Heavens, something in his bright brown eyes made that name fitting. Beneath the murky hazelnut depths of his eyes lay torment that only war could bring. The burden of looking after what was left of his pack and try to piece his broken soul together in the process was thrust upon him.
Sometimes life takes a direction no one could ever foresee. This direction was filled with pain and death. Such a deadly combination of all the things wrong with the world and Atlas was meant to learn to live with that.
And it wasn’t the heavens he had to bear since that night, but hell.
Hope you enjoy this teaser of Atlas’ dreadful past. Updates will be happening more often now that I’ve officially started.
At this point I’m practically talking to myself but :) still super excited.