Silver Eyes Chronicles: The Journey Begins Trilogy: Book One: The Reunion

Prologue: The Beginning

"Is it right to call myself a heroine, especially if you have more than one death on your hands, particularly the deaths of the ones you have come to love and care about?

Would you consider yourself a hero then?

So, it was with me. I've earned the title, 'heroine' yet I've felt none of it at heart.

My story will reveal to you of how things came to be. Not just for me, but for everyone else in this world."

Naria, formerly of Peyene

Prologue: The Beginning

Raeyeda

The couple hurries along, every so often looking over their shoulders, making sure that they are not being followed. It has been a few but seemingly long weeks since they've escaped the city. One that was mostly destroyed by now, their people killed in cold blooded murder. They were lucky to have survived, especially for their unborn child. A child that will most likely come any time now, since the long weeks of travel from the elven city in which they've taken refuge. The queen advised the two of them to find a safe place.

The couple agreed reluctantly and left a few days later with hope and despair in their hearts. Hope that their upcoming child will be safe. Despair that it will be a long time before they lay eyes on that child again.

The expectant mother, clutching her swollen belly, feels her fully grown unborn child bump against her hand every so often, her slender fingers touching that particular spot where her child touched her. Crystal colored tears wells up in her wise silvery eyes as she thinks of another child of hers. A child who betrayed them, unexpectedly and for no reason she can understand.



She can still see her elder daughter standing over their bed with a slender silver dagger covered in blood in one hand, a blank expression on her fair and beautiful face and in her iron gray eyes. And the body of her husband lying beside her, his breathing suddenly harsh and intensely labored, a deep wound in his chest, the dagger barely missing his heart, just touching a vulnerable lung with sticky crimson blood running down his nightclothes, staining the stark white cloth. And she could feel her daughter's fist suddenly connecting with her jaw until she slipped into unconsciousness.

It was many hours later before she woke up. When she did it had been in the healing wing, her husband asleep in the bed next to hers, stained crimson bandages wrapped around his broad chest, a scar already starting to form.

At that time, he couldn't understand why their daughter would commit such a terrible and unexpected act. He didn't even have the heart to attend her trial in which the magistrates of the city unanimously cast her out for her unexplained and attempted murder. He knew that he wouldn't be able to handle it. Since, once he and their daughter shared a strong and intense bond.

Or once they did, she thinks.

She can still perfectly recall seeing the two of them in front of the chessboard, pieces lying off to the sides of the board as they took turns. A drink would be at their elbows along with a plate of food that would be half eaten as the game went along. Both of their faces expressed intense concentration as they tried to anticipate the other's next move. Usually her husband won, though their daughter beat him sometimes on rare occasion. And she would be sitting in a comfortable chair nearby, often working on a piece of embroidery while watching the two competitors, a contented smile on her face.

Or she can recall just the two of them talking about anything they can think of with her throwing something in now and then, joining in the conversation.