Shattered Legacies: Book 1, Holo Change

💠Chapter 15: Cold is the house of rebellion💠

(Hey, welcome to the second act of the first book! I really hope that last chapter wasn't too much to read through. That was actually the slimed down version of what I'd planned out. But anyway, thanks for reading so far. Hope you're enjoying it. This act of the story is gonna have more chapters, because a lot happens in a smaller space of time. But hopefully they don't go super long. And um, yeah. Fourth wall break just to say thanks and well wishes. I am aware of what I'm writing. And yes, that one is my art. I'm trying. On with the second act!)

The frostbitten air raging in the harsh world behind him, blanketing the earth with snow as if it needed a fresh coat of souless white, made the chipped and halfheartedly redone stone walls of the entrance hall feel warm and welcoming in comparison. Thankful now for the ugly cloak wrapping his shoulders and covered in bits of white as he opened the doors and quickly shut out the freezing night. Allowing himself to shiver in the echo the door made, and soon follow it up with the sound of his shoes tapping on the smoother yet still old mosaic stone floor. Each step pummeling the air, bouncing around the wide area walls so far it would have been impossible to sneak through this place. Perhaps that was the idea. Ahead of him lied a balcony with two sets of stairs, each one leading to a different doorway further in, while between them sat a large velvet cushioned throne dotted with old alphabetical engravings to be filled in with a much more noticeable black crystalized material. Flowing up the arm rests, back, and crashing into each other to create a set of sharp spikes sparkling under the pale light of the moon beaming in front the right side windows with drawn crimson curtains. A seat awaiting the heir, much like the various suits of silver and iron armor lining the walls and facing it were waiting for their soldiers. And lastly, high on the wall above the balcony sat immortalized in a stain glass tapestry of blues and purples, was the image of a woman with blinding white hair cloaked in a dress made of shadows and stars. Her eyes as sunken as the twilight that threaded through her flame like flowing gown, swirling around her arms and up above her raised hands that cupped the angel like wings of purple with falling feathers. One of many depictions of Dartina, goddess of Darkness night and nature.

She who whispered to the lost through the guidance of the never ending starlight abyss. And who in her footsteps they did strive to walk.

The cold pale moonlight washing the chamber with a chill unrivaled by much, being what little illumination there was in the entrance hall. It was very fortunate for the man that he'd walked this path so many times before. Striding through the room, up the stairs on the stairs on the right, through the equally as dimly lit hallway that curved, and then through another door. Holding himself high and firm as he followed his trial to the center of the room housing warmth from the blazing fire place, a nice couch on the other side, and a table of refreshments already picked at by the other figures in the room, and respectfully bent down on one knee with his head down. Face still shrouded by the hood of his cloak much like the others in the room, for no other reason than it was still a bit cold even with the fire roaring.

With him there were five others, three on the couch enjoying hot cocoa and cookies, one leaning against the wall by the fire presumably in their own mind, all dressed just like him. While ahead of him staring out at the blizzard that never seemed to end, dark hazel eyes piercing back in the reflection of the window pane lost in the sounds and second hand chill brushing against his skin, was the man to whom the bow was given. Tall, broad shouldered with a triangle torso shape, strong arms and long but thin mullet like auburn hair sporting a streak of faded silver every so often. Kept clean and just brushing his shoulders from where it had grown out with time but maintained in the same style with the shorter but still long locks on the sides of his face framing it like grown out far apart bangs. Yes, a haircut of his time. And mature features to match. A strong defined jawline covered by a beard the same color as his hair and that never went farther than his chin, nose with a tiny bump on the ridge from where it had been broken before, and thin lips. Though, what was odd about his appearance was the fact that he only looked to be in his late twenties. A good twenty or so years shy of having gray hair appear for a human. Looking at him, you'd think he tried to give himself highlights. Knowing him, you'd suspect something very different. Knowing him for over ten years, you'd know the truth.