Shadeborne

This article was written by Princess Felyn. Please do not add to it without the writer's permission.

Shadeborne
Story
Setting	Oberon, the Sunless Realm (Alternate Universe)
Media Information
Released	11/01/2023
Written by	Princess Felyn
Timeline
Next	Kingdom of Ashes

Shadeborne is a Dark Fantasy novel written by Princess Felyn.

It is the first book in the Alternate Universe Shadeborne Trilogy. A radically different, darker, more fantasy oriented take on the G1 BIONICLE storyline, mostly tackling the story of 2001 - 2003.

The unpublished chapters of Shadeborne are currently undergoing heavy rewrites. Thus long delays between uploads are to be expected.

Content & Trigger Warning: This story contains blood, extreme violence, death, trauma, mentions of mental health problems and disorders, mentions of suicide, romance and kissing, mentions of sexuality, emotional and physical abuse, disturbing inter-family relations, some misogynistic and/or despicable characters, depictions of grooming, horror, torture, in-world religion, in-world politics, depictions of substance abuse and other content that may be triggering to some readers. It is not intended for readers 13 and under. Reader discretion is adviced.

Synopsis

Oberon withers. Darkness has taken the holy lands as the world shatters to broken ash. The Holy Redeemer has let prayers go unanswered in these times of gloom. And the gods of the dawn are silent.

As the Shadow from beyond creeps ever closer upon the Sunless Realm, the last known bastion of civilization, hope seems but a futile fleeting thing. The tyrant king, Miserix, grows restless. Tensions rise as brother fights brother and family turns on each other. Violence begets violence. Blood begets blood. A war brews from within.

A lonely girl is ripped away from all she loves and holds dear. Thrown into a world of doubt, fear and countless deaths.

Whilst a lone warrior, running from his fate, learns of "The Shadeborne" in The North. Embarking on a journey that could change the fate of Oberon, before it too crumbles to dust...

Book I

"This novel is dedicated to my wonderful boyfriend, his mother, my parents and the many therapists who still inspire and help me today to keep going in this troubled life. Whilst every day is still a struggle, it is because of them that not all hope is yet lost."

Preface

The world is at an end, those were the words that got me interested in writing the story of Shadeborne. One of considerable size and epic scope, yet dark, depressing and filled with fleeting hope.

But why this novel? Why write a fanfiction that is the size of a real book? Practice and testing out ideas is one, another reason is that for a few years I had been running a Dungeons and Dragons campaign based on BIONICLE for my friends, yet with a much more fantasy flair than the original, canon storyline. This was something my brother and I used to do as well when we were younger and still playing with the sets, imagining the story by knowing very little of what was canon. The feeling of telling stories in a setting based on the toyline that shaped my childhood was invigorating when I tried to bring the setting to D&D. It grew into a different beast entirely. I have been battling with depression and mental illness for a long time, nearly all my life, which eventually led to me losing interest in the things I once loved. One of these was writing, which had always been my dream-job. That roleplaying campaign got me interested in trying out writing again, but mostly, it got me interested in BIONICLE again. A major part of an otherwise lonely childhood. And eventually, as interests grew and I went in search of good fanfiction to read, I stumbled upon this wiki.

As I casually browsed what this site had to offer I got even more excited to tell my own stories again and to share them with others. Sharing it is what I love most about writing after all. This led to me wanting to tackle the original 2001 - 2003 storyline of BIONICLE, but in my own way. As a dark fantasy epic, focused on character. And what started out as a fun little project to try my hand at writing again, turned into a piece of work that I poured my heart and soul into. It changed naturally and turned into a behemoth of a story I can be proud of, tackling topics such as mental illness, depression, suicide, hopelessness, abandonment issues, abuse, trauma, grooming, learning to love again after trauma, femininity and its place in a patriarchal world, psychosis, relationship with ones own body, relationships with family, and the meaning of living in a world that doesn't seem to care you exist.

So I must preface this by saying it is a story not for the faint of heart, as it explores these dark themes deeply. Not for shock factor or to add a certain edge to the story, but because I myself went through some of these things and I wish to delve deeper into my soul through writing, explore certain facets of life and use it as a tool to cope with my emotions. Neither is this a story for those who are too loyal to the original source material. This novel takes a lot of liberties and is drastically different. And I do mean it. Be it how characters look, as they do appear a lot more humanoid, to some characters being of a different gender, to some having their personalities heavily changed. It is quite a dark and unforgiving tale that sometimes puts story aside in favor of character exploration that can perhaps be demanding.

I take great pleasure in writing it. And my wish is that you, dear reader, enjoy the experience of reading it. Thank you for reading, from the bottom of my heart.

Map

Oberon Royal Family Tree

Part I - Long Live the King

"Dream is not prophecy. It is the very origin of heresy and blasphemy. And all who doth yet dream shall bring forth the end of days."

―Scripture from the Book of the Dawn.

Prologue

The King is dead. Long live the King!

Those words spoken long ago still echoed through air silent as ghosts of blue. Not a word nor a whisper was uttered. Only a wish in silent prayer. A thin sheet of frozen water this air of ghosts was, crystallized and yet a ripple away from breaking at the seams of where now stood a dying kingdom. And atop its throne sat a dying king. A Tyrant King. A king that never should have been. That single prayer now hung heavy in the air. A wish of curses. A violent yearning. O come, Holy Redeemer, a curse cast upon thine holy kingdom. Shine thine radiance through the ever-growing gloom of eternal night and bless us thus to fight the dark in thine name.

The gods of dawn had gone silent. Shadow and dust now pierced the very heart like a blade unseen. The ash fell from trees long dead, the laid out husks of men emptied afore them in moon light agleam. It covered land once deemed holy, now hollow and ghostly. The living still stirred, the dead Tyrant still reigned true, and uncaring as it was the ash continued to fall through. Winter’s silent tears gave way to snows so fierce. Snow that turned grey and greyer still. Like the spirits of white that dwelt within had lost all their soul and given into to their fears of sin. Its chilling touch made flame to mere embers. Its deadly embrace was warm like blankets. The ash fell heavy and hard it did. For those of faith knew this was to be their final dying pit. Prayers seemed to go unanswered and hope fled the hearts of folk of all ilk alike.

Something, rooted in the old and the deepest of heretical dreams, stirred. A fell presence with its gnarled roots plunged in only darkness not even the stars could touch. It stained the air with branches of silent death and blew the vile wish further south. It had been hidden from the world for far too long. A tree so large none could yet see its blackened crown. It was ancient. Something so utterly evil and incomprehensible no record of it remained thus. The end was now nigh. And the time of radiant splendor had its flame snuffed.

She had seen it in the water, through her eyes long gone. She had felt its shadow loom at the back of her mind. For it blotted out the stars and the holy light of dawn. Yet what had made her flee in pure terror was the dawning of it gazing back at her. It too had seen through waters. It had stolen her dreams and suckled them like a babe. A dark babe, a babe of rotted bark, brown and blue.

The wish blew south further still. And a dream came true.

This thing of ancient times awoke and opened its one eye. Its foul breath of dust and ash spread alike poison through the land. The shackles were close to shattering to a thousand blades of wars now fought in vain. Was her hope for this world but a fleeting thing? Her vision left her blinded. The dreams were still and dark. The Redeemer could lend her aid no longer. And the ghosts of blue were silent. The one place left to find her answers would take her north. Far north. To the dusty ashen snow and places of long lost myth. A pilgrimage to the place where the world ends and past even that. Into frigid unknowns reaching beyond the known world and comforts of holy reveries. To the fated holy lands cast in shadow. And into Shade she scarcely recognised for they had been the source of her blasphemous dreams.

Chapter 1 - Tahu

A Song to the Forlorn

Flakes of white and grey they were. A beauty and a horror all the same. The cold chilled to the bone. Far ahead thunder rolled between the clouds and a flash lit the creeping darkness but for a moment too brief. Then there was an eerie quiet that cut the soul. The ash and snow drifted down. It clung to the edge of a ranger’s blade so gracefully. The blade itself seemed to tremble with fear as the ranger sheathed it slowly.

“My eyes do not yet deceive me. We shan’t go further. We should start back, afore the darkness takes us,” Nuhrii warned, gazing at the blackened trees of the visage before him.

Three of them there were. All well-trained, armed and armored men, cloaked for a bitter winter. The village of Ta-Koro had supplied them well enough for the task at hand. But supplies were scarce. They seemed to have no other choice, for it was a mission out of desperation, a plea and sacrifice to the gods as winter had come with sickness and bad omens in its wake, that much seemed clear to Tahu.

The early winter snows were deep, the air much colder than usual. The thunder awoke a memory in his mind he had long since forgot. One of fire and the screams of death all around. It too had been a winter as fierce as now. The chilling atmosphere threatened to take hold. Yet there was a strange beckoning warmth coming from the dead forest before the three men. Uneasy was the air. Even he could feel it. Tinged with the odd sensation of fear he did not realise he could still feel.

It was the furthest up north he had ever been. And as far north as any man, even rangers, were willing to go. The end of the world as they called it. But that would not stop him. “North.” Those were the only words he could remember from a life long past. The boy in him yet knew what that meant, but the old man he now was had all but forgot.

The patience of their little fellowship had grown thin. For over a week they had been riding hard, tracking a man accused of dark sorcery by the village. A heresy to the gods that brought shame on them all. They wished for the them to bring justice, either by delivering him or to take his head. Tahu preferred the latter.

That they saw the arcane to be heresy Tahu found deeply humorous. There was no such thing as magic, no such thing as gods. Just mere superstition and the evil doings of others. The only thing that was real was flesh and bone and steel. The fear of death. The swing of his sword. The blood that followed. And the regret that soon lingered in the mind.

He could not say the same of his ranger companions, Nuhrii and Jaller. Both were young and held fast to their beliefs, and their superstition. For they were devout followers of the gods of the dawn and followed their book of teachings closely. They were strange bedfellows for now, thusly. For religious men he did not trust and did not care to know.

The journey had been hard and had nearly taken their lives on one occasion or another. Yet they tracked this “sorcerer” despite it all. Besting the harsh conditions of winter as they trekked through the fields of the gloom stricken Unseen Forest and ancient mountains that gave way to world's end. All for the sweet ring and twinkle of gold. The ash had formed mountains of its own there. Many a corpse now lay in the desert of ice and snow. The husks of villages, their occupants and those of pilgrims traveling to the Holy Lands seeking absolution for past sins as their world crumbled around them. A grim sight. It had been as such ever since the Calamity that had felled the sky and shattered the earth beneath its wake so many moons past. But to see it with his own eyes, he had never felt such sorrow.

“Afeared of the dark forest, Nuhrii?” Tahu asked. A slight chuckle escaped his cracked lips.

“Of course. You should be too, mercenary,” the red and black skinned man replied, wrapping his black cloak tighter around himself, “This is a charred, accursed place. The edge of the world. We should not be here, so near to its very presence, we rangers know it. It burns forever more within, its ghosts of red roaming in the ash.”

“It is true none have dared to venture beyond. But ash is ash, we have nothing to fear from it.” Jaller said. The slightly older, golden skinned captain got off his towering Kikanalo horse and secured it to a tree, “We make camp. The darkness will fall soon. We should rest if we are to start back or continue tracking the old man.”

“Captain? Surely we cannot? The coming storm will rage here soon and take us as it took the pilgrims. Leave we must, and swiftly. The sorcerous traitor is most like to be dead in the snow,” Nuhrii said.

It was clear to Tahu the young man was unsettled by the trembling of his legs and the shudder in his voice, but the boy could not convince him easily, not for what he was getting paid. No matter the horrors had had already seen. Nuhrii spoke true of the storm, for it was fast approaching. Tahu waited for the flash of blue to strike and listened to the crack of thunder that followed. The storm was way north still. With luck they could stay the night and return with their price. The mountains and their many caverns were to be their advantage should the storm catch them. He secured his rahi and started collecting timber for a fire.

“If he is dead and we do not have proof I shall get nothing. I wonder if your commander would be satisfied with such an outcome, ranger. After all, he sent you on this task as well,” Tahu almost made the much younger man cower in fear over his strong presence and large battle-weary frame.

The young boy gulped down his spittle.

“He cannot have survived, not this far north, not in this winter. ‘Tis for certain he cannot. There’s a foul stench in the air, a gloom amidst the snow, the storms get fouler still. They drift down south. Further and further as ground shatters. No fire aflame in the village, no children born. No rahi to tame or eat, nor crops to harvest. Even the gods have gone silent. No man alike him survives this. He is old, let the gods do their work.”

Tahu sensed the fear in Nuhrii’s voice and words. For it was a fear he had too once felt when he was a younger man.

“Nuhrii, get off your horse,” Jaller commanded, “We shan't let the mercenary get all the gold for hisself now, do we? As followers of dawn it is our duty to do the gods work. That work is to bring this blasphemer to justice.”

Nuhrii did as he was told, akin to a good pup. Tahu glared at Jaller, the young captain awoke a certain itch in him he could not seem to scratch. An itch for violence. How he wanted to take his blade and gut this golden skinned religious prick. But he kept his composure, there needn't be unnecessary violence. Tahu took off his distinct weathered helmet. The color of it a dark red, as if blood had stained it time and time again. It exposed his greying dark hair, his rough beard, and the left side of his face. For it was badly scarred from being burned. He wrapped his dark cloak tighter around his still muscular yet aging form. He was cold and night grew near.

The group of three made camp and the wearied men ate their rations at the measly fire. The darkness of night was creeping ever closer, the twin moons that had lit the skies with their silver brilliance waned. The air was so cold the fire was nothing but mere embers.

Tahu fed on pieces of beetroot from his hunter’s knife, watching the eerily pitch black sky that stared at him with unseen eyes. Chills ran up his spine. Nuhrii still had that aura of unease about him. At the corner of his eye Tahu watched the man carefully. A careful man had to be prepared for anything. The anxious nature Nuhrii possessed could get the better of him. Yet the boy had been anxious from the very beginning of their journey. There was truth to what he spoke of, this winter was worse than the last. The chances of the sorcerer living still were slim. But who was he to back down from an unfinished job. Tahu turned his gaze to captain Jaller. The man was armored in leather and several steel plates. The blades he carried were short and quick. A swift warrior, a true ranger, as one would say. He seemed confident in his task, but Tahu did not trust him. Nor should he, trust was for weaker men. The captain wanted that gold as well, and here in the North gold meant more than it was actually worth. Even sacrificing those closest to you. Never trust a Northman, that is what they always said.

The mercenary decided not to sleep in that very moment as he observed the two men. Something felt off, more so than it had since they rode out. At almost fifty years of age, the weathered man knew to never trust others. Not when they were this close to their prey. His memory had faltered many moons ago, but his instincts had not. The time had come to finish this, the old man could not have gone far. He could almost sense him, smell his stench.

Tahu knew very little of the man they were tracking. Vakama was his name. A supposed dark sorcerer, a hoarder of the ancient knowledge and spells akin to the Turaga of the capital. He scoffed to himself. A fraud, like they all were, raising fear into the hearts of innocents by superstitions. The things fear could do. All in the name of the Tyrant King and the gods of the dawn, the cycle that repeated itself time and time again. This Vakama was supposedly a village elder, before he went mad and turned to the arcane that many saw as heresy. Not much time had passed when the other elders turned against him and he fled. It should have been an easy job. Far too easy for the gold they offered Tahu. For the old man had supposedly little supplies. Easy it should have been, indeed. But it was anything but what the mercenary had expected. The storms had caught Tahu and the rangers by surprise. It caused them to lose the sorcerers tracks as they walked straight into nature’s deathtraps and an eventual bandit ambush at the outskirts of what was left of civilisation. Little did those bandits know who they were attempting to rob. He could still see steel flashing, the crimson staining the white and the grey and the black alike. He was once considered an artist, now he saw himself a butcher. For a butcher of men he was.

“Where did you learn to fight like that, mercenary?” Jaller had asked him, taking a bite from his jerky. The captain eyed him closely, Tahu saw him looking over his armored body and the plate and chain mail he wore above it, as if he were studying him. Searching for any weakness.

“War,” he had grumbled in reply, uninterested. He had never been one for conversation.

“You were a soldier?”

Tahu had gone silent for a bit then. He had contemplated what to say before he opened his mouth, for he did not know. When he spoke he chewed on a piece of beetroot without a care in the world for manners.

“Something akin to a soldier, yes.”

That was all he could remember.

“What made you leave? Did you not swear an oath of duty to the crown?”

“A better life,” Tahu had replied sullenly, without looking the captain in the eye.

Jaller had not asked more after that, as Tahu preferred his solitude.

The gloom of night came quick as if the day had never existed. It was pitch black in the skies above. Lightning flashed and thunder roared ever fierce. Tahu reached for his trusted longsword. For it was aptly named ‘Butcher’. He was prepared to take the first watch. For the nights were hard, and the dangers of the North ever present. Jaller and his young ranger had already gone abed, the journey having exhausted them to no end.

For now the mere embers of the fire gave them some semblance of warmth and light despite the darkness. But the cold was bitter, even piercing through Tahu's thick fur cloak by Northmen make. The thunder roared and the screams so hollow were drowned by wind. Tahu did not worry about attracting rahi here. This far north, nothing lived, and all that once did was now ash and husk and bloody snow. No, he feared things far worse than that.

The older man grabbed some small, charred pieces of wood he had collected and with oil used it to keep the campfire lit. It was then he heard it. A faint sound. Alike the wind. Singing. He stood up, sword at the ready as he tried to listen more intently. The sounds were so soft they were like the breeze on a warm summer morning. Something he longed for. It was the voice of a young girl. One with a voice as beautiful as a twinkle of stars. The girls voice soothed his senses and lulled him closer. It was a lullaby he could scarcely recognized, yet his mind left him in the dark forever more.

“In the wintry fate,

When the dreams hath gone.

Feel its blade of silver belong.

Hear mine call, mine song to thee.

As the dream come of wintry shade.

The debt to be repaid,

Hear mine song and bring me she,

At the edge of winter’s blade.”

The melody somehow brought back warm memories he did not know he had, an insatiable longing. It was as if it pulled him, beckoned him. It drew him nearer to the charred forest ahead as if he were seduced by a lover. The snow crunched neath his boots as the darknesss enveloped him whole.

Almost adrift in waking slumber, Tahu was pulled from his trance when something hard slammed into him. It was Nuhrii.

“No fire!” the young ranger screamed in fury, “Do not wake it! No fire!”

He kicked the campfire hard as he wrestled with the mercenary for control, madness aflame in his eyes.

Tahu threw the man off of him and held him to the ground.

“You are mad! Your wish is to freeze is that it?! Well ranger, be my guest.”

He was still in a daze from the music, as if all this were a mere dream, so seductive and blasphemous. A seduction that beckoned devotion and pulled at his heart as if it were hooked on a chain. He resisted with all his might and held the edge of his blade to Nuhrii’s throat.

“You have heard it too then? If your wish is to follow her and die then do so, merc!” Nuhrii spat back, an uncontrollable laughter errupted from his throat as if possessed. His eyes seemed to burst. He took out a dagger and stabbed Tahu in the ribs through the mail of his weathered half-plate. The older man cried out as the sensation of pain sang through his body. Nuhrii slipped from his grasp, and grabbed a shortsword on the way. Without looking back, the cowardly ranger ran straight into the cursed, burned forest. The boy seemed stricken with fear and anger. Captain Jaller jolted awake at the chaos, dazed and confused.

"Craven!" Tahu grabbed his wounded side and saw the blood coat his hand. The warmth of it comforted him. “By Karzahni,” he groaned.

“What happened, mercenary? Where is Nuhrii?”

“Treacherous villain! He stabbed me and ran off into the wood!” he cursed, nudging his head towards the dark forest.

The captain of the guard stared at him for longer than he should, he seemed apprehensive. A dark expression now gained form on his face. It curled to a smirk. The young captain reached for his blades. Before Tahu could react, Jaller lunged forward with an immense speed. The first stab of the rangers steel came swiftly, striking Tahu’s hand. The sword he held now flung to the icy ground below.

The mercenary reached for his shield, but Jaller was quick to wrestle him to the snow and ash, his shorter blades hitting steel as Tahu tried to protect his exposed face and fresh wound with his gauntlets.

Jaller violently stabbed at the heavily armored warrior, enraged and with a seeming thirst for blood and death unbecoming of a ranger such as him. Many of his stabs hit Tahu’s armor as he fought back without his sword. With a guttural roar and wild strength, he swung his arm as hard as he could, shattering one of Jaller’s blades into a thousand pieces alike the shattering of ice. Yet it had exposed his wounded side to the cold and the dark and the very eyes of a man out for blood and seeming vengeance.

The captain was fast to act. The ranger struck and hit Tahu in his wound. He could feel the blade pierce him several times, the pain unbearable, as it entered him again and again. The blade pierced deeper, it twisted and opened the wound further still as all turned crimson in its wake.

He roared in anger and grabbed Jaller by the hand, dragging the knife out of him, opening the wound open obscenely further. Blood splattered on grey snow. It melted in its heat. Tahu felt the ranger’s fingers break in his steel grip of ancestral giant's strength. He broke Jaller’s arm backwards, the captain screamed in agony at the brutality. Tahu punched him in the face over and over again until he saw red from rage. The ranger fell to the ground, his face a bloody mess. As he tried to get to his feet, Tahu grabbed his sword by the blade and hit the younger man in the back of the head with the pommel. The ranger fell silent into the snow.

Tahu caught his breath, steam rising from his mouth as if he were a dragon. He hit his wounds to stay awake, growling like the very creatures of old. He tied Jaller up in what little rope he had and put his unconscious body next to the embers, before he spat blood on the man. “This fellowship has lasted long enough, ranger. The sorcerer is mine.”

The pain ached through his body as he got to his feet, his sword as his support. He put on his helmet and lit the lantern at his side. With slow pained steps, enraged and with a purpose he made his way to the dark, burned forest. He gazed up at the tall broken frames of the charred trees, the sentinels towering like dead gods. The warmth beckoned him. The same longing he had felt before as he heard the song of winter's blade. The hairs at the back of his neck stood up. He shan’t fear, not now, he thought. He firmly gripped his sword and entered the woods, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

The trees were like ghosts, some still burned as others lay dead. Ash fell and clung to his armor. He knew no fire had raged here in the recent past. No, this wood was burned long ago. Here was where the world ends and another begins. Where a dark gate once was and now only ruin remained all around, reclaimed by cursed nature.

“Nuhrii!” He called out in anger. There was no response.

He felt as if he was being watched as he slowly made his way deeper and deeper into the dark woods of charred bark that were alike eyes long dead. A strange blue mist enveloped his boots as he went further. It seemed to move as if avoiding his steps. Tahu was certain he was seeing things due to heavy blood-loss. There was no other way. Then he saw lights. The flickering of red fire that harbored no warmth, licking the trees as if they had just caught flame. He readied his blade, before he heard it. A whisper so soft it was as if the wind itself spoke aloud.

“Tahu.”

The wearied warrior turned and looked. There was no sign of anyone, or anything.

“Tahu,” he heard it again, that same whisper. The same voice as the girl he had heard singing. There was pain in that voice, pain that beckoned him. Another whisper entered his senses, a different voice he did not recognise. A raspier, older voice, as if that of an old man.

“Shadeborne,” it croaked.

Violent cracks came from the trees as they groaned at the forbidden words. The mist grew thicker and seemed to spiral around his legs.

Before he could take another step he was flung into the air with such a force it could well collapse a wall. Dirt, ash and snow soon followed as Tahu hit the ground hard with a clang from his armor. Every inch of his form ached, he heard no sound but persistent ringing. He grasped his sword from the dirt before another blast hit him, sending him through a tree and into another gnarled sentinel. Splinters littered his body. The tree he burst through crumbled and fell toward him. Tahu was quick to roll out of the way as it almost crushed him whole.

The warrior groaned in pain, trying to get up from under the many dead branches and debris that now trapped him. He could not, his strength was waning. What had struck him? A bomb? For the first time in years, Tahu felt true fear. A fear that soon grew to horror as the tree that crushed him started burning. He yelled and cried out, “Help...Help!”

No one answered. He was alone.

The fire spread, it came closer and burned hotter, as memories long forgot came back to him of the day his face burned as hot as molten steel. With all of his strength he cried out in pain and started to push the tree off of him. As if he had a renewed strength, from the giant's blood he had forsaken long ago, he rolled the burning colossus of bark away from himself. Tahu stumbled to his feet, he felt as if his bones were crushed and his breath was gone. He drew his sword once more, biting away the immense pain, and cursed Ta-Koro for presenting him this task. Parts of his armor had now cought flame, it caused him to panic as the familiar sensation of flames licking skin washed over him. He saw flashes, images of days lost to time. It all burned.

A third, yet lesser, blast sent him into the night sky. He hit another tree, his right arm snapping at the force. The plates of his armor pierced his skin and all turned crimson. Tahu could barely see, the pain had become unbearable, how he lived still he did not know. He forced himself to grip his sword tighter with both hands, broken arm be damned. One last stand afore the fall.

A shift in the snow and ash caught his eye. Something frail, wrapped in rags, lunged at him, a scream of horror following with it. Tahu swung his sword hard, he felt the splattering of blood on him, yet this blood was strangely cold. His blade was coated with it. He turned to see the remains of a withered, ragged old body, now cleaved in two. The snow and ash turned black as clotted blood spilled like old wine.

The body was covered in very little but a ravaged robe and rags. He was old, older than any man he had ever seen. His features skeletal. This was Vakama, as he saw the corpse before him, the man he had been looking for. Of that he was now certain, for he bore the crest of the Ta-Koro elders.

Tahu gasped for air. The pain almost made him drift away to lands uncharted. The ragged sounds of raspy breath brought him back to the ash and snow but briefly. He turned to see the head of Vakama turn and stare him in the face. The neck snapped and broke yet the man’s eyes burned through bone and soul alike. The mercenary did not know what he saw but the guttural sound of this thing’s raspy breath, the sight of it, paralysed him alike nothing else had. His sword hit the bloodied snow.

Then, it spoke with raspy breath, “Mayest I thine ear bend?”

Tahu was frozen. Unable to utter a word. The sounds the corpse made were alike the snapping of bones and the gurgling of blood.

“The known world is coming at an end. He has forseen it. The cracks hath formed and and souls depart. Baleful shadows all. Forlorn is the fate thou wishest to outrun, the path thee shouldst take is north, for it is all that shall remain. As far north as north can go.”

“North,” the word from his past bewitched his mind once more, it spoke in a tongue so sweet.

“North? What will I find there?” Tahu asked, his voice trembling with fear.

“The Shadeborne. And that which thou seekest.”

He did not understand the corpse's words, it knew things not even he did, "What am I seeking, revenant? Speak and tell it true!"

The thing started to laugh. A sound even he found to be unholy. It laughed as the blood spilled from its agape mouth. It uttered no more words.

Tahu grasped the hilt of his sword and cut off the corpse’s head in anger. The head rolled and silence took the woods once more. He stumbled back, his wounds were too grave, he was dying. As if falling asleep, he fell onto the blood soaked ash and snow. The last thing he saw was a little snowflake drifting down upon his scarred face.

Only the flake of snow was blue. And did not melt or leave his side.

Chapter 2 - Hahli

Hair of Lapis Lazuli

There was a stillness in the air. All the things that once were, the things that could be, were silent. Even the very winds were still, a chill no longer. Silent broken things. Its pieces scattered in waters that were of a storm long past. A teary storm. A tempest of emotion so violent that none could control, not even the Storm Gods of old. In the gloom of this water there was a girl. A small girl. A small girl of brilliant blue. The stillness was deafening. Blood fell in water. It turned red, then pink, then blue. As blue as the girl was, as blue as blue can ever be. Its vibrancy swirled and surged it did.

Giggle.

She wanted to, yet not a sound escaped her pouted lips in the quietness of this broken nothingness. The swirling color formed a reflection, a mirror that was broken, wounded, alone and dead. Dead. She was slain. So it seemed. Her eyes were grey, her skin was too, and bone peaked through. The blue had all but faded away. The reflection gazed at her. It smiled a wicked smile and revealed a gaping hole where her stomach should have been. There was nothing but bone and blood and greying flesh that turned to dust. This dust that fell from the skies and covered all.

The girl remained still for mere moments that felt as an eternity. With grit she disturbed the visage in the water by a wave of her hand and looked upon herself such as she was. A child. She studied the sky above. Afore her very eyes there was a vista as vibrant as a market of silk in the east. Blues, purples, greens, reds, yellows and the most brilliant of pinks. The darkened skies of the world had opened, revealing a cosmic glow only she seemed to know. As she gazed at the sight in awe, a man knelt at her side and held her tiny hand. She knew him and knew him well. For he was her friend.

The touch was not warm but electric. There was a spark, a connection, a tingle and a gentleness in the sting of it that almost felt like home. Thoughts flowed to her alike words spoken aloud. She closed her tired eyes. No more was she the small girl who sat in the stillness of broken things, but a young woman grown. She tightened her grip in his hand, pain coursing through it, though she did not seem to care. A smile came upon her face that had once been sad. Here, she was a girl so free. Free to be herself and who she wished to become. Outside of pain, grief and the judging eyes of monsters.

Here, in dreams, she did not weep. Here she was alike the storm itself. She controlled it like a goddess. Free at last. No longer the broken child none seemed to want. She looked at the Dreamer. His grey face so gentle, his eyes deep. He smiled and she smiled back. She leaned in closer. So did he.

But it was a dream. And she did not sleep.

The ash fell on Kini Nui. The flakes were like grey feathers of dust, slowly coating the gardens and the city alight with lights alike. From here the city looked so peaceful, a place of wonders Hahli had never seen. It beckoned her to explore all its different facets, awakening a certain sense of adventure within her belly. A feeling akin to that of the books she read. For many they were. She oft wondered if the world outside was as beautiful as it were in the stories. Perhaps it was. Yet the sight afore her also brought a crippling fear, as if the lights that gave the capital its wonders were also the eyes of monsters, gazing at her as if she were nude through the window she so often stared from.

She closed the curtains. The fear was too much to bear. Here, in her room of colored walls, drawings and gold she was safe. It was the only place the monsters dared not enter, her father and her uncle had assured her. She was safe was she not? She never felt certain that she was, for this place was haunted. It had been ever since she was born.

The bells tolled and the sound echoed through the city outside. The horrid noises disturbed her thoughts and caused tears to roll down her pale blue cheeks. She quickly rubbed them away. She hated these tears that so often stained her face, they seemed like her worst enemy. An even greater foe than herself.

Her mother had so oft asked her why she cried. Yet she could scarcely remember her. Hahli had told her of the ghosts and monsters that roamed the towers and loomed larger than they did. But nothing was as frightening as the thought of being left alone. The man in her dreams had warned her she would end up alone, and this she could not bear. Her mother had comforted her then. Dreams were only dreams were her words. But Hahli was not dull-witted. She knew of dreams and their meaning. She was literate and had read all manner of books from the royal archives. Her skin was blue as the moons and her hair was the color of lapis lazuli. Just like that of her mother. She had read of it and knew what it meant. More than her mother had led on. The man of her dreams was a dreamer, perhaps she was too. A rare sort. The Dreamer had guided her through many a strange land, of colors ethereal, cosmic and dark. Yet the world outside scared her more than anything. In dreams she was safe. But when awake she were mere flesh and bone. No, Hahli was certain she would end up alone.

She crawled onto her large bed and held her knees close to her chest. The small and frail girl almost disappeared in the soft silks and pillows that surrounded her. She rocked back and forth, trying to distract herself, to make herself feel better any way she could. It once again refused to give her the solace she sought. As it always did. She felt so hopeless, a hopeless broken thing. Every day was the same, akin to a massive brute her emotions seemed to wreck her life. They tortured her until she was left numb and bleeding from every part of her small form. She started to weep once again and hugged her stuffed animals close. Many of them there were, each with their own unique name. They were her friends, the only ones she truly had, beside her Dreamer and the one she loved. The stuffed Rahi went on adventures with her through the walls, they comforted and protected her when she got scared, holding her hand to guide her back to safer havens. What she would ever do without them, she did not know.

A knock at the door made her jump and scream. She quickly dashed under the bed, her grip tightly around the body of Mister Boozle. The stuffed pink creature looked at her with those adorable big eyes of his. It whispered words of comfort, but they fell on deaf ears. Was it the monsters again? The ghosts that seemed to chase her every waking moment? Another knock startled her and her heart pounded in her chest as if it were to burst through. She wanted to say something, anything at all, yet the words could not escape her lips. It was as if she were frozen, terrified of what might be on the other side. Why had she not the strength she so desired? The mettle to cower no longer.

“Princess?”

She recognized the voice, it belonged to one of the many servants that went about the keep day and night. She did not know her name, she had never dared to ask. Hahli remained silent, her breath shallow and quickened.

“May I come inside, princess? I bring a message from your father, the prince,” the servant asked, gently. Yet her voice did not soothe Hahli in the least, the young girl only got more nervous at the thought of conversing with a woman she barely knew. She covered her face with her long blue hair as if to hide even more than she were. As she peered through the strands of her locks at the door, she could see a second pair of boots, the shadow of them visible from under the crack.

The second voice was calm, it lulled her into a slight sense of safety. For she recognized it and loved it so. A voice she oft heard in her fantasy. “It is alright. I shall take it from here. Now abed with ye. Consider yourself dismissed.” Hahli could almost hear him smile. The man got closer to the door. “Hahli dear? It is I, your uncle. Mayest I thine private palace of stuffies enter?”

Her uncle’s voice was playful, and it calmed her nerves. Stuffies is what she liked to call her stuffed rahi collection. Only her uncle knew they were called that. Thus it was definitely him and not a perpetrator masquerading as him, her instincts were correct. She tried to say yes, but she uttered no sound. She dried her tears and crawled out from under her bed. Still holding on the Mister Boozle as if he too would dare leave her, she slowly opened the door and looked up at her tall uncle, standing there with his long hair of silver that shone bright like a lake, purple eyes and darker greyish skin that was so perfect it was alike art. She was certain it was so soft. He wore a simple, yet fancy, tunic. All in black, of course. She had never seen him wear anything else. The perfect knight, the perfect prince.

“Something amiss, my little princess?” he asked, a concerned look on his face. Indubitably he could see the dried tears on her face.

Hahli nodded hesitantly. She let her uncle step inside of her room. He closed the door behind himself, quickly, for Hahli did not like it to be open for too long. Lest the monsters get inside. She sat onto the bed. Her senses still bombarded by the continuous tolling of the bells that never seemed to end. She wanted them to stop. Her uncle sat next to her and softly caressed her hair. The small girl leaned against him, his touch was so warm and inviting. Yet she was anxious he would call her indecent for only wearing her short nightgown. A small part of her hoped he yet would in his playful way, for she actually loved being a little wicked. Around him especially. Something she would never admit to anyone but the voices in her mind in a thousand years.

There was a long silence. Though uncomfortable for her at first, it grew into a form of solace and security. As if held by her blankets and stuffies. With him she felt at home, as she so oft did in dreams.

“Why did granddad have to die?” the girl asked in a frail voice, “Why him and not someone else? I don’t understand.”

Hahli's eyes were once more stained by tears of sorrow, she swiftly buried her face in her uncle’s chest. There was no stopping her emotions and her tears that wished to flow like molten silver. He held her close and gave her head a soft kiss. “Your grandfather was old, dear. Inevitably his time ran out. We cannot live forever, sad as that may be, and he was no different. He was a good king who loved his people, and a good man who loved you. He shall always love you, even in death. Did you know that? A part of him is still alive inside you.” He placed his hand over her heart and then touched her forehead, “Alive in your heart and alive in the memories you cherish. That is the way we remain immortal. No matter what the books tell us.”

Hahli was still weeping. “It hurts. I want it to stop hurting.”

“It hurts yes, but that hurt will lessen with time. Grief is a normal part of life, child. And you are a strong girl, no one is as persevering as you. Pain does not last forever. It passes like a storm does. As the moons doth wane and give way to night. I know what it feels like, Hahli. I want you to know you are not alone in this.”

“What happened to mom never stopped hurting.” She remembered her mother, yet her memories were vague still. No one could ever fill the void she left, despite how young she had been when she passed. She had been the only one who could make her feel whole. The person she could never disappoint. Who loved her no matter how different and difficult she was.

Her uncle lifted her chin a bit, “It never stopped hurting for me as well. Some wounds are deep and are harder to mend or heal. And fallacious it is not. Nor will I ever judge you for the wounds you carry. I am here for you, and as long as I live I will be there, to help clean those wounds, new and old alike.”

“I love you,” she whispered in her feeble voice.

“And you know I love you as well. As does your father.” He gave her another kiss on her head and softly stroked her shining hair with a gentleness only he could. His words melted like sweet honey in her chest. Those three words she wanted to hear over and over again. ‘I love you’. She wished for him to say them to her once more. She desired it deeply. O gods, let him be the first to let those proclamations escape his lips so she could say that she loved him too.

“I do not want you to leave too.”

Her uncle chuckled, “Oh, Hahli, I will not. I could never leave you. You are my precious little girl.”

Hahli gave him a tight hug, never wanting to let go. He returned her hug without hesitation. It made her melt in his warm embrace further still. “Do you promise? Promise me. You have to promise.”

“I promise, Hahli. I promise.”

He cupped her face and gave her kiss on the cheek, it lingered longer than it should, yet she cherished it. Her breath quickened with parted lips. “Do you like the nightgown I gave you?”

Hahli looked upon her nightgown, the one her uncle had gifted her the week before. It was a present for her sixteenth birthday. She loved it so, the way it felt and how it made her feel more womanly when she looked in the mirror. Yet she did not tell him that, instead she gave a shy little nod. She was still afeared of what he would say if he knew how much it meant.

“That gladdens my heart,” he simpered, “It fits you nicely, little princess.”

Her flesh grew warm with his words. There was a bit of quietude between them soon after. She wanted to ask it, but the words were stuck in her throat. Her uncle stroked her beautifully long blue hair and back, as Hahli leaned against his shoulder, a soft smile now taken form on her tear-stained face at the sensation.

Hahli broke the silence and let the words escape in a soft whisper. “Uncle Teridax?”

“Yes?”

“Can you stay with me tonight? I-I am afeared and cannot sleep,” she stuttered out the words, whispering still. She slouched, her heart small for what answer he would give.

Teridax smiled, “Of course I will. Anything for my favorite princess.”

“Favorite princess? There are none, other than me. Only princes,” she giggled a bit. A happiness returned to her because of his answer.

The silver-haired prince let out a chuckle, “Yet my favorite you remain.” He softly touched the tip of her nose. “Now, your father wishes to see you, best not keep him waiting. Or I shan’t hear the end of it, and he already cavils and moans my ears off to no end.”

Hahli chuckled at that. Her uncle was always able to make her smile. Even on the darkest of days.

The little princess hesitated. Yet she had to ask. “Uncle? Do you think me indecent?”

Teridax paused and looked at her, taking in the visage of her, “No, I do not. I can grant my countenance. But your father will think different if he sees you in that. Better you get changed into something else methinks, afore we leave to see him. I shall await you outside.”

The prince bowed formally, yet he had a gay grin on his face. He made his way to the door before Hahli stopped him, she rushed over to hold his hand in her own.

“Please stay,” she begged, “For I do not wish to be alone right now.”

Her uncle lamented, “Hahli, that would be indecent of me. I cannot say yes, thusly. I shall be right outside your door. No monster would dare enter with me at the gates, Dark Mistress in hand, protecting you. You have my word, and I intend to keep it.” He caressed her cheek with the utmost of grace and gave a soft peck on her forehead. “Now get dressed, silly girl, afore the gods themselves get impatient.”

Hahli looked at him, her disappointment and dismay filled her heart greatly. How she wished he could just stay. Something always got in the way. Why could he not just stay? But she could not help but smile at the man that was her uncle and dearest. Teridax closed the door behind him, leaving her to herself, her thoughts and her stuffies once more.

Excitedly she purred to Mister Boozle, “He likes it! He likes what I am wearing, can you believe that Boozle?” She hugged the stuffed animal tightly before going over to her closet to change into appropriate attire. Briefly she admired herself in the mirror, she stood straighter, slouching no longer, and actually felt keenly to what she saw. She took off the gown slowly, as if practising for a later time, a spark of wickedness in her eyes and mind, afore putting on a dress. She kept her hair the little mess that it was, she had no time to fix it right now.

All she had to do was open the door to the world outside of her chambers. Breathe in and out. 'Twas simple. Her uncle was right there, she could do this. No monster would harm her. None could beat the undefeated swordsman that was Teridax the Shadow of Oberon. She was almost certain of that.

Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the door and Teridax smiled at her, taking her hand in his. “Look at the big steps you are making.”

Hahli huffed in response, which got her a chuckle from her uncle.

“You even did your hair it seems,” he tittered and teasingly gave her a small push on the arm.

“Shut up,” she replied shyly, “It is fine like this.”

“It is,” he smirked and messed up her hair even more.

Prince Teridax guided her through the darkened palace halls. The statues here had always scared Hahli. They were like stone ghosts watching her every move. Each a sword in hand that could cleave her in half with ease. Her father had told her many a times that the statues could not harm her. They were made of stone, and stone had yet to move as flesh as far as history was concerned. Truth those words held, for the archives had no recollections of such events. Yet this did not stop her fears. This palace was strange, not of this world, and she knew its ghosts were real. Stone creatures were a prospect in her mind. The monsters had always been real. Even when others could not see them. The curse she had brought upon the towers when she was born was a true curse like the ones of old. Yet none seemed to believe it.

Her uncle led her to the door of her father’s chambers. And as if it was the long forgotten mythical sun itself, she saw him. A gilded knight with golden hair and bright pale skin. He was like a dream come alive afore her. The armor he wore seemed to brighten the hall where he stood with the glitter of gold, whilst his blade seemed to attract only darkness. She knew of him. The famed Abyss Walker. The Light of the East. The man she had read the chronicles of so many times over, her little obsession. Finally being so close to him awoke a certain feeling in her belly and she bit her lip. He was a man very prominent in her little wicked fantasies. Yet her fantasies seemed to shatter in an instant as the knight did not look down at her at all, he did not even seem to notice her. How could he not acknowledge the princess? His green eyes greeted her uncle, and she and Teridax entered her father’s bedchambers. She was still dazed from the visage of him. She could remember seeing him in the flesh before when she snuck around. He was always at her grandfather’s side, yet now he was here, so close to her she could smell the scent of eastern flowers. At the side of her fathers no less. Why had he not seen her, or even hailed her? Was she truly that unnoticeable, that ugly, that none saw she was the princess? The Dreamer's forewarnings were speaking true once again. The thoughts irked her already busy mind like no other.

The door closed behind them. Hahli saw her father abed. His crippled and weakened body covered by the sheets of his chaise. He looked at her, a smile cracked across his pained, scarred face that was as grey as a ghost's. Hahli rushed over to him and enveloped him in a hug perhaps too tight for a frail man such as he.

“There, there, my girl,” her father chuckled and hugged her back with one arm. His arms were so thin she could feel his bones.

“Are you in pain father?” she asked, very concerned for his well-being.

Her father smiled at her. “A bit. Yet it pains me more what today hath brought. Your grandfather’s passing is a new wound in our familiy's side. My uncle's children are most like to vie for control of the realm. Yet most it pains me that my beautiful girl isolates herself so day by day.” There was a sadness in his voice.

“Should I bring you more medicine, brother?” her uncle asked his younger brother.

“No, no, I am fine, Teridax.” Hahli’s father caressed her face and hair. “Hard days are ahead, my child. Though it burdens my heart to tell you this. With your grandfather’s passing a new king will be chosen. That duty will regrettably fall to me. Death is an inevitability. With no true heir to my name I have given it much thought-”

Hahli cut him off, “No! No, no, do not die father. You cannot.” Her eyes started to water with the rivers of sorrow at the thought of losing him to death's grip.

He embraced her, trying to calm her down, “I am not dying yet, sweetheart. Yet my illness is an issue of great import to the council but to you as well. Perhaps I might live a long and prosperous life, bring Oberon back to its glory days. Or perhaps not. This is a reality we must all face.”

Her uncle was rather silent. She wanted to go over to him and embrace him, yet she felt her father would not approve. She knew he did not approve of her closeness to her uncle.

“Father? What about uncle Teridax? He can be king, can he not? He is an undefeated swordsman, honorable and worthy to lead. It shall give you the rest you so need.”

Her father sighed. “The rules are the rules, child, as written by the gods themselves. We shan’t break them, lest we bring their wrath down upon us.”

“Can a king not do whatever he so desires? Even change the rules? He must, no?” Hahli asked, expecting her father to say yes. Her father was vulnerable. But her dear uncle could rule in his stead. He would be the perfect match. He was perfect at everything. To her it did not matter that he was not bound to her dear father by blood.

“Even a king is bound by rules and law. For if he is not, he is no king, but a tyrant. Oberon must not fall to the whims of such a man,” he answered, his voice more frail the longer he spoke. “Teridax, could you leave us?”

Hahli looked over to her uncle, begging him to stay. He turned his gaze to her and softly smiled yet shook his head in defeat. “Of course, brother. I shall be right outside should you have a need of me, Hahli.” Teridax left the room, leaving Hahli alone with her sickly father. Rare was such an occurrence. Yet Hahli cherished this, even if it meant her uncle was not at her side.

“Hahli, my beautiful, innocent Hahli,” he caressed her hair. She leaned into his hand as if she was starved for a touch, “I have chosen you should I wither and die. You shall rule alongside your consort. And your sons after you. You will be the true queen one day. I shall make it so. No longer shall a patriarch rule in the stead of a dying king’s daughter. Rules be damned.”

“What? Why? What happened to never changing them?” she asked innocently.

Her father lifted her chin and looked her in the eyes, “For you I would change the world, my child. You are the last of her I have left. You would make a fine queen one day, yet for that I need you to open up and see the world. To get out of this darkness that seems to plague your mind. You are strong, stronger than you believe yourself to be. Yet you can be stronger still.”

She was not primed for a husband let alone a child. She could never rule the nightmarish places of the outside world. “Why do you not just give the throne to uncle Teridax? He deserves it more than anyone.”

“Teridax is unfit to rule,” his tone suddenly grew serious and darker, “A man like him cannot.”

“But, why? He is your brother.” Hahli started to cry. It felt as if her father completely rejected him, his own brother who loved him so. She did not understand. Her uncle deserved better than this. It hurt her heart to see him so rejected by their own royal house.

“I know you love him, Hahli, I do as well. But not every man is destined to be king. He is a fine warrior and prince, but as such he shall remain. I did not choose this moment to ascend, but it has befallen me. I never desired this throne, yet the throne chose me. The gods chose it for me. It was writ in the stars. The throne now needs a king who does not hunger for it or its power. And Teridax and my cousins alike hunger more and more. After me the throne shall pass to you. You remain the only one in our family I can trust with this, do you understand. You are possessed of a gentle nature, one befitting a crown. You shall be a woman grown soon. You shall get responsibilities as the crown-princess.”

“I cannot do responsibilities,” Hahli sobbed, “I cannot even walk a hall alone, lest make my own bed.”

“Yet they are expected of you, now, child. Such is the way of life. Unfair though it may be. We cannot change that. All I can do is make it easier for you. I shall select a fine group of husbands you can choose from for your consort. Strong souls who can rule with you, stand by your side, provide you with a worthy heir to Oberon’s throne. If I am to die eventually, I need you to be the strong girl I know you are to keep our family together. The hold the realm in unity as all seek to tarnish what remains. Teridax cannot ascend, he must not, this is the one thing he cannot attain. Nor can any of your uncles or nephews.”

“Fie! Why give it to me? Speak true! I can sense the deceit behind your eyes and your serpentine tongue, father. For I am the one person who has no desire to sit that ugly thing. And do not speak such honeyed words that claim you never desired it, you did!” Suddenly her voice got louder, it made even her father flinch. She felt the anger well up inside her. A tempest of blue. How could her father do this to her? For years he had left her to her own. For years she could do what she so wanted and desired. For years he had left her to suffer as she mourned her mother’s death alone. He never prepared her for this, never wished to. If he had truly wanted this for her he should have claimed her as his heir from the day she was born. Instead she was his greatest blow to his ego, for she was girl and not a boy born.

“I do not want the throne! Nor do I want your husbands, nor a bloody child! Perhaps you should endeavour to substitude mom again and get a son, a worthy heir with virility, would that not be better for this damned kingdom?! Or do you think me such a dullard or prude I would not know and remember? How you looked down on me for simply being a daughter!” He had done so in the past, he had despised her gender. He tried to replace her, tried to have an heir with a new wife. A son. A son, a son, a son, so he went on and on. But it would seem the cripple could not do even that. Her father tried to speak but Hahli hastily ran out of the room like a storm of blue. She hated it here, she hated her father, she hated her life. Her uncle tried to stop her but she just pushed him away as she ran to her room. Gone were the fears of ghosts and monsters, she wanted to get away from it all. She closed the door and locked it. She heard the footsteps of someone fast approaching.

“Hahli? What happened? Do you wish to talk? It is me, your uncle.”

“Go away!” she screamed.

“I only want to help you, princess. I wish to be there for you.” Her uncle’s voice was soft and calm, welcoming even, but all Hahli wanted was to be alone. Perhaps forever. Her eyes were red with tears.

“Leave me alone! Go away and never come back!”

There was silence and then a sigh. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She heard her uncle walk away and regret washed over her as soon as silence took the halls.

“Please, no, no, please do not go! Please do not leave me! I need you! Please do not leave me!”

Her sobbing she could control no longer. She pulled at her hair and scratched her skin with her nails until she saw blood. She crawled in her bed and cried, crimson staining silk. Unable to undo all the damage she had just wrought upon her family in an instant. For they were all she had left. Such a disappointment she was. Always. She was alone just as her dreams had said she would be.

The tolling of the bells did not stop. All she could picture was that they were mourning her. The loss of the princess she could never be.

Chapter 3 - Pohatu

Den of Wolves

Massive wooden gates reinforced with steel opened like a giant’s mouth, revealing the capital city of Kini Nui on the other side. From afar it was a city of splendor and unmatched beauty. A crown-jewel in a kingdom many did not know was dying. Did he care that it was? Perhaps he did, perhaps not. Purple leaves fell all around, alike purple fireflies they were. The main well-decorated carriage took off as soon as the gates were opened wide, followed suit by its company of smaller wagons alike. The guards saluted them and closed the gates as the company rode into the city. With a heavy slam that would make any man startle, the gate was shut.

Pohatu looked out from the curtains at his side of the main carriage. With the Twin Moons casting their ethereal glow on the city, it almost felt like coming home as he gazed at Kini Nui’s splendor. If he had been as naive as his nephew seated next to him, he would have gazed at the beauty and forgotten to see the ugly, rotten side. The people who had suffered for decades under the rule of a tyrant. And akin to the word that reached him, the tolling bells confirmed the Tyrant King had indeed passed. Good, he thought. Yet the other more concerning news, the news the silent whisperers had caught his interests with, deeply occupied his already worried mind.

He took a sip of his dark red wine, thinking it the blood of Miserix as he drank, smiling at his young sister-by-marriage, Kotu. He raised his cup and winked at his nephew Hewkii, “To our health, to the new king, and to a hundred days of Kolhii Games!”

Hewkii and Kotu were none the wiser to why he was actually here. A hundred days of games seemed quite excessive, even for a man of excess such as himself. It was a mere distraction, of that he was certain.

His sister smiled back, and Hewkii got excited. The young child loved his uncle more than anything. Pohatu loved him back of course, but something about children unsettled him greatly.

“I can go to see the games, right uncle?” Hewkii asked, almost jumping up and down.

Pohatu sat the boy of ten back down next to him, “Of course.”

His mother wanted to protest, but Pohatu cut her off and smirked. “Ah, you promised, Kotu. And promises are there to be kept. Isn’t that the truth of it, Hewkii?”

His nephew just smiled brightly and nodded, whilst Kotu sighed and glared at her brother-by-marriage.

“Will you be in the games, uncle?” the little boy asked.

Pohatu let out a chuckle, “I will be at the games, drinking. But, I am unfit to be in them. Understand?” He hit his slightly bigger belly, covered by his fancy tunic that was embroidered with gold and the crest of their family. He showed off his bigger frame to Hewkii, holding on to the hope the boy was smart enough to understand. The boy at ten was almost as tall as he was. What a sight to behold. No, Pohatu of the Rock was not made for battle. Such as these games usually went, he would end up a dead drunk in mud. He did not prefer such an end to his life. He was made for thinking, talking, and drinking. And most of all living to a ripe old age. Not beating someone senseless in combat. That he left to his pretty brother.

“Will father be coming?” Kotu asked in her soft voice. Just the ‘father’ that came from her mouth alone made him want to vomit where he sat. It did not feel right.

“He will. Not sure when though, he does like to surprise us and give us a right startle with that mouth of his. So I will have to do for now to entertain you.”

Kotu glared at him. He understood why. For a while now he had known what she and his father were up to in the privacy of their shared castle. Hewkii was suddenly distracted and let out a gasp of childlike excitement. Pohatu turned his gaze to what the boy was looking at. To distract himself from his thoughts entirely, the man drank the cup of wine in one swig.

“What is that place, uncle?”

The boy pointed to the tallest structure in the city, far back at the highest point it loomed like a titan. Its many spires made it look like dark creature of a thousand blades. The six largest, towering spires of darkness at the very back almost blotted out the Twin Moons themselves. For they were as tall as mountains. Even taller still. Aptly named the Looming Towers. How anyone could have ever built such a thing, he did not know. As far as he was concerned the place could have well been shaped into being by the gods, though he did not believe in them and their fairytales. The truth of it was that no one knew, the looming towers had been there long before. Long before even the new faith was established and people of the old blood yet lived.

“That, Hewkii, is the palace of Artidax. The very palace of the king himself.” Pohatu explained to his nephew, the boy’s eyes were wide with excitement.

“That is where we are headed?” the boy asked.

“It is. You are a smart boy,” he answered with a grin. That gained a chuckle from Hewkii. “Your uncle Takanuva works there, the honor-guard knight to the king himself. I am certain he will be delighted to see you after so many years.” Pohatu ruffled Hewkii’s orange hair and chuckled.

Their company at last took their stop at the castle. The ride had been slow in these narrow streets piled with ash, it made the capital seem even bigger than it was. They had passed many a beggar and women who wept for a king that had once been a tyrant. In a sense he was gladdened he was not born of their ilk, yet he felt he should protect them all the same. Pohatu stretched his legs and groaned as his back popped a bit. A guard clad in black and gold plate led him inside, as the rest of his company were escorted to their chambers within the palace walls. It was going to be a long night. He sighed.

Pohatu silently followed the much taller man, his cup of freshly filled wine still in hand. The guard escorted him through the palace and up the mountain it was built in. The palace was well guarded, and he took note of it. He wondered what secrets it held within its dark walls. Eventually they reached the inner domed keep, the very base of the looming towers themselves.

The massive pitch black stone behemoths loomed over Pohatu’s head like the fingers of a god. Their true size almost impossible to comprehend as their spires disappeared into the fog above. There were six of them, but one was even larger. The furthest tower at the back of the keep that watched over it all. From there, Pohatu was certain one could almost view the entirety of the kingdom. Strangely the wind was still here. A sense of unease crept up on him. It was as if they watched him, these monoliths of old.

Pohatu was escorted further inside the keep, to the very back, where the climb to the top began. The stairs, halls and chambers they passed seemed to go for an eternity. It was all carved out of the strange black stone of the monoliths, so smooth and alien. Up and up he went. No wonder men thought this place haunted, the spiralling stairs were made to drive men mad, he thought. The guard and the smaller man further made their way to a gilded stone construct in a hall full of statues. Two faceless men clad in full plate black armor pushed two heavy levers at the same time. The lift started moving up with the loud rattling of chains.

Such excess, Pohatu thought to himself as he could finally rest.

At last the lift stopped at the very top of the tower, and the guard led him to the throne room itself. The room proper came alive with sound, as the clanking of armor and footsteps echoed through the massive chamber. It was quite dimly lit, the massive braziers at the gorgeous black and gold marble pillars alight with the dimmest of flames. As if in mourning. The stained glass windows as tall as giants were pitch black.

The throne itself was empty. It did not fit the room. The blackish grey and dusty old thing seemed to crawl from underneath the ground. Rock twisted and broken. Perhaps it had always been here, even before man walked these lands. Looking at it like this it did not look the part, but more a talked up massive rock you could just sit on. Pohatu couldn’t help but chuckle. Perhaps it resembled a chair in some sense of the word, but it was an ugly rock nonetheless.

“Sir,” the guard nodded. He gave a salute to Pohatu, and the other man in the room, and left. The other man was his brother, Takanuva himself. He was sitting on the stairs that led to the throne, cleaning and oiling his dark longsword.

He still wore that bright shining armor of gold and white, it complemented his light skin and golden hair. He even had a white cape now, how fitting. His brother, ever the golden boy for which ladies and gentlemen alike swooned. Quite the contrast to little Pohatu. But looks, Pohatu thought, could be ever so deceiving.

“Ah, the famed Light of the East with his sword of night. The Abyss Walker who chooses to wear gold. The pretty boy all the girls go on and on about,” Pohatu jokingly announced his presence.

“Little brother, how nice of you to visit. Thank the gods you are here. At least with you here I can stave off the boredom. Be careful what you tell about my looks, soon I shan't be the pretty boy if things go on as they are. Then father will have to be content with you. Perhaps he will finally crawl in that grave of his, then. Wouldn’t that be the sight?”

Pohatu chuckled and sipped his wine, “Ouch. It would be a fitting end, I must admit. I shall bring the shovel myself. But, joking aside brother, what is the matter? Not content with the Tyrant’s passing? A life as a glorified sentry finally at an end. Adventure and newfound glory lies before us.”

Takanuva cracked a smile. He stopped oiling his famed blade, Nightbringer, and sheathed it. The shadows almost seemed to cling to it. Ever the unreadable type, he leaned back on the stairs and looked his brother in the eye.

“A life of true glory I shall never regain or retain. Do you know what the last thing he told me was? ‘Sod off, little boy.’ The next morning he was dead. A lot of good me sodding off did. Miserix was misery indeed.”

“I shall drink to that. The Misery of Miserix. A fine ballad for the bards,” Pohatu took another gulp of wine.

Pohatu’s brother sighed, “If only I could hear them sing it. But no. It seems I am to be a sentry for good. No longer glorified either after the Tyrant's death. Our new king-to-be has placed me to guard the recluse.”

“His daughter? Still a princess, eh, brother. True royalty. There is still glory to be had in that. The mysterious princess of Artidax, Little Star of Oberon. Speaking of which, have you seen her?”

“What do you think? She has not left her room in days. Hardly anyone knows what she truly looks like. But you know the rumors, a true beauty she is said to be. One of skin pale blue as the moons and hair wavy and blue as oceans. And word has it our king Mata Nui is to make her crown-princess. Oberon’s very first,” he replied with a devilish chuckle.

Pohatu stretched his arm to hand Takanuva his wine. His older brother downed it in one gulp, to Pohatu’s disappointment.

“To uncertain futures we shall drink. If I had a cup, that is. And of course, I can see you are keeping the throne room warm for our beautiful princess. Quite the contrast that ugly thing. It does not lighten one’s mood. This place is one of ghosts, indeed.”

Takanuva put on that sly, unreadable face.

“You know, the things I saw here were unspeakable. Yet loyal we remained. My body was still, akin to stone, during his rule. Were we fools, brother? Mayhaps. But I retained my oath to the very end. Let us hope this new king and the queen after are different and recognize my devotion still. Or is madness something one is born with? Perhaps they all share it.”

Pohatu tried to ignore that. The last thing he wanted were the voices of innocent screams crawling in his mind like maggots. Miserix had always loved the sight of torturing his enemies. It won him the war, the throne. With fear he ruled and kept ruling for nearly fifty years. Change was indeed stretching across the horizon.

“Or perhaps not. The crown-princess of lapis lazuli blue… Leave it to women to shatter foundations long laid in stone, brother. Creatures of chaos, yet effective. More so than the most capable of men. Better futures are indeed built on change. Or worse ones. Yet I do think one can say that Miserix was as worse a king a realm can get. Why are you not with her now? Being the sentry you seemed destined to be.”

Takanuva chuckled, “I asked a guard I trust to replace me for a while. Do you know what standing still for so long does to a man? At the least with Miserix I went places and saw the kingdom. With her I am but a statue. Miserix, that bastard, telling me to sod off. All of this is his fault, pure madness following in his wake. I used to be something in this realm once, then he caged me and threw away the key, now I'm caged still.”

Pohatu sat down next to his much taller brother, “The trust they had in you to protect a king is gone, then?”

“It would seem so, little brother. It would seem so,” Takanuva patted him on the back.

“Yet they made you the honor-guard to the pretty princess. There is potential in that yet.”

Takanuva chuckled, “As for you. What brings my brother to the capital of all places?”

“Ah, the sweet scent of malnourished folk, the ash piled in the streets, the overflowing of wine and the bells tolling for a dead tyrant. But I think you know why. That, and father who so aptly chose me to deal with that council of wolves in his absence.”

Then, Pohatu got quiet. “Who knows?”

Takanuva leaned a bit closer. His words in the hushed tones of ghosts.

“For as far as I know, no one but you, the two princes of Miserix' blood and me.”

“Good. No one else should learn of this. Not even the little princess and the mad princes. If word escapes the palace walls I want you to silence those words forever more. Blades, fists, dragonfire, whatever suits your fancy. Be the bearers of those words council, lord, lady or not. And if they are of princely origin, spoken with royal breath, well...I shall find ways to manipulate those boys as well.”

“My little brother, the famous great council strategist,” Pohatu’s brother laughed.

“If I were that strategist, all the world’s problems would be at an end, brother. Alas, I am content at enjoying life to the fullest and drinking myself to sleep at night. A life of work is not well-suited for this body of mine. This is only temporary until father concludes his business at the Rock.”

Both men laugh.

“As father would say, ‘you are a scoundrel’, brother.”

“Well, I think it is time this scoundrel graced the council chambers with his presence. And for my big brother to protect the little princess.” Pohatu righted himself and extended his hand to his brother. Takanuva took it and got up as well.

“Now be careful, little brother. Lest these hungry wolves eat you alive.” Takanuva warned.

“Oh they shan’t. It is eat or be eaten. And I am well accustomed to the former.”

The brothers said their goodbyes. Takanuva took his leave, back to the princess’ chambers, whilst Pohatu whistled at the thought of what he had planned for his brother in the future. He made his way past the dusty throne to the large chamber at the back of the tower’s top. The chamber of the great council.

He was early, he never liked being late. Yet by the sound of conversation coming from the room ahead it would seem others were there even earlier than himself. Gilded and well-lit it was, a stark contrast to the entirety of the palace of Artidax.

Pohatu entered the chambers, “Gentlemen, my lady.” He took a little bow to the four men and one woman already seated there at the table that filled almost all the room. All of them, of course, he knew. It was in his best interests to know who they were before entering the wolves’ den. The whole council was already here, with the exception of the new king and his half-brother, the bastard prince. All of them already plotting around the fancy table, as if it were a feast.

There was Helryx, the only woman present at the council, yet perhaps the one holding the most power. She was older, much older than Pohatu. The Dark Justiciar she was called and her name sparked fear in the hearts of any who defied the will of the crown. She held the role of Minister of Justice on the council.

Seated next to her was a younger man built like a mountain. His head was bald yet a single spike of metal sprung from it. A strange fashion from Draigia in the east. He was Axonn, the Minister of the Treasury and the steward to the royal house.

Then there was Brutaka. A middle-aged man and former traitor who eventually bend the knee to Miserix’ tyrannical reign, only to become a man of great import. He was now the Minister of Infrastructure and the Protector of the Realm. Keeping the ash and whatever lies in the north at bay.

Seated next to him was a very old man, frail and almost skeletal. Black, brown robes embroidered with gold adorned his brown skin. A Turaga, afeared by most common folk. One of Miserix’ sorcerers and religious fanatics. He kept the faith in power with an iron fist. Whilst Pohatu did not believe in the gods, he much respected the wisdom and knowledge of ancient history these Turaga provided. And this man was no exception, for he was the leader of their organisation. Turaga Onewa, Minister of Religion and Arcana.

The final man seated at the table was the most cunning. The one Pohatu was most weary about. Paric, the Shadowed One. The Minister of Espionage. A man as trustworthy as the Looming Towers were small.

“Look who decided to join us”, Paric interrupted the conversation the lot were having, “Such a small man in such a big tower. We welcome you.”

“Am I to assume the letter my father sent has been well received and read then?” Pohatu asked, taking a seat at the enormous table.

“Most certainly, lord Pohatu.” Helryx spoke up, “Though it saddens me lord Dume could not be here. The sudden death of king Miserix has sent the kingdom into chaos. A new Chancellor of the Council is another unfortunate event. Though I mean not to offend you, I hope you can understand our position.”

Pohatu chuckled, waving over a cupbearer to fetch him wine. “Oh, trust me dear, I can be just as stubborn and cunning as my father. So miss him you shan’t” He took a sip from his cup, eyeing the council closely. None of them the wiser of why he was truly here.

“Now to more pressing matters at hand,” Helryx said.

“The Crippled King will have to be crowned soon afore-” Paric began, yet Pohatu cut him off.

“The Crippled King? The man is not yet crowned and has already been bestowed a nickname. Whilst I can appreciate such terms of endearment, I am also against looking down at a man yet to prove himself. The Tyrant earned his name. Let us hope prince Mata Nui differs from his father. And differs greatly.”

Paric chuckled. “It is no secret that the king-to-be’s physical and mental state are of great concern to the council. This name was not bestowed upon him by myself or this body, but by the people of Oberon. Even the faintest whisper in the street reaches my ears, my lord.”

Pohatu wished for nothing more but to punch that sly grin off his face.

“More rebellions appear with each passing cycle of the moons.” Axonn let himself be heard, “We have not the time to work prince Mata Nui over, mold him to the realm’s needs, afore crowning him.”

“We could not have done this whilst Miserix was still jumping around this table? Alive and well, raining down terror.” Pohatu’s tone was mocking.

“King Miserix believed himself to be most holy,” Brutaka spoke, “He did not allow us to speak on succession or make plans for when his end came. He thought himself immortal, closer to the dawn gods than men.”

Axonn slammed his fist on the table, “This council has yet to be decisive on the matters at hand. Our healers tell us Mata Nui’s illness worsens by the day. We still have the choice to crown his brother Teridax. A man of military prowess, bold decision-making and proven political savvy.”

“And cause more of the common folk to oppose the crown and this council?” Helryx asked, her voice as cold as ice, “Teridax is a bastard prince. An adopted prince at that. One with the heart and mind of his adoptive father. Should he rise to power he would become the second Miserix.”

“Yet Mata Nui could be the second coming of the tyrant. This we do not know,” Axonn shot back.

Pohatu straightened himself in his chair, “Yet it is Mata Nui who is the crown-prince, Axonn. He is to be crowned soon at that. He is your king. So best be careful of the words you use while I am head of this council. I might not look it, the green still behind my ears and my form quite small, yet Chancellor I am to be. I am not my father in more ways than one, and I do not tolerate dissent on matters such as this. Ever. Prince Teridax is a man of chaos and violence. This is well-known. I also know ladies and men like you swoon for him and his dashing bad boy bravado and looks. But I think it best to restore order rather than steer this realm more towards the anarchy Miserix caused. My lord father sent me to make sure this order is restored and retained. I intend to keep my promise to him.”

Helryx gave Pohatu a nod of approval, which he appreciated greatly.

“Mata Nui is a man that earns respect. I have known him all his life. He has honor. Unlike his brother who does not know the meaning of the word, nor do his cousins and nephews. When he was but a boy he won the great victory at the Mangai, none can have that claim but him. Oberon as we know it would not exist without him.” the old deep voice of Turaga Onewa filled the room, “To speak on these matters behind his back should be considered treason of the highest order.”

Paric cleared his throat, “Of course there is the matter of succession that still need be discussed. Our soon king-to-be shan’t have the long life his father was graced with, as we well know. He wishes to install his daughter on the throne, a change the people of Oberon will not take kindly to. Not when there are others who are more liked by the people. And if the king dies, there could be a war. We all know how they are. It will be one between the cousin side of the family, Teridax and her. Or other factions, mayhaps. There is also the matter that the people have not seen the princess in the years since her birth and there are all manner of foul rumors that spread about her. The people have to love Mata Nui and they have to love her. For if they do not, a change like this can not come to pass. No matter how sweet our little princess truly is.”

“So I take it these excessive one-hundred days of games are your way of planting that seed?” Pohatu asked.

“My idea indeed, my lord,” Paric raised his cup to Pohatu, “We have time to plot, prepare, plant and watch as the seeds grow.”

“A true gardener you are,” Pohatu joked.

“This will cost the realm greatly,” Axonn said.

“We were all in agreement. You are here to keep the gold flowing, and I am here to spend it, Axonn,” Paric replied.

Before any more could be said behind the back of the king-to-be, the doors to the council chambers opened. Six heavily armored royal guards entered the room, four of which carried a palanquin with utmost grace. Seated within was prince Mata Nui himself. Pohatu could see his skeletal, frail form through his royal robes. His eyes were sunken into his grey skin as if he were but a husk of ash. As miserable as he looked, he sat straight as he entered.

The council rose from their seats and bowed.

“Please, be seated,” the new king said. He was then carefully placed at the head of the table in a large chair by his personal guard.

Pohatu took his seat at the table, watching as the doors closed and suddenly swung open again with a force like the wind. There, clad in black half-plate encrusted with gems and covered in blood stood prince Teridax.

With his longsword still in hand, he took a bow, blood dripping from the blade onto the marble floor.

“My apologies for my tardiness, brother, gentlemen, my lady. There was a matter that needed my personal touch.”

Teridax leaned back in his chair, setting his bloodied sword down against the table. “Another rebellion in this cesspool of a city squashed, brother. You need not worry as long as I am here. When dissent rises and people lust for power, so does my blade lust for their blood.”

“And who did you kill this time, prince?” Helryx asked, a bitterness in her voice.

“A certain lord who claimed to be the new king. They rise from the ash like rodents these kings, plotting their little schemes. But not on my watch. When something starts to rot, you cut it off at the first sight. Without hesitation. And then you burn what’s left. In this case, a small neighbourhood.”

Mata Nui sighed, but did not say anything further on the matter. Something Pohatu found to be strange. The prince was clearly unhinged and needed to be reigned in. An agent of chaos was the last thing Oberon needed now.

“So, what now?” Teridax asked.

“The one-hundred days of games have been planned, yet we still await funding from the treasury,” Paric began, looking at Axonn.

“Lord Axonn, see to it that Lord Paric gets these funds immediately,” Mata Nui spoke up. His voice strained, as the man was clearly in pain, “How much will this cost the crown?”

“About two million in golden kanohi, Your Highness.” Paric replied.

“Very well.”

“When will my brother be crowned? Surely this is of more import than blood sport?” Teridax asked. Pohatu found this to be amusing, coming from the man covered in it, “For I sense my nephews are hungry as well. They have yet to arrive so we are in luck yet.”

“We are still planning the ceremony, my prince,” Turaga Onewa began, “But soon. As the gods will it.”

“As the gods will it, eh,” Teridax smirked.

Mata Nui softly rubbed his temples.

“I will need assurances. From all here seated at this council. I wish for my daughter to become queen should my condition make me unfit to rule. An actual queen to rule as matriarch, and not just as the wife to a man who wouldst then become king.”

Whilst the other council members already seemed aware of the situation, Teridax looked taken aback at the mention of her becoming a matriarch. Pohatu eyed him closely. To him, this did not bode well.

“I wish to be crowned within the fortnight, Turaga Onewa. No matter how the gods feel. My father greatly damaged this kingdom, damage we should all wish to undo. My daughter deserves a better world, as do the good people of this kingdom. My scribe has prepared a document, stating that my heir is to be princess Hahli of the Moons. My wish is for you all to sign and approve this. The realm needs change, and I aim to bring it. All lords and ladies of the realm are to swear fealty to me and my daughter. Any and all rebellion will be put down by my brother, including dissent within this very council and the royal family. Is that clear?” Mata Nui looked across the members seated at the table. All of them acknowledged that the crown-prince’s terms were clear.

The document was laid on the table, pen and ink next to it.

Mata Nui turned to Pohatu. “I suggest you inform your lord father of this, lord Pohatu. He should know as well. Though the decision is yours now as new Chancellor.”

“Understood, Your Highness. It shall be done as you command,” Pohatu replied with a bow of his head.

Pohatu moved to sign the document, he was the first to do so. But before he could, an urgent knock at the doors garnered the attention of the council. A simple dressed man was led inside by two guards. He swiftly made his way to Brutaka, handing him documents and whispering in his ear. As swiftly as he had entered, the man left again, the door slamming shut.

“Your Highness, my prince, gentlemen and lady of the council, we have a situation,” Brutaka began, “The Dust has fallen on the eastern border. And Draigia has come with it.”

It was going to be a long night indeed.

Chapter 4 - Mata Nui

Befitting a Crown

Walking amongst the glowing blue fields of the Nightlands was a man. Mata Nui saw him as clear as day in the gloom of wintry fog. He touched the glowing grass, a ghostly essence trailed his fingers with every touch. The man was clad in pristine armor of silver. He carried a great-sword aglow with the orange of fire, its pommel a flame of silver long burnt. As if he noticed Mata Nui staring, the man stopped. Slowly he removed his helm and turned to the king-to-be. He had no face.

Mata Nui felt as if he had turned to stone. He could not move, nor utter a sound. He had seen this before. In dreams long past. He did not know he could still dream. What did it all mean?

It spoke its thoughts aloud, gusting from the northern winds, for it had no mouth. “Mata Nui, prince no more yet crippled still. Thine own brother yet stands in our way. The blade of his forebears thou should seekest. The sword aflame with the blood of the titan. Only then this kingdom shall be thine to rule, truly and justly. Make not the mistakes of thine father.”

He thought of what he wanted to say. Forced himself to utter a sound, yet no words came as he opened his mouth.

“There is only one thing I desire. And she is here, buried beneath this grass of ghosts and lost ballads. Alike my brother or mine own forebears I shall never be. Great men, all, they were. Yet I am neither great nor a man. A corpse rotting on a throne, its ghost shackled to its body still by mere chance. How did this all come to pass?”

The knight in silver understood his thoughts, no words need be uttered in dreams. For they flew like leaves amongst the night trees, alight with words sung by gusts of wind.

Mata Nui plucked a flower aglow with purple night dust. His body was young and strong again. He let it fall and drift down on the earth. A tear rolled down his grey cheek as he remembered giving such a rare flower to his beloved wife.

“This is for me?” she had asked so innocently.

“Can you feel how beautiful it is?”

She traced the petals of the flower with her finger ever so gracefully. Everything she did was like a work of art to him. Even the simplest of things as touching a flower.

“Yes. It is beautiful, indeed. I can feel its dust and glow alight in my bosom. A sight forms in my mind. This is a most wonderful gift, my love. As oft the simplest of gifts are,” she smiled and held the flower close to her chest.

Mata Nui held her ghostly hand as it faded in the mist.

“The gods are just, they say. Yet their silence is deafening. Was it just to take her from me? If it was, I truly question their judgement.”

The knight of his dream stood silent. He circled Mata Nui. The king-to-be closed his eyes. He could hear the knight undoing their armor. He felt the weight of its heavy metal as it was put on him.

“A king does not dwell on past misgivings, yet learns from them. To the future yet ahead he turns his gaze. Art thou to be a weak king?”

The voice that spoke was different. Soft and feminine. The voice of his beloved wife.

“Gali?”

She circled around him, her form but covered by a thin ethereal cloth. She traced his shoulder and chest with the tip of her finger as she slowly kept walking, her gaze locked with his. Her eyes were still covered by the intricate silver circlet she wore, yet he could feel her gaze on his. Mata Nui felt the tears well up inside him at the sight of her. Oh, how he had missed her. Her pale blue skin was alike the glow of the twin moons, her darker blue hair like the waves of the ocean. She was still the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He wanted to kiss her yet could not move.

“What is it to be my love? A weak man, so frail as thee? Or a king as strong and fierce as the Storm Lords of Thovieri long past?”

Mata Nui woke up coughing blood. The nurses at his bed were quick to react, yet he pushed them aside in haste. He tried with all his might to get out of the bed that confined him so, yet he stumbled. The nurses supported him.

“My king, you should be abed. Let us tend to you,” one of the nurses said.

He pushed them away once more and slowly righted himself. Why were they here? His form was crooked and bent over. His legs trembled under his own weight.

“Where is Gali?” he asked.

“My king?” the nurse asked confused.

He coughed. The hand he covered his mouth with now slick with blood. “Where is my wife?”

“My king, my apologies for saying this, but she is dead. She has been for many years.”

Mata Nui rubbed his pained face. Slowly he remembered. How could he forget? “My apologies. I am not myself. My dr-I was lost in thought, it was as if she were here still. I would like to see my brother. Could you kindly call him to my chambers?”

“Sire, it is the middle of the night. The prince could well be asleep.”

“Wake him if need be. I have important matters to discuss,” he said, his voice strained. He stumbled over to his chair by the table at his window and painfully sat down.

“The rest of you leave me,” he ordered.

The nurses left, though with hesitation. Mata Nui hoped his brother was either abed or at the least within the palace walls. He knew Teridax loved to prowl the streets of the city at night. Whilst he and his adopted Thovieri brother did not always see eye to eye, Mata Nui felt a great love for Teridax. More so than he did for his cousins and nephews. Teridax could be a man of wanton cruelty, ever hungry for power, yet he had a part of his heart that harbored great passion and love for his family. They had always been brothers, even when they were not directly related by blood. His father had raised them both as though they were.

Thinking back on his love for Teridax made Mata Nui miss their third brother. Yet he was not raised under the roof of his father. He and Teridax considered him to be a brother nonetheless. A brother in battle. Lhikan.

It was time the two brothers talked about the succession, for it was long overdue. Mata Nui was to be crowned tomorrow. The ceremony came much sooner than planned after the disheartening news of the Draigia invasion in the east, and the Dust that settled there.

His heart sank as he thought back on his dream. He missed her greatly. Her soft touch, her warm embrace, her guidance. Gods knew he needed her now. Perhaps that is why she appeared in his dream. It was the first nightly reverie he had in the years since she passed. It meant something, of that he was certain.

The door to his chambers opened quietly. Teridax entered as if he were a ghost clad in the black shadow of night. He approached slowly and touched Mata Nui on the cheek. Touch was painful to Mata Nui, yet he allowed it and did not wince, for it was a sign of his brother's love.

Teridax sat across from him, his legs crossed. He placed an old dusty bottle on the table. “I found this bottle of liquor. Dusty old thing is worth a fortune. The very best in the kingdom I am told. I thought it suitable to numb the pain. The one we both share, and the agony of your condition.”

The prince filled two glasses with the brownish liquid. Its scent was spicy and strong. In a single swig, Teridax drank his shot of liquid courage. Mata Nui took a small sip and coughed, for it was strong.

“Oh, brother. Why are you not abed? You should rest. This you know. For tomorrow they crown a great man. A king.” Teridax smiled.

“I had a dream,” Mata Nui simply replied.

“You are dreaming again?”

Mata Nui let out a pained sigh. He was in great pain, yet refused to go back to sleep.

“I dreamt again for the first time tonight. I dreamt I was young, my body not yet stricken by this accursed illness. I saw her, Teri,” tears started to roll and he could not stop them, “I saw her. Felt her touch, heard her voice. She was so real that I forgot I was here, stuck in this frail and dying body.”

Teridax held his brothers hand with a gentleness only he and Gali knew how to give.

“I miss her, Teri. I miss her more each passing day. It feels like my heart was cut out when she perished. She cut it out with a dagger of poison and filled my chest with a rotten stone that cursed this corse. It stings still. I loved her so and yet she left me. Us. She left us. I know you loved her too.”

Teridax let go of Mata Nui’s hand.

“Do you not miss her?”

“Of course I do, brother,” Teridax whispers, “Her absence yet stains these halls and her ghost looms large. Larger than the towers still. Yet she made her choice that fateful day, and we have to live with that till the end of our days. No matter the hurt. If not for ourselves, we must do it for our Little Star.”

Mata Nui started crying, “Her ghost yet roams these halls and I cannot bring myself to see her.” Crying hurt. His entire body convulsed and the wounds ached deep.

Teridax sighed and let a tear fall from his purple eyes. He embraced his brother, holding him close. His tightening grip almost suffocating to the king-to-be.

“Hahli is not a ghost. She is not the walking shadow of the woman we lost. Do you understand? She is a person of her own. One who suffers greatly, daily even, all because her father sees her as nothing more than her mother’s shade.”

“I do everything for her, I wish to make her queen, yet she does not love me still.” Mata Nui sobs.

Teridax tightened his grip, making his wounds hurt all the more. Be they physical or emotional.

“Because you do not understand her. Because you do this not out of love but out of pity for your own self. You cannot make her who she is not. Why choose her and not me?”

More tears rolled down his brothers cheeks.

“She is my blood, Teridax.”

“Yet can you not see that you punish her by inflicting this heavy burden upon her? Has she not suffered enough? You torture her day by day. Why not choose me?! I am more your true brother by blood than Miserix was your father,” Teridax gripped Mata Nui even tighter. He was almost suffocating, “When they crown you, make me your new Chancellor. Place me by your side and we can rule together as we did the armies as generals. We led people to great victory at the Mangai, you and I. We can do so again. And when your eventual time comes to see her in the afterlife, I will uphold what we have built. I shall even make Hahli my crown-princess should she so wish. By then she is a woman grown and will know what she wants in life, free to make her own choices. Away from these sick family traditions.”

Mata Nui could not breathe. Teridax was choking him in an embrace of death only his brother could bring him. He clawed at Teridax’ arms and back weakly.

“Now think on my offer. And afore you are crowned, go see your daughter like the good boy I know you can be, daddy,” Teridax let go of him and gave him a drawn out kiss on the cheek. Mata Nui gasped for air, trembling. The prince grabbed the bottle he brought and left the room.

“The Mangai was a mistake, Teridax! The Mangai was a mistake! Oh great generals we were!” Mata Nui called out after his brother. His voice cracked. It was a mistake. A mistake for which he was rewarded and now punished dearly. Of that he was certain. He slumped back in his chair and gazed at the glass of liquor. With his almost skeletal hand he touched the glass gently. He grabbed a hold of it and downed the substance. It burned his throat and all his senses. He coughed more. But this was not enough.

“Nurse!” he called out.

One of the nurses quickly entered his chambers, “Yes, my king?”

“Bring me a bottle of the finest liquor we have. And do it swiftly.”

The nurse looked concerned, “My king, in your condition-”

“Did I not make myself clear?!” Mata Nui raised his voice and stood upright, his body in great pain. The nurse seemed to cower almost, for which Mata Nui did not feel the slightest tingle of remorse.

“Yes, sire. My deepest apologies” she bowed and left, returning with a bottle. As per the soon king-to-be’s request she left the room.

Mata Nui drank straight from the bottle, he did not bother himself with pouring out a glass. He needed to numb this pain, enjoy his life for once. He laughed as he drank more. Before long, the bottle was empty, and he felt numb. His body ached still, yet it felt more as if he were his old self. A young prince who had been out for a drink with his two brothers. Then he remembered a damaged prince, a violent prince, a prince who drank to keep the memories of the horrors he saw and committed in the dark, yet committed more still in the one place that was meant to be safe. A damaged man he was, on the inside and out.

He smashed the bottle on the ground, laughing maniacally as he did so. This mess he made mattered not to him, nor did the fact that he was barefoot. What more could glass do him that everything else in his life had not already wrought? He tried to stand up, stumbling as he did so. The glass cut his feet, yet he did not feel much. The small stinging of pain was enough for what he sought to achieve, as was the blood that now stained the floors.

He flipped the table over violently, which caused him to fall. Something in his body snapped. He groaned and cursed under his breath. This rotten corpse body of his that he hated so always got in the way. He crawled over to his bed and with all his might tried to get up again. He fell back down, even weaker than before. Pain shot through his form from whichever bone he more than likely cracked. He chuckled and whimpered. What a pathetic man he was.

Here in this very spot he once sat with Gali. They had both been drinking and messing about. The room had been trashed and somehow they ended up here at the foot of the bed.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he had asked her.

She had just smiled at him, a smile that melted his heart that had once been as hard as steel. He looked at her and all he could do was smile back.

He laid eyes upon his saving grace, his long trusted sword, Ignika. The golden inlaid longsword, with its unique crossguard that resembled a man, gleamed in the candle light and almost seemed to beckon him. It had been a display piece for years ever since this illness had befallen him, but now he would put it to good use.

Mata Nui crawled over to the display case, cutting himself on more glass as he did so. Yet he did not seem to care for the pain. Using his body he hit the case until the sword tumbled to the ground before him. The king grabbed its hilt and felt a young man again. Oh, how long it had been since he had gripped a sword in his hands.

He used the blade and the bed to struggle back to his feet. This was where she was, when he had found her. Her body cold and lifeless. He stabbed Ignika into the bed. As if possessed by madness he started tearing apart the bed with his sword. It felt invigorating. For yes, he was to be king besides all, and a part of him greatly desired it. He hated her for what she had wrought.

Afterward, when his his temper cooled, the madness that had befallen him but briefly stung deep. Though still drunk he felt a certain sadness return as he gazed upon the sight of his aggression. More and more he saw himself as Tardax, the great dragon Teridax had once ridden. The very last of the dragons. The beast had long perished, suffering an illness not dissimilar to that which now afflicted him. He still remembered those final days, it seemed his were ahead as well. Violence afore a final whimper.

“Smile, brother,” he had told Teridax at the dragon’s passing, “For he passes into the great beyond. A life of greatness he leaves behind. He served this kingdom well. We could not have won this war without him. In death he will be honored as he passes through the gates of divinity.”

“How can you smile at the passing of a dear companion, brother?” Teridax had asked him, his voice cracking from emotion.

“Smile is all you can do when you look death in the eyes. He cares not if you weep or laugh. So why not smile, and embrace this cycle of life. Acceptance is the one road to salvation.”

Mata Nui had to laugh at his own words. How foolish he was then. Foolish and in love. Thinking misfortune was not destined for him. How wrong he had been. Now it haunted his every step, trailing behind alike the ghostly grass of the Nightlands.

The king left his room and roamed the empty halls of Artidax. He used his sword and the walls to steady himself. Without much thought he found himself close to his daughter’s room. It had been days since he had last seen her. When he had told her he wanted her to be his heir. Her outburst had surprised her, it hurt to think that she hated him so. Yet it hurt even more to see his daughter like this, shutting herself off from the world.

Takanuva stood guard at her door. Mata Nui had personally stationed him there to protect her. Admittedly it had also been an attempt at making amends. For he knew Hahli had read all the chronicles of the famed Light of the East, the Abyss Walker. She was fascinated by the tales about him, one could say she was obsessed even. He thought she would love to have him as her personal protector. Yet she hadn’t left her room since the outburst. She didn’t allow anyone inside and wished for her food to be placed at the door inside, whilst she hid somewhere in her room. Even so, she barely touched her plate, and the poor girl was already so frail and skinny. Mata Nui was afeared that if he entered her room now he would witness her hurting herself. Or see the scars she made. She had done so in the past after her mother died. Gali’s death truly destroyed his family. To him it had destroyed every enjoyable thing about life.

The golden armored Light of the East noticed the king approaching and quickly came to his aid.

“My king! Are you hurt? What has happened, is the villain still at large? Do you need medical attention?”

“No, no! I am simply here to see my daughter, Takanuva,” he waved him off, “No villains here but mine own undoing.”

“My king, you are bleeding.”

“Never mind the blood, young man. Open the door.”

Takanuva looked him over, “Are you certain, sire? She has not seen anyone in days and does not wish to. Not even the prince she is so fond of is allowed inside. It is the middle of the night and she is surely abed. Let me help you back to your chambers and perhaps you can try speaking to her in the morrow.”

“Are you hiding something from me, golden knight?” Mata Nui suspiciously asked.

Takanuva looked taken aback, “Of course not, sire.”

Mata Nui let out a pained chuckle.

“Good. Then open this door afore I throw you in the dungeons. I wish to see my little girl. For my days are almost numbered, son, I am afeared. I must talk to her hence.”

The protector of the princess took out his set of keys and unlocked the door to Hahli’s chambers. Mata Nui entered with the help of Takanuva’s firm embrace. As the door closed behind him, the king was in darkness. The single candelabra Takanuva had handed him was all that lit the room.

Mata Nui slowly made his way to Hahli’s bed, his sword as his support. He sat down on the bed in pain. The alcohol, whilst still running through his weakened veins, numbed the pain less and less. He could see his little girl bundled up in her blankets and pillows, holding her many stuffed Rahi close. She looked so small, so innocent. How beautiful she was, she was like her mother come back from the grave. He softly traced her exposed shoulder with his finger, her skin like silk.

Why did she hurt so? Why had he hurt her time and time again, neglected her needs for all these years? He hated himself for the father he was and had been. A cut on her wrist caught his eye. It was a scar, yet one he had not seen before. He painfully leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Hahli stirred from her slumber.

“Uncle?” she asked, still half adrift amidst peaceful sleep.

“Shh, it is your father, Hahli,” he whispered.

Hahli startled awake and held her arms close to her chest, “Why are you here? Leave me be.”

Like a dagger through the heart her words were.

“Hahli, please. I just want to talk. I want to make sure my daughter is well.”

“What do you think?” she spat almost. He could see more cuts on her arms.

“Allow me to help you. That is all I want. I want what is best for my little girl.”

In the faint glow of the light he could see the tears in her eyes, yet he could see the distrust and the anger as well.

“I don’t want to be your heir,” she said, her words were almost like venom.

“Then who shall rule after me?”

“Uncle Teridax, isn’t that the obvious choice?”

Mata Nui sighed deeply, “We have talked about this, my girl. Teridax cannot rule. It is to be you.”

“What about Matau? Or any other of Oberon blood but me. Ah yes, is it so I can provide babies for a man I don’t even know or care about? A true heir to your rotten royal blood,” she cackled mockingly.

“Hahli, what is with you? Stop this.” Mata Nui’s patience with the girl was wearing thin.

Hahli scoffed, “How dare you even ask that? And stop what? I can enjoy myself too can I not?” she looked him over, clearly seeing the cuts and the blood, as well as the sword he carried.

“What do you mean, girl?” he looked over to her nightstand and saw there was a bottle of wine on it. It was empty. At last he saw what she was wearing, a very short and in his eyes scandalous nightgown, unfit for a girl of sixteen. Very much so for his very own daughter. “Who gave you that?”

“Gave me what?” she hugged herself closer.

“The gown you are wearing, if one can even call it that.” There was a certain tinge of anger in his voice.

Hahli giggled mischievously, “Wouldst my dear old father like to know? Perhaps it’s from a lover. I am almost a woman grown, you said so yourself. I can do with mine own body as I please,” she paused, a pained look returning to her bright blue eyes, “First you do not concern yourself with me for years, and now on a whim you think it your right to decide what I do with mine own life. If you had a child other than me, you would not even care I existed.”

“But you are my only child!” Mata Nui raised his voice and Hahli startled. She started to cry. “I care about you, Hahli. More than you know.”

Her voice was quiet. She trembled. “You only care about me because I look like mother.”

That dagger of hers twisted in his heart with a pain as sharp as death itself.

“I am all you have left of her, remember? You said so yourself. I am nothing more to you than her cheap imitation,” she dug the knife deeper still.

Before he could stop to think he hit her in the face. He hit her so hard he broke his very wrist. Regret washed over him immediately, yet the irreparable damage had been done. She cried out in pain and her eyes welled up with tears. Her sobs were uncontrollable. She grabbed the empty bottle next to her and hit her father across the face. The shards of glass cut his skin deep, one piece now stuck in his eye.

He too yelled in agony as the pain came over him. Yet somehow, it felt he deserved it. Why had he hit her? Had he not learned anything?

The door to the room swung open as Takanuva came to check what had happened. As soon as he saw the wounded and bleeding king he rushed to his aid and dragged him out of the room. Mata Nui reached out to his daughter, but she was frozen in shock, sobbing uncontrollably. A sight Mata Nui remembered well, and one he would much rather forget. What had he done?

And he was to be king? He thought. He did not even know how to be a father.

The moments and hours that followed were a blur. Nurses mended his wounds. He was given more medicine for the pain. More so to the point he barely felt as if he were awake. Yet awake he was. They removed the glass and took his now damaged eye. He was dressed in armor and given a golden mask that resembled his face, yet had the man of his sword, Ignika, engraved on it.

He did not feel himself in his own body, it was as if he were a passenger, carried around by people he did not know, to do with him as they pleased.

There was only one thing he could truly think about, and that was Gali. No, Hahli. He had hit Hahli. His own daughter, his own sweet daughter. How his wife would hate him if she knew. Perhaps she already did. The dream had asked him if he were to be a weak king or a strong man as the Thovieri before his father. Yet he already knew he would be a weak king. He had chosen that path last night when he hit his daughter.

His royal guards took him in a palanquin to the throne room atop the Looming Towers. The gathered lords and ladies were few, as only those closest to the capital could be in attendance due to the rushed crowning. Yet a lot of commoners were present in the large hall, surprisingly. With what little hope yet remained he gazed at the crowd, in search of a glimpse of blue hair. Yet he found none. Would she ever wish to see him again after this? Teridax was nowhere to be seen as well.

Mata Nui was placed atop the throne. Through the mask he could barely breathe. It all seemed so meaningless to him now.

Turaga Onewa performed the sacred rights of the gods, ensuring that the gods saw him to be worthy of the title of king. Such meaningless drivel. If they cared they would reject him. The gods were not just, nor benevolent. They were cruel, as cruel as the world before him.

A crown was placed atop his head. The crown of his father, the tyrant. Perhaps he was to be like him. He had believed himself to be a better man, a better man than Teridax even. Yet Hahli loved his brother, and harbored no love for her father. Was he no better than them after all?

“Hail, King Mata Nui, the first of his name! King and Protector of the holy kingdom of Oberon and Thovieri long past!” the announcer called out. Like a storm, the people hailed him and swore their fealty. The lords that were present swore their fealty to his daughter as the crown-princess, as he had wished they would. Whether it was with trepidation or truly willingly, he did not know.

The braziers of the throne room burned bright at the coming of the new king, yet Mata Nui could not feel their warmth.

Watching him from the balcony above, Mata Nui saw Teridax. Beside the prince was a ghost. One of pale skin as blue as the moons and hair alike the ocean. Gali. And she watched him with utter disdain.

In that moment, he felt deserved of the name that rang true in these halls and the streets of Kini Nui. For he was Mata Nui, and he was The Crippled King.

Chapter 5 - Tahu

Snow of Blue

Coming soon

Chapter 6 - Teridax

Mistress

Aglow with the reds and the oranges and the yellows of flame they were. The little embers flew by like the busy little fireflies in the East. The moths gathered at the many lights flickering in the dark, for they were harbingers of the departed souls. Time nearly seemed to slow as the sparks of blinding lights licked the dark wood of walls and the cloth worn by men with forms twisted alike the branches of haunted woods. As if it were rain, crimson dripped from the walls and the floors were sodden with blood. The flash of silver was alike the passion of a lover, for it too was red like love. And with that love the Dark Mistress cut to the bone.

He had only been a boy when they found him in the dream. He was lost then. Adrift in the slumber of Magh’Barzu’s curse. A body broken like stone and a soul shattered to fragmented memories of shadow and dust. He had taken her hand out of desperation. The darkness that enveloped him never faded, yet a light now shone alike the sun of ages past. It was a piercing blade of silver that struck his heart. And for once in his young life he felt free. He had shed tears of silver then that were the tears of joy. That boy was never the same, and he was named Shadow. A dark prince of a new realm. That was the last dream he had. Until a feather of blue landed on his cheek and caressed it so. She was a child not of his own blood yet he loved her as such. And anyone that dared to destroy her met his wrath of the silver tears that were now his blade. A jagged blade of tears and dreams shed for the love of a child, that shed tears still. Yet tears of blood they now were. No longer silver it was, for now it was crimson and dark.

There was a scream akin to the cry of a banshee as flesh was torn from limb. A smile crept across the lips of the dark prince as his jagged blade made the man cry. For in his eyes, they were deserved cries. No man should utter the name of his sweet Little Star alike this man did. For he called her all manner of obscenities. Him and his cohorts. She was now the crown-princess. This to him was dissent, treason, and his dearest brother had tasked him with rooting out any and all rebellion. At the least, that is what he told his loyal city watch. For hungry dogs they were. Ever hungering for the taste of blood and the sweet nectar of torture. So long as it meant protecting the crown. For then they felt like heroes. Their villainy justified in the very eyes of the gods and king alike.

The truth of it was that none should speak of his dear Hahli in that way. Not even high lords, such as the gentleman bleeding at his boots. Hahli truly was precious to him, and the precious little girl needed a protector. That protector was to be him. It had always been him, even long before she was born. Women and girls alike were always at the mercy of pathetic men like this lord Tridax afore him. Sick these men were, for they saw them not as people but mere objects to use and enjoy. Not on his watch. And none shall ever dare to lay a hand on sweet Hahli as long as he drew breath.

“Such a shame it is to see a beautiful piece of architecture burn,” Teridax said as he watched the lords estate burn around him.

“Please, you have done enough. I shall never utter her name as such again,” the older lord pleaded. The flesh of his leg torn off to the bone by the prince’s blade, Dark Mistress.

The lord’s wife was brought before him and the prince on her knees, by one of the city watch. Her eyes were stained black from tears.

“Say it again,” Teridax pointed the tip of his blade to the lords throat.

“Say what again, my prince?” the lord cowered in fear.

“What you said of the crown-princess. Say it again.”

“Surely, my prince, that shan’t be necessary. I spoke those words out of foolishness and I have learned my lesson. Please, I beg of you, let us go.”

Teridax smacked him hard across the face, “You are in no position to negotiate. Say it again. So your wife can hear. Say it again for all to witness your true nature.”

The lord whimpered and hesitated. “The princess is-”

“She is what? Use the exact words. Say it.” Teridax was almost smirking.

The man’s breath was heavy, “She is-She is a tiny harlot like her mother before her.”

“And?” Teridax prodded the man's leg, now torn asunder, with the tip of his blade. He howled in pain.

“And she needs a man who knows his way around and can put her in place. A-A man who can be king and rule in her stead.”

The dark prince smirked devilishly, “Why is that my lord? No reason to hold your tongue further. Spill it all.”

“For all she’s good for is being a pretty little thing as long as she’s young.”

“And she so needs a man like whom, lord Tridax? I believe you specified.”

“A man like me,” he glared at the prince, who returned his glare with a dark smirk.

Lord Tridax’ wife looked shocked, “You said that? Why?”

“Sweetheart, I was-I was drunk,” he began.

Teridax chuckled, “As easy an answer as any. Yet a drunken man oft speaks his mind. What you speak of, my lord, is treason. And that on coronation day. Do you know what happens to traitors?”

The prince swung his blade, a gust of bone-chilled wind followed with it. The lord’s wife dropped to the bloody floor. Her head now missing, rolling into the flames. Lord Tridax looked on in shock.

“Aria,” he whimpered.

“Do not worry for your children, my lord. For soon you shall meet them in the afterlife. Or perhaps you shall burn in abyssal flames instead,” Teridax turned around to leave. “Burn everything, the neighbourhood too. These traitors deserve no less.”

“What about the lord, my prince?” the city watchman asked.

“Tie him up and let him burn with his estate. The wrath of the crown will show no quarter.”

Teridax left as his men did the rest of the dirty work for him. Behind him he could feel the heat of the blazing inferno that now raged in this part of the city. He could not help but smile. Smile at death and it shall smile back, as his brother had once said. For death was no stranger to him, but a worthy ally that guided him true. He could hear the screams as dozens upon dozens burned and perished. His brother’s coronation day was off to a wonderfully bloody start. As any coronation should be. The people should fear going against the crown.

The prince spent the next few hours drinking at a tavern. He liked being amongst the common folk. Lords, ladies and people of riches were oft so false. The common folk were real, as real as their struggles were. In his eyes, one cannot be true without struggle, without conflict. It is what provided meaning in life. It was what gave him purpose.

In a few hours there was to be a feast in honor of the new king and his crown-princess. Bitterness about his brother’s decision filled his troubled mind still. He had not even made him Chancellor of the council as he had so forcefully suggested. His brother never did heed his advice. A fool he was still. Perhaps Hahli felt the same way, he thought. For he had not been graced by her presence at the coronation. She was hiding still, from everyone and everything. He was afeared still to talk to her, as much as he hated to admit it, for she hadn’t wanted to speak to him in days. Was there something he had done that made her hate him so? A sharp pain of silver in his chest confirmed this fear. He had always been so close with her, she was the one thread that still kept him here. For he hated this stinking city and its rotten people. But Hahli he could never hate. Yet, for all his misgivings and faults, he still loved his brother as well, less to the extend he loved his niece.

He had to talk to her again. He would do so tonight. For he had to, he knew it in his very heart. He drank more wine from his cup. The man sitting across from him did the same.

“I do hope it is you paying for this, my prince,” the heavily armored and strongly built man said. His skin was as black as pitch, his bright green eyes alight with the lust for blood, drink and power. The kind of man Teridax liked to keep close.

“Have some sympathy, Onua. My brother was crowned today, my pockets are all but lint and dust.”

Onua chuckled, a large grin across his broad, thuggish and badly scarred face, “Of course, and all I have is heaps of gold in these royal coffers of mine.”

“See? You do have the gold to make a lord.”

Both men laughed as they drank.

“So, my dear prince,” Onua began with that gruff voice of his, “What is it you need of little old me?”

Teridax smiled, “Glad I can still count on an old friend.”

“Anything for the general that won us the battle at the Mangai and the North,” Onua raised his cup to his former general.

“Those were the days,” Teridax raised his cup as well, “I need you to follow someone.”

“Me, a spy? You know I like to cleave things in half and not listen to them or watch where they go.”

“You will be their personal guard. So you go where they go, hear what they hear, see what they see. You have the build for it. It will be a long job, most certainly, I must warn you,” Teridax told his old soldier friend.

“And who is the lovely person I am to guard and spy on?”

“The new Chancellor of the council. Pohatu of the Rock.”

Onua huffed, “And here I thought it would be easy.”

“Name your price, Onua. Coin is of no concern.” Teridax stated simply. Oh how he loved being a prince.

“I want a hundred-thousand golden kanohi, and the title of lord.”

Teridax smirked, “Done. A deal it is then.”

“Good,” Onua emptied his cup and poured himself another, “Best get those coins flowing, my prince, afore my royal coffers empty.”

A sudden flash of blue adrift like a leaf caught Teridax’ attention. He saw a lone woman walking past. For but the briefest of moments his mind had tricked him into thinking he had seen the very image of Gali herself. But this woman’s skin was not blue. Just her hair was the color of the Nightland fields. Clearly just a slight coloring to attract attention.

Onua let out a chuckle, “Years have gone by and you still cannot get her out of your head, can you? You rarely can with these sorceresses.”

“I was just curious. Women with hair so pristinely blue as hers are a rare sight indeed. For they are of the old blood, you know. I am simply an admirer of the view. Fake though it may be.”

“Right. And I am the prince himself, come to spend all his gold on drink,” Onua got up, “So where do I need to be for this guard duty?”

“Come by the feast tonight. You shall be guard to lord Axonn for now. From there I will make sure you can infiltrate lord Pohatu’s personal guard,” Teridax was still distracted.

“Very well,” Onua placed his cup in front of the prince, “Here, a little liquid courage, my prince. Tends to make you forget. I have not forgotten that look in your eye.”

And with that the older warrior left. Teridax sat for but a few more moments before downing the drinks. He shook his head slightly and made his way to the blue-haired woman as the silver stung.

Evening fell and the twin moons closed their ethereal glowing eyes of pale blue. Dressed in simple clothes still befitting a prince, he made his way to Hahli’s chambers. There was a certain pain that still stung at his chest and a heavy feeling in his gut. He was afraid she would reject him. But he was determined to see her.

The shadow met the light of the sun in the darkened halls of the gods. “No action for days and in a sudden twist of fate I see people grace my path,” Takanuva said as the prince approached Hahli’s chambers, “Here to let me see her?”

There was a tension in the hall as the two stood across from another. One man dark, the other light. There had always been a tension between them both. Teridax did not like Takanuva, for he was a snake who took his father away from him. He believed the feeling was mutual on the royal guard’s part.

“Entertaing the idea are we? One more man to lust after a little girl. Is this the way all men are, I wonder?”

“Are you not one yourself? Do not pretend you are different, my dark prince,” Takanuva shot back.

“Very handsome armor. It suits you well.”

“Thank you, I just had it polished,” the Light of the East smirked. That damned smirk.

Teridax chuckled, “What for? I did not know statues in these halls fought battles. Did the princess attack you and dent it? Or was it armor from years before that lay all rusted and begging for its daddy to stop sitting around all day?”

Takanuva laughed, “I see you still have the wit, old man. But the looks, I am afraid, are all mine. Meaning no offence. If I don’t stand guard I am in bed, and never alone mind you. I do wonder, does it ever get lonely, my prince? The only one to talk to being a young girl who barely speaks and lives as a ghost.”

“Why? Are you offering your services, Abyss Walker? For I very much would like your sword. Nightbringer, that is, of course.”

“Perhaps we can fight over it one day. But remember, I am undefeated in battle,” Takanuva playfully added.

“As am I. Perhaps at the games? Or can you not participate, oaths and all that?” Teridax had to admit, that as much as he despised the knight for what he had done, he enjoyed this playful banter.

“That is up to the king to decide. Just know that when I fight a man for real, I do not want him to know what I can do.”

“Good man,” Teridax smiled, “Now open the door afore I fight you here and now.”

“Is that an invitation for a kiss, my prince?” Takanuva smirked and unlocked Hahli’s door, “She is all yours.”

Teridax said no more and entered the room gently, closing the door behind him. Hahli was not abed, yet her room was lit with candlelight. It almost had a romantic glow, for the flames were pink in color and the light dim.

He heard the splashing of water from behind the wooden screen that hid the bath in her room.

“Hahli? It is me, your uncle,” he very carefully announced his presence.

He heard more splashing, “Is it really you?” her voice was so frail and damaged almost. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. It is me. Just me.”

“Come here.”

“Hahli, you are not dressed, I cannot,” Teridax hesitated. He wanted to be there for her, but not like this. There still had to be some level of decency.

“I do not care, uncle. Just come here. If it please,” she begged so sweetly.

Very carefully he made his way over to her, trying his best to not look down. He saw her, which made the sting less painful. She was in her large bathtub, filled with hot water. She covered herself but slightly. She was skinnier still than last he saw her. There were more cuts on her arms, they had to have been recent, yet they were fully healed as if they were old scars. What hurt him most was the bruise he saw on the left side of her face. It too was almost healed, yet visible still.

“Hahli, what happened?”

“Can you wash me, uncle?” she simply asked.

Teridax sighed, “Of course, my sweet girl.” How could he say no to her? He took the sponge and gently started washing her back. Hahli leaned into his touch, she almost seemed to hunger for it.

“Who hit you?” Teridax whispered, great concern in his voice.

Hahli looked down and stopped covering herself, “Father did.”

The prince closed his eyes and felt the pain well up inside him, “Why? Do you know?”

“No. He does not love me. So why not hit me? I would hit me as well.”

“Do not say that,” he took her hand in his. She turned to look him in his eyes with those sapphires aglow like magic, “I know you hurt yourself, Hahli. I can see your scars. But you should not inflict this upon yourself. Why do you punish yourself so?”

“Why does father punish me? Why did you?”

“I-I did not.”

“Yes, you did,” she quickly withdrew her hand, “You left me. I needed you and you left me. Do you not know how alone I am?” tears of almost silver rolled down her pale blue cheeks.

“I thought you refrained yourself from wanting to see me,” he avoided eye contact with her. A guilt washed over him and drowned him as if he were anchored at the bottom of its sea.

“I did want to see you. But you just never listen. No one listens! Stop deciding for me, and listen.”

“I shall,” the words barely escaped his lips.

“Do not leave me again, do you understand?”

Teridax looked at her again, “I shan't,” he hugged her tight. She seemed to melt in his embrace and held onto him as if her life depended on it. “My sweet little girl.”

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

He did not return those words.

“Do you want me to confront your father?”

“No. I wish not to see him ever again,” she said. She seemed to get smaller again, as if hurt.

“Hahli, he is your-”

“He is a weak old man, nothing more,” she coldly cut him off, letting go of him. Teridax softly continued to wash her.

He ran his fingers through her hair, “You know you are expected at the feast tonight? The realm needs to see their crown-princess.”

“They will see a ghost then. For there is no crown-princess.”

“Yet here she is before me. And she is the image of an angel,” he touched her wounded cheek with a most gentle hand, “Please, Hahli, if not for yourself do it for me.”

“Are you not angry that he chose me over you?” she asked, a tinge of fear in her voice.

“Never mind what I think. You are more important to me.”

“I shun that bloody throne. You know I do not desire it. Yet he refuses to choose you as his successor,” Teridax could see the anger burn in her blue eyes like the fires of the Abyss as she spoke. Something about it scared even him, “You would be perfect uncle. At least you are strong. I am not. I would rather cut my own throat than sit on that ugly thing.”

Teridax quickly held her again, “Get those thoughts of hurting yourself out of your head, Hahli. I know you hurt, but inflicting more pain upon yourself is not the answer. Nor is ending your own life. It-It would destroy me to see you walk the same path as your mother.”

“Yet all that I feel now is destroying me. It crushes me, and I cannot breathe,” the girl started to cry in his arms. As he held her he kissed her head. He felt so powerless when she was like this.

“How can I take this pain away? I wish I could take your pain away and see you smile. Remember when you smiled? I do and it was the most wonderful sight in the world,” he too could feel the tears stream down his face.

He could see the image before him. She was still so little and the first winter snows had reached the Nightlands. In the fields of glowing grass and purple leaves, little flakes of snow drifted in the air. It was a rare and magical sight. Hahli jumped around like a small Rahi, chasing after the flakes of frozen water. It stuck to her hair and the warm coat she wore. She caught one and showed it to him. The snow did not melt in her hand, it crystallized into a gem of ice. She had smiled so brightly then. Gifting him the gem even. His touch melted it, yet Hahli giggled.

How he wished she would smile like that again.

“We shall figure it out, yes? I will never leave you again,” Teridax cried as he held her.

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” he whispered.

“If I show myself tonight, will you be by my side?” she asked as she buried her face in his chest.

“I will. I will always be by your side,” he softly kissed her shoulder. Hahli sighed as if an invisible weight was lifted off her shoulders.

As per Hahli’s request, Teridax washed her further and helped her get dressed. As she did her makeup, he did her hair. Combing it until it shone like smooth silk. She put on a gorgeous white dress that exposed her pale blue shoulders and neckline. It seemed almost aglow with the light of the full moons. Teridax placed gems in her hair and a tiara atop her head. He held her as she looked at herself in the mirror. No longer did she look like the sad little girl he found stuck in her room, but like a crown-princess. Her scars and wounds covered up with makeup and jewelry.

“Do you think me beautiful, uncle?” she asked as she leaned against him.

“You, my princess, are the most beautiful girl in the world. Inside and out. Do not let any soul tell you otherwise.”

The prince softly caressed her back and neck. He promised her he would return soon as he made his way to his own rooms to get dressed himself. For the feast was almost upon them, he whished to spend the remaining hours by Hahli's side. A slight frustration washed over him as his cousins and nephews were yet to arrive. The disrespect was felt throughout the palace walls. Further conflict in the family was diserable, especially not now. Teridax got dressed in his chambers for the feast, donning a fancily embroidered tunic of black and silvery blue that covered his war-scarred body. The tunic was encrusted with a few purple gems that complemented his piercing eyes. He put on a cape of pitch black that almost reached the floor. He took one final look in the mirror. A handsome prince many had called him throughout all his years, Gali had, the blue-haired woman from before had as well, even Hahli, yet he could not see it.

He heard the door to his chambers open. At first he hoped it was Hahli, but the sounds he heard confirmed it was not the sweet young princess but instead someone else. The person shuffled inside with pained breath, he heard the sound of metal hitting the floor. “Teridax, are you here?” His brother, the king, called out.

Teridax, now fully dressed, showed himself and saw his brother standing upright, albeit crooked, with the help of his sword that he held in his other hand. For his sword-hand was limp and bandaged. He bore upon his face not the mask he wore at the coronation and the prince could see his brother’s badly damaged visage.

“Brother, where are the nurses? Your face-”

“I know it was you.”

“What?”

Mata Nui came closer and another entered the room. A man Teridax admired yet despised all the same. Takanuva. Yet, he greeted him nonetheless, “Takanuva.”

“My prince,” the guard nodded and closed the door. He came to stand next to Teridax. The prince eyed him from the side.

“I see you are fully dressed for the occasion. A true shame we have to ruin these wonderful clothes,” Mata Nui said.

Teridax’ confusion was quickly met with a sharp pain in his thigh, right above the knee, as Takanuva stabbed him there with a dagger. The prince cried out in pain and fell to one knee as if bowing afore the king. Yet a bow this was not. Takanuva let the dagger sit there and grabbed a chair for the king.

Mata Nui sat down and pointed the tip of Ignika at Teridax’ throat.

“Brother, what is this?” Teridax asked in pain, trying to keep his anger at bay and show as little pain as he could.

“My dearest brother, ever the corrupter are we not? You poison all you touch. First it was my wife who you turned against me with glee, and now my daughter. My own daughter!” Mata Nui’s anger got the better of him and he nicked the prince’s neck with his blade.

Teridax winced, “What are you talking about?”

“I saw the gown you gave her. If we can call it that, for it barely covers anything. So subtle, truly. You wish to corrupt her. Is your wish truly that she turns into a harlot? I have seen it. She gets more devious by the day. She is mine, do you hear? I will not let you take her from me! I should cut your damned throat and be done with it.”

Teridax’s face twisted in anger, “Oh, she is yours now is she? Perhaps she acts out because you wish to control her. Yet you cannot. As you could not control Gali.”

“Do not utter her name, Teridax.”

“I shall speak as I wish, king. You won’t cut my throat, I know you too well. Your golden knight will not do anything either. You are weak, brother. We have always known that. Without me you are nothing and this realm sinks into chaos.”

“What makes you say I shan't kill you for touching my little girl? You want to defile her!” Mata Nui spat, yet there was a certain sadness to his voice. A sadness and guilt.

“I never touched her!” Teridax could not believe his brother’s words. What was this madness that had befallen him? “You do not even know her. I do. I gave her a gift that she wanted, so she could feel better about herself. If only you tried to be a good father instead of a drunken invalid, you would know how little the girl thinks of herself. Because of me she will even attend your damned feast.”

“You hit her, you beast!” the king hit Teridax hard in the face with the pommel of his sword.

For a moment, Teridax saw nothing but flashes of white like stars. “You speak madness brother. I would never hit Hahli.”

“Then who bruised her face? There is one man who last saw her but me, and that was you.”

Teridax caught on, he knew what his brother was trying to do. He knew what had happened. And now he wished to pin it on his brother who was better know for violence. Oh, Mata Nui was getting bolder the sicker he got. He was not sure whether to admire or despise it.

“Why do we not ask her?” Teridax smirked, “I am certain she will tell the truth of what happened. Speaking of, what happened to your face? Was that me as well?”

“What if it was? You are after all the man who is burning neighbourhoods in my name. All I see and the people will see is a violent prince acting out for not getting the throne he so desired.”

The prince scoffed, “My own brother would try to frame me as the villain in his own made up story? I know it was you that hit her, king,” he spat at his brother, “Were you drunk again? I still remember what happened the last time. When your wife was still breathing our air.”

The king struck him again, yet weaker this time. He coughed. Teridax saw this as an opportune moment. He pulled the dagger out of his leg and spun around with great speed. Before Takanuva could react, Teridax had the knife to his throat and wrapped his other arm around the royal guard’s arms.

“Easy now, golden boy. Our fight is yet to come.”

Takanuva did not move, “Of course, my prince. There will not be any foolishness from me.”

“Brother, stop this,” Mata Nui coughed. The king was bleeding from his mouth. He dropped his sword and tried to get up, yet fell down to the marble floor. Takanuva wanted to move but dared not with the blade at his throat.

Teridax let go of the royal guard and helped his brother back up. “Oh brother. What are you doing?”

Mata Nui’s face was wet with tears, “I am sorry. Forgive me. I know not what possesses me. But I have done so many terrible things. Why does she love you and not me?”

The prince knew not what to do but embrace his brother. Teridax wanted to comfort him, but the words yet escaped his lips, “Why did you hit her?”

The king’s frail body was trembling as if afraid to even speak it out loud. “I do not recognise her, Teri. She is not the little girl who woke me at night to chase her monsters away. All I can see when I gaze upon her is her mother, yet her spirit is so fractured between a little girl and a devious creature out to provoke me. There is a wickedness in her. One her mother did not possess. And the gods help me, for I know not how to handle a girl such as her.”

“She has been closeted for years, brother. Her body is changing to that of a woman, and with it come feelings she has no means of acting upon or controlling. She needs to be out there, gracing the world with her presence, making friends, rather than gathering dust in here as if she were a Turaga’s tome. For she is still a sweet child. How were we when we were her age? Were we not troublemakers? Were we not ready to raise our arms against our father’s?”

“I do not remember how we used to be,” Mata Nui whispered, defeated and exhausted.

“Let us not fight any longer. It is of no help to us. Can we be brothers again? Forgive and forget?”

Mata Nui nodded, “Yes.”

Teridax gave him a kiss on his cheek, “We must stand strong now, together. We cannot let ourselves be divided. For that is exactly what they want, whomever it was that murdered our father.” The pain shot through his thigh again. “We should get the nurses for us both, I think. Takanuva, would you be so kind?”

“Of course, my prince,” Takanuva still looked tense from everything that had just transpired. He left the room to get the nurses.

“Promise to take care of her, Teri,” Mata Nui’s voice was but a pained whimper.

The prince held his brother close. It felt more as if each passing day could be the newly crowned king’s end. The thought of it was terrifying even to Teridax. For he was still his brother, and he still loved him so. Him and Hahli he loved more than anything in this accursed world.

“I promise. I promise.”

Chapter 7 - Jaller

Prayers Unanswered

The cold enveloped him as if it were a warm blanket. No longer could he feel its bite. Everything seemed a blur as the flakes of ash and snow drifted down upon him. He wondered where he was, or what had happened. For his memory failed him.

He could remember mere flashes. His head ached something fierce.

Jaller rubbed his gloved hands together. It was cold. No longer was he in the same place as the one that escaped his mind, where it had been so warm. Here he sat back in the village of Ta-Koro, clad in his leather armor. The cold biting at his face and fingers. It reached within his body and he felt its frigid claws take hold of his soul. The snow and ash floated around in the wind like embers of a great fire. As he gazed upon his home, he suffered sadness. The village was less crowded, this fierce winter causing the people to stay in their homes. It had sadly only just begun. If this winter lasted as long, or worse yet even longer, than the one that came before, he was certain many a villager would perish. That was the last thing he wanted. To see his home like this pained him greatly. The news had come from rangings to the north of the fall of villages, settlements and even old cities alike.

The rangers were all this village had left to protect it now, and he felt powerless even as their leader to fulfil his people’s needs. Their food supplies were running low, sickness spread, and they had not the gold to order from other villages or cities. This was the end, he thought. Afore this winter was through, Ta-Koro would suffer greatly. Was he the only one to see? The elders were blind to it, their focus was on the will of the gods. Yet the gods were silent.

In the wake of the Redeemer's absence, they were not even prepared to make a deal with the Tyrant King. After all, the North wanted to remain as independent as they could. It all seemed such a stupid decision now. They were a part of Oberon, albeit by force and oppression. It was time to cut a deal with king Miserix for food and proper housing. Bring about an end to this sickness. Sometimes, ego is best left aside in favor of the greater good. If he had been the leader of this village, his own daughter would not suffer this illness that had struck her. Or there would have been medicine at the very least.

But no. The elders would rather let innocents die than lay aside their own pride. Instead they turned to tomes and dogma and punished his people further. He was pulled from his thoughts by a familiar voice, calling for him from the doorway of their house.

“Jaller dear, come back inside. You getting sick as well does not help our Takua any further. She needs you. And so do I.”

Jaller got up and went back inside, giving his husband Keahi a kiss on the cheek. He closed the door behind him and barricaded it, lest the wind blew it open.

“You are right,” he sighed, “How is she?”

Keahi shook his head in defeat, “It pains me to say this, but it is not looking well. She started coughing up blood this morning, after you left. I worry Jaller. More and more get sick just like her, and not many live.”

Jaller slammed the wall in anger. “These damned elders! I need to find Vakama. Perhaps he knows how to save her. Gods be damned.” With his head in his hands, Jaller slid down the wall. He felt tears well up in his eyes, a feeling of utter desperation took hold of his chest.

Even their home was frigid. Fires only burned mere embers in this cold. His husband sat next to him, trying to provide comfort. “The elders will not let you, dear. You know this. They want Vakama returned in shackles or dead, not helping us. He is a heretic and a traitor. I would not want his hand near our daughter.”

Jaller leaned his head against Keahi’s shoulder, “There has to be a way,” he whispered, “Mayhaps mercenary work. It pays well. I could get medicine, food, and fresh water that way.”

Keahi eyed him closely, a concerned look in his eyes. “You would abandon the rangers? This will not hurt your sense of honor?”

“It will. But so be it. Takua is more important than my own sense of pride and honor. I have long had hands as clean as white snow, yet times have changed. The snow is no longer clean, but muddied with grey. I cannot keep them clean much longer. The gods hath mercy on my soul.”

Keahi softly touched Jaller’s chin and turned the ranger’s head to face him. He gave Jaller a kiss, one the captain returned gladly and longer than he usually did. As if starved for his husbands affection. Jaller softly grabbed Keahi by the shoulders.

“We cannot, Jaller, not now,” Keahi stopped him. He had a pained look in his eyes.

“Right,” Jaller sighed softly, “I will go check on Takua.” He got to his feet, the cold strained his bones, and went to the room of their young daughter.

The girl of twelve was abed, as still as a corpse. For a moment, Jaller was afeared the worse had come to pass and she had perished. Yet as he got closer he could yet see she was still breathing. Her breath was shallow though, her face contorted in anguish. No parent nor child should have to go through this, he thought. She was only twelve, such a young angel who had so much life ahead of her. How he wished to have the coin to travel south, to get out of the harsh north and live a happier life with his family. He would give up everything he once was to make sure his little girl was safe. He sat down next to her bed and softly touched her chin. She felt as hot as flame. Her body burning with a fever, her red and blue skin slick with cold sweat. It hurt to see his once lively daughter on the verge of death.

He could still remember her jumping up and down and playing in the snow as if it were yesterday. Yet she had been sick for months. A small smile formed on cracked lips. How he wished to see her happy again. He swore to himself that when she was cured of this illness, he shall step down as captain of the guard. Perhaps just leave the rangers altogether. It was time for him to be with his family, to really get to know his daughter for who she was. He would need coin first, perhaps a few jobs as a mercenary could indeed be the answer.

“Father?” she whispered faintly.

“I am here, my girl, I am here,” Jaller held her hand.

Tears rolled down Takua’s cheeks.

“Am I going to die?”

Jaller’s heart sunk in his chest to hear his child fearing for her life. She coughed loudly, blood spilled from her mouth. Jaller quickly grabbed a piece of cloth to clean it. He softly caressed her back. They needed to get out of the North. A home is not worth the price of a daughter’s life.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You are not going to die, dear. Do you hear me? I will not allow it. Gods be damned. Be strong for me for a little while longer, please little one. Father will get the medicine you need. I have a plan.”

Takua hugged her father weakly. Jaller gave her a kiss on the head. “The dreams tell me all hope is lost,” she said, her frail voice cracking.

“Are you having those dreams again? They could just be normal dreams-”

“They are not. I know the difference,” she sniffled as she tried to stop her tears, “You always said that dreams are not meant to be. The gods thus punish me.”

“They do not. They would never punish a child. I promise you, I will do anything and everything in my power to make you better. Please do not focus on your dreams. You are sick, Takua, and afraid. Dreams like that are normal, no matter what scripture says. Get some rest. I shall be back soon, by the fortnight at the latest. And I will get the cure you need. That I promise you.”

Yet Jaller knew about those dreams. They were a sign of the gods’ disfavor. Dreams were heresy in their eyes. How could they be so cruel to a girl who did nothing wrong? Was she cursed by the gods of old? Bewitched by the old blood sorceresses? Jaller tucked his daughter in, using every last blanket they had available and left the room. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“How is she?” his husband asked.

“It does not look good, it's even worse than I thought, sweetheart. Take good care of her, will you? I have to do something.”

“Where are you going, Jaller?” Keahi looked concerned and reached out to hold him. Yet he did not give him solace.

“I aim to get the gold we need.”

Jaller got on his Kikanalo horse and alike the wind made his way to the small city of Visrahk not too far from Ta-Koro. There he found the Burning Ale, a tavern, one he frequented more and more lately. Filled to the brim with folk of all northern ilk should have provided ample distraction, but it did not. He bought the cheapest ale they had and drank as if his life depended on it, listening as Lewa the bard sang her songs of an independant North.

He had to drown out the worries he had, come up with a plan of some sort. Takua did not have long to live by the looks of it. He needed gold, and lots of it, quickly. He gazed over at a table where a mercenary by the name of Tahu sat. He too was by himself, drinking. A frequent patron of the tavern such as himself. From what Jaller had heard, Tahu was a drifter. Going from place to place here in the North, doing jobs for gold, and then leave as soon as he could. As if he was running from something. Jaller hated what mercenaries stood for, they had no honor or sense of morality, yet he envied them. The work they did was not dissimilar to the rangers of the North, yet they made money in the thousands. Sums Jaller had never even seen in all the years he had lived. He thought to speak with him, he needed that coin now.

The person at the bar was Kopaka, once the pride of the North afore Miserix conquered it and they were defeated in battle at the Mangai. They had been a priest warrior of sorts, a cleric, a hospitaler. Kopaka looked Jaller over with their pale blue eyes. A true shepherd for all souls. Their snow-white hand touched Jallers.

“Something amiss, captain?” they asked softly.

“What do you think, Kopaka? I drink myself to sleep every night. At times I dare not go home, afeared of what I would find there. My daughter’s condition worsens by the day and I am powerless to stop it. The more I pray the more my family seems disgraced by the gods.”

“The medicine I gave you last did not work, then?” they asked. They seemed to genuinely care. One of the few who yet did.

“No, it did not.”

“It pains me to hear, Jaller. I truly am sorry,” they said, “Yet disgraced by the gods your family is not. Get those thoughts out of that head of yours. The gods have grace, as is seen in your action. Scripture is scripture, written by mere mortals who interpret signs, not the true words from the gods. Takua is not punished by them, nor by the Holy Redeemer. Their true message lies within the good that is still aflame in your heart.”

“Is that true?” Jaller asked.

“Yes. Goodness and holiness is found within ourselves. Not in books. Suffering is not of their making, but of the worlds own darkness. And only true goodness can we be delivered from it.”

The door to the tavern swung open and everyone grew quiet. With the heavy footfalls of well-armored boots, someone approached. The man was clad in full dark red and black plate armor, covered in a ragged half-cape. He slowly made his way to the bar, looking over the patrons as if searching for someone. Jaller looked too and his caught the table of Tahu empty as if he had never sat there. The heavily armored man sat next to him at the bar. He removed his helm, yet due to his thick, long black hair, Jaller could not make out his face. His skin was as white as snow. Without uttering a word he got a drink from Kopaka, who seemed to recognize the man and went quieter than usual. All other patrons said not a word until Kopaka spoke.

“On the house,” Kopaka said. Slowly the crowd resumed their talk and bickering.

The man drained his cup with ease and then quietly slid over a piece of parchment to Jaller. The armored man then put on his helmet and left. A heavy feeling was lifted from the air as the armored man exited the tavern.

Jaller took a look at the piece of paper.

“Come to the Shrine of the Winter’s Blade. Alone. There you will find answers,” it read. Jaller quickly folded it up. Kopaka once again took his hand.

“To what did you pray?”

Jaller dared not look Kopaka in the eye. “To all that would listen.”

“Do not do this, I beg of you, Jaller. She senses all and has sensed sorrow from a father losing hope. Know that once you go down this route, you will be outside the grace of the gods. You will be led into temptation.”

“I see no other way but to try, Kopaka, holiness has not helped me hence” Jaller admitted, defeated as he was and made his way outside in the biting cold.

He no longer cared if he was outside the gods' grace. For he had never felt it. This was more than sign enough they had cursed his very name. She had listened to his plea for help, unholy as it was, and he was thankful for it. Suspicious he was still, for he did not know what he had brought upon himself. The young ranger went to the shrine that represented the Mangai river and the edge of it where that once fateful battle had changed all. Surrounded by total darkness as the Twin Moons waned, Jaller waited. His hands were faintly touching the hilts of his blades. He kept them at the ready. Far in the distance he saw a shape, waiting, watching. The captain looked around and the shape had vanished in the dark as if it had been a ghost of the mind. Someone touched him on the shoulder and he startled, coughing up dark blood.

“Captain? Captain, we have to leave.”

That voice was familiar to him. It was a rangers voice. Nuhrii?

As he opened his eyes he was no longer at the shrine, but tied up at a campfire of embers in the bloody and ash-filled snow. His arm hurt like Karzahni, as did his face. Taking a look he saw his arm was bent backwards, which caused him to panic.

“Easy, captain, easy. Let me get you out of these bonds.”

Nuhrii untied Jaller carefully, as to not hurt his captain any further. Slowly, everything came back to Jaller.

“What happened?”

“Tahu,” Jaller spat with pure hatred, “Where is he? Did you kill the cur?”

“No, he disappeared. My apologies for my cowardice, captain,” Nuhrii dared not look Jaller in the eye.

Jaller wished to hit the young ranger, yet he did not. He looked around. There, at the edge of the wood, he saw a shape. Watching.

“We should leave, captain. We-we tell them he perished from the frost. An unfortunate fate that can befall any man in a winter. That way we still get our gold,” Nuhrii suggested.

“I am not leaving without his head and Vakama's,” Jaller’s tone was ice cold, yet his gaze was transfixed on the shape that watched him ever so closely.

“But-”

“We struck a deal, Nuhrii! I struck a deal! It is kill them or nothing. And I need that gold, that blessing.”

Afore Jaller or Nuhrii could do anything else, a shadow appeared. With a flash of steel as swift as wind, Nuhrii’s body dropped to the ground. His head rolled in Jaller’s lap and blood covered the gold-skinned captain whole.

Jaller screamed in terror. The man who had just beheaded Nuhrii put the tip of his crimson-turned blade to Jaller’s throat. Steam rose from the murderer’s mouth as if he were a dragon. His heavy armor was broken. He bled still from the wound Jaller gave him and the many other wounds he had sustained since. He looked to be gravely injured, yet was still miraculously standing.

Tahu knelt down in front of the wounded captain, placing something else in his lap that startled him. A second head. The head of Vakama, all twisted and dark.

“Well, well, if it isn’t captain Jaller of the rangers. Do you think these two heads will do for that bounty of yours, or do you still need mine?”

Jaller was frozen. He did not utter a word lest made a sound. The one that watched him was still there in the shadows of the night.

“This was never about Vakama was it? Who sent you?” Tahu demanded.

The captain still did not answer. The realisation washed over him. His little girl was going to die, and he was powerless to stop it. He had failed, and now her wrath was upon him. Jaller started sobbing. Tahu smacked him hard in the face, which startled him out of his dark thoughts.

“Spill tears at the gallows, captain. Right now I am demanding answers. Better play along, afore more people you care about get hurt.”

“Please, no. Stay away from my family. Let them alone,” Jaller pleaded.

“Then start talking.”

Jaller spit blood on the snow, “I was hired to kill Vakama and you for gold.”

Tahu chuckled, “Oh, that I know already, ranger. On the order of whom?”

“A man in red. I have never seen his face. They call him The Watcher. That is all I know, I swear it.” Jaller felt desperate, the hopelessness truly settled in.

Tahu looked him over. “How do I find him?”

Jaller chuckled, still in immense pain, “You cannot find him. He is a ghost. He finds you, her wrath is his blade.”

The older man grabbed one of Jaller’s daggers that the mercenary had stolen, his other hand a firm grip Jaller’s right arm. Before Jaller could act his senses were flooded with pain as the mercenary cut off his right hand. The captain screamed out in agony.

Tahu placed his hand over Jaller’s mouth and nose, cutting off his air, “Where can I find him?!” The panic truly set in now. He let go, leaving the captain whimpering.

“I do not know, please,” Jaller cried, “I do not know.”

The mercenary smacked him hard in the face once more, a flash of hot pain taking his attention but briefly away from his cut-off hand. He was losing blood fast as it gushed out of the wound, turning the snow a deep crimson that was almost black.

Tahu burned the wound with a piece of timber, keeping the burning piece far away from himself as if he were afeared of fire. Jaller cried out as the mercenary scorched his flesh.

“Her you said? What are the Shadeborne?”

“What?” Tahu’s question confused Jaller. He had never heard of ‘Shadeborne’.

“Have you never heard of it, Northman? Vakama mentioned it to me. In fact, he seemed to know a lot about me. All of this reeks like Kini Nui’s sewers. So you better tell me all you know, afore I cut off your other hand.”

Jaller almost fainted from the pain, yet with all his might he managed to stay awake. He looked Tahu straight in the eye. “All I know is that I was to bring you to the edge of the world. I should have killed you long before that. Yet The Watcher was specific. That is the truth of it. He told me Miserix’ Rahkshi are looking for you. That you are a deserter. Yet he wished to get you first, for what I do not know.” He looked down at the crimson snow. “I should never have come here. All this time my little girl needed me, and I was away to kill a man.”

Tahu sighed, “Miserix. Of course.”

There was a pause.

“You have a daughter?”

There was a sincerity in his voice Jaller had not heard before. “Yes. She is twelve. Her name is Takua.”

The mercenary had a softer look upon his features now. There was a glaze to his eyes as if he remembered something that brought only sadness and pain.

“Why did you even come here? For gold?”

“Takua is stricken with illness. No one can heal her, she has little time remaining. I needed the gold to get a healer from a bigger city down south to help her.” Jaller felt anger well up inside him, anger that was aimed at none other but himself.

Tahu got up, almost as if he hadn’t heard what Jaller had just told him. The much taller and stronger man grabbed Jaller by the collar and pulled him to his feet. “Now get on your horse and take me back to Ta-Koro. You have earned yourself another chance at life. If you try to cross me again, I will gut you as I did Vakama. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, sir.” Jaller just answered, surrendering completely. The watcher in the dark still lingered as if he was one with the shadows. Jaller could feel chills running down his spine. He had failed her, and The Watcher saw all.

The frigid mountain cave greeted them. Tahu set Jaller down and prepared a fire. The storm started to rage outside, a storm so violent they had by mere chance escaped its grasp. A few days had passed and they had not the possibility of rest. Jaller felt utterly exhausted. A fever had taken him and he was now afeared he would not even survive the trip to the village. For many a mile they had yet to go, a long and arduous journey lay ahead.

Tahu prepared the fire with oils and what timber he could spare. The older man pulled a small satchel from his sack and took from it bandages, a knife and a tiny bottle of alcohol. “Give me your arm,” he said softly. Jaller was a bit apprehensive, not used to this brute speaking in a soft voice to him.

“I won't hurt you,” Tahu reassured.

Jaller presented the stump that was once his hand to Tahu. He took it gently, unbecoming of a brutal man like him. “This will hurt a tad, bite down,” he said. Tahu put the broken handle of a wooden sword for children between Jaller's teeth. He then carefully started cutting away the rotting flesh on the captain's arm. Jaller was in the purest of agony, a feeling which seemed to last an eternity. After he was finished, Tahu dampened a cloth with alcohol and cleansed the wound as Jaller hissed.

“It is alright, we are almost done,” he spoke kindly. The man sealed the wound proper with herbs and bandaged it. “I shall prepare a tea, its taste is foul I must forewarn, but it dulls the senses. You require rest, captain, if you are to make it back alive. I reckon this storm will last long. So we have the time.”

“Why help me, after all I have done?”

“Your daughter deserves to see her father, no matter the deed he has done,” Tahu pulled Jaller close to him, “Now rest. I expect another frigid night, body heat will remedy that.”

Jaller was confused by this sudden kindness, but found himself fast asleep after drinking the tea the mercenary had made for him.

The pair made the long journey back home when the storm passed. Tahu made certain Jaller survived the trip through the harsh weather and landscape, tending to his wounds and his fever further still and hunting for game in the frozen desert and wilderness. The mercenary needed him as a guide, is all Jaller could think of. This kindness seemed unlike the man he had but briefly journeyed with before. The rest of the way back was calm after they made it the Unseen Woods, unlike their way up north had been. Jaller could feel himself being watched still as they journeyed home. An unseen shadow clinging to his every move.

Jaller had thought it through many times during the long days and nights of trekking, whether he should try to kill Tahu or not. Ultimately, he decided against it, it felt wrong. All he wanted was to get back to Keahi and Takua. He would find another way to save his daughter, he had to. And he had to repent for his many sins. But if this was to truly be the end, the end of hope for his sweet daughter, he wished to be by her side to let her pass into the beyond peacefully. He made peace with that.

It took them over two weeks, trekking through the heavy snows, surviving a blizzard, passing through jagged mountains and the loss of one of the Kikanalos. But Jaller kept his word to the mercenary, returning his kindness. He led him back to Ta-Koro. With Tahu at the reins, the pair made their way into the village that was now covered in naught but ash. Some villagers and rangers came over to welcome them back, yet stopped when they saw how badly wounded they both were. The heads Tahu had hung from the saddle of his horse were quite display for all to witness. Jaller sighed and cursed his own name. This was not how he wanted to be seen. But he accepted the punishment of the gods.

“Rangers, take this man to the cells. He is guilty of the attempt on my life, and he will testify as such.” Tahu announced.

Jaller’s colleagues and friends looked confused at the wandering warrior. It pained him greatly for them to witness his downfall.

“What he says is true. I betrayed everything I once stood for. Take me to the cells. My only request is that I see my husband and my daughter, afore the elders decide what to with me.”

Tahu patted him on the shoulder and helped him off the Kikanalo horse. “You are doing a good thing here. I will make sure your daughter gets the help she needs. This I promise you, Jaller.”

Jaller nodded, quietly thanking the man.

“Now, where are these elders of yours?” Jaller could hear Tahu asking as he was taken underground to the holding cells.

In here, the cold was even worse. His former men lit a fire for him and locked him up. Jaller slumped against the wall in utter defeat. It was over.

He wanted to cry, yet instead he laughed. He deserved this punishment, for he knew it in his heart. He had become someone he was not.

As he sat there against the wall, hours seemed to turn to days. Days almost seemed to turn to weeks. His mind drifted. How long had he been here? He did not seem to know. It could not have been as long as it felt. Yet it felt like an eternity nonetheless.

He thought of Takua. How was she? Was she even still alive? Jaller was pulled from his thoughts by someone approaching his cell. The familiar face of Keahi greeted him. How he had missed him. But his husband seemed distraught. Jaller wanted to embrace him, yet he could not.

“They told me what you did. Is it true?” Keahi asked.

Jaller sighed deeply. He could not make himself answer. His heart felt crushed within.

“Is it true you tried to murder a man?!” Keahi raised his voice. A single tear rolling down his red cheek.

Jaller dared not to look his husband in the eye.

“I did it for Takua. I-”

“The man I loved would never sink so low.”

“What did you want me to do, huh?! Just let her die?!” Jaller yelled as loud as he could. It echoed through the dungeon. Keahi startled.

“I wanted you to remain at my side. At Takua’s side. You left us alone for nearly a month without as much as a word. All to kill a man. And for what? Look at you now.” Keahi seemed barely able to keep back his tears.

“Keahi, I saw no other way.”

“Then I see no other way as well,” Keahi said coldly.

“How is Takua?” Jaller asked carefully.

“She is gone, Jaller.”

“What?” Jaller’s heart sank in his chest further. He could not breathe.

“You were not there. You were never there. And now she’s gone,” Keahi tried to remain his cold composure, but broke out crying and in fury, “Now there is nothing left because of you. Goodbye, Jaller.”

Jaller’s husband turned and walked away. “Keahi? Keahi! Please, do not leave. Don’t leave me!” Jaller sobbed and pleaded.

Then, Keahi stopped. Jaller felt some hope return.

“Who are you?” Keahi asked.

Jaller heard the ringing of a blade and the sound of Keahi gurgling. A body hit the hard, dusty ground and blue mist enveloped his boots.

“Keahi!” Jaller cried out, “Keahi?”

The heavy sound of armored boots approaching made Jaller cower in fear. The huge frame of the armored Watcher appeared before his cell as a monstrous wraith. The hulking man took a ring of keys and opened the door.

“No, please. Please,” Jaller begged like a dog.

The Watcher gazed at him through the slits of his menacing helmet adorned with silver. He could hear the man’s breath as the towering figure knelt before him, bloodied blade in hand.

Jaller felt the hot flash of pain as the blade cut his throat. The captain of the guard desperately clawed at his throat, blood gushing from it with every beat of his heart. He gurgled and coughed up his life's essence. His breathing failed him and the whole of his body convulsed.

The heavily armored man kept watching him as he died. And Jaller’s world went dark. The last thing he saw were the dead faces of Keahi and Takua, silently judging him.

Chapter 8 - Teridax

Shadowed One

Coming soon

Chapter 9 - Kopaka

Coming soon

Chapter 10 - Pohatu

Coming soon

Chapter 11 - Matau

Coming soon

Chapter 12 - Hahli

Coming soon

Chapter 13 - Teridax

Coming soon

Chapter 14 - Tahu

Coming soon

Part II - In Nights of Wintry Fog

"On a night of wintry fog, when the world was still aslumber, the gods slew the son of Thunder. There in the Lands of Night he lay and bled his soul in clay. For he was of the old gods and the way of the dream. The last of their kind. No more was the chaos of the storm, and the gods could awake man alike their own. Shouldst thou witness the blood of the old return, be not fooled by their skin of moon and hair of lapis lazuli that alike the abyssal fires burn. The gods of the dawn command thee to flay their soul, for their beauty is bewitching and hides their very wickedness. So flay, thou who art a servant of the dawn, until they break as stone."

―Scripture from the Book of the Dawn.

Chapter 15 - Hahli

Coming soon

Chapter 16 - Lewa

Coming soon

Chapter 17 - Teridax

Coming soon

Chapter 18 - Hahli

Coming soon

Part III - Shadow of Oberon

Coming soon

Part IV - The Nightwalker

Coming soon

Part V - At the Edge of Winter's Blade

Coming soon

Characters

Main POV Characters

• Hahli
• Teridax
• Tahu
• Pohatu
• Takanuva
• Mata Nui
• Matau
• Lewa
• Kopaka
• Gali
• Onua

Side Characters

• Little Snow
• Dume
• Matoro
• The Dreamer
• Paric
• The Watcher
• Turaga Onewa
• Helryx
• Axonn
• Brutaka
• Miserix
• Jaller
• Nuhrii
• Vakama
• Keahi
• Takua
• Hewkii
• Kotu
• TBA

Relevant Character Ages

• Hahli: Age 16
• Teridax: Age 39
• Tahu: Age 49
• Pohatu: Age 25
• Takanuva: Age 27
• Mata Nui: Age 34
• Matau: Age 23
• Little Snow: Age 12
• Matoro: Age 17
• Lewa: Age 21
• Kopaka: Age 42
• Onua: Age 57
• Dume: Age 60
• Vakama (prince): Age 37
• Paric: Age 33
• Ahkmou: Age 18
• Nuparu: Age 18
• Nidhiki: Age 20
• Whenua: Age 35
• Turaga Onewa: Age unknown
• Helryx: Age 50
• Axonn: Age 29
• Brutaka: Age 53
• Chiara: Age unknown
• Gali: Age 19 (deceased)
• Miserix: Age 90 (deceased)
• Nokama: Age 25 (deceased)
• Zaria: Age 33(deceased)
• Tridax: Age 6(deceased)
• Icarax: Age 61(deceased)

Soundtrack

• Main theme: 'The Silent Sisters' - Ramin Djawadi & 'Earth' - Hans Zimmer & 'Stay' - Ghost (feat. Patrick Wilson)
• Hahli's theme: 'Maximus' - Hans Zimmer and Heitor Pereira & 'The Language of Girls' & 'Truth' - Ramin Djawadi
• Teridax's theme: 'Daemon and Rhaenyra' & 'A Pack of Hounds' & 'The Rogue Prince' - Ramin Djawadi & 'Progeny' & 'Am I Not Merciful' - Hans Zimmer
• Tahu's theme: 'Burning the Past' & 'France 1184' - Harry Gregson-Williams
• Mata Nui's theme: 'I Am Hers, She Is Mine' - Ramin Djawadi & 'Busy Little Bee' - Hans Zimmer & 'Vide Cor Meum' - Patrick Cassidy
• 'Royal House of Oberon' theme: 'Lament' & 'Interests of the Realm' - Ramin Djawadi
• Journey theme: 'Firelink Shrine' - Yuka Kitamura & 'Altus Plateau (Night)' - Shoi Miyazawa
• 'Shade and Dreams' theme: 'Fylgija Ear' & 'Futhorck' - Heilung & 'Awaken' - Eldvrak
• 'Church of Dawn' theme: 'Halflight, Spear of the Church' - Yuka Kitamura
• 'Ashbrand, the Titanflame of the Firedancer' theme: 'Elddansurin' - Heilung & 'King Arthur: Legend of the Sword' & 'The Legend of Excalibur' - Daniel Pemberton
• Love theme: 'Whatever May Come' - Ramin Djawadi
• Battle theme: 'Krigsgaldr' & 'Hakkerskaldyr' - Heilung
• Conspiracy theme: 'Fate of the Kingdoms' - Ramin Djawadi
• Oberon theme: 'The Ballad of Londinium' - Daniel Pemberton
• 'The Lands Beyond' theme: 'In Maidjan' - Heilung
• Pohatu's theme: 'A Lannister Always Pays His Debts' - Ramin Djawadi
• Takanuva's theme: 'For Cersei' - Ramin Djawadi
• Kopaka's theme: 'Better Man' - Harry Gregson-Williams
• Lewa's theme: 'Light of Life' - Harry Gregson-Williams and Natacha Atlas
• Little Snow's theme: 'Majula' - Motoi Sakuraba & 'The North Remembers' - Ramin Djawadi
• Gali's theme: 'The Lady in the Lake' - Daniel Pemberton
• The Dreamer's theme: 'Legend' - Ryan Taubert
• Rakshii theme: 'Assassins Breathe' - Daniel Pemberton
• TBA

Alternate Covers

Sequel Covers

Art

Hahli and The Dreamer

World Map

Ashbrand

Nightbringer

"The Watcher"

Trivia

• The book is currently undergoing major rewrites.
• The current draft of the book sits at 573 pages long and is nowhere near finished. So far, the first 119 pages have been released. Those 573 pages include Part I, Part II and a very small portion of Part III.
• The story is inspired by grimdark fantasy works such as A Song of Ice and Fire (George R.R. Martin) and First Law (Joe Abercrombie). It also takes huge inspiration from the Soulsborne game series, particularly Dark Souls 3 and Elden Ring, as well as Brandon Sanderson's Mistborn. The story's lore and thematic elements draw very loose inspiration from Ancient Mesopotamia (particularly the Babylonian times), Norse and Slavic mythology and paganism, Esotericism (particularly Hermeticism, Alchemy and the Occult) and Medieval European history.
• Music is an important element of the trilogy, something Princess Felyn can't really use in traditional publishing. The songs chosen have a significant meaning, be it to establish mood, a character, or provide a deeper meaningful element to certain characters or story. Princess Felyn gets most of her inspiration from music and pieces of art, whilst she writes.
• As in a lot of Dark Fantasy the characters aren't black and white, good or bad. They are shades of grey.
• Hahli was originally not planned to be a main POV character, yet she naturally grew into a very major character. The entire story was rewritten and rethought to accomodate this change. This change allowed Princess Felyn to pour more of herself into the story she was telling.
• The mental health struggles of characters like Hahli, Tahu, Teridax and Mata Nui were based on the struggles and experiences Princess Felyn is dealing with herself.
• Princess Felyn considers Hans Zimmer's Earth from the soundtrack of Gladiator to be the main theme of the trilogy.
• Hahli, like Princess Felyn herself, has Borderline Personality Disorder.
• Shadeborne was originally written to be a very different type of story. A more traditional, yet dark, fantasy adventure epic. This changed drastically during the writing process.
• The strange, close relationship between Hahli and Teridax was written to be unsettling and uncomfortable.
• Most of the main cast of POV characters are the original Toa Mata/Nuva: Tahu, Gali, Kopaka, Pohatu, Lewa, Onua, as well as Takanuva. Only they aren't a group of mythical heroes and aren't referred to as Toa.
• To expand the cast of main female characters, Princess Felyn made Lewa a female character. To her it felt like a good fit.
• The Matoran and Toa are more humanoid creatures in this AU. They are still biomechanical in a way, but a lot more human in appearance. Metallic lines in various patterns, scales and other such things adorn their varying colored flesh instead. The masks are pieces of armor or attire some people wear, more resembling helmets, as opposed to how they were traditionally used in BIONICLE. The biomechanical armor is replaced with leather, chainmail, plate and other such armor that people wear for protection or status.
• Shadeborne is currently the 40th longest page on the wiki.
• Princess Felyn plans on releasing the story as a PDF in novel format as well, once it is finished. It will have an alternate special cover. She wants to do this as she prefers reading stories in that format, be it physical or digital.
• The sword depicted on the cover is known as Ashbrand. A mythical greatsword in the world of the book. It is inspired by Excalibur from Arthurian Legend.
• Each chapter is written in third-person POV of one of the main characters. Hence their names next to the chapter.