Gates of Xuviphas

One

Falling. That's all that happened. Lukyan just stared up the chasm up to Jasoslav with wide, frightened eyes.

      Lukyan had lied to Jasoslav. He was very afraid, but he wasn't gonna let Jasos know that.

     As he was still free-falling, he swallowed, nervously. This is it. This is the end, he thought.

     Lukyan fell through, into Xuviphas. Then, he felt a breeze and a weird sensation flow over him—-it was like a wave coursing through his nerves. It gave him chills.

     He knew what had happened. He hoped it wouldn't've happened, but it did nonetheless.

      Wait, Lukyan began to think. I have wings. All I have to is cast them out-—that'll break my fall.

       He took a deep breath.

        He knew he was wasting time every moment he didn't open his wings.

        Lukyan adjusted his shoulders, trying to push out his wings-—unfortunately for him, nothing happened.

       His silver eyes grew wider.

       Had Xuviphas truly stripped away his sirenhood? Was he truly mortal now?

      Lukyan continued to fall before breaking his fall on a jagged rock. He gasped, in shock.

       Pain washed over him.

       He had been stabbed.

       Lukyan coughed; he had begun to choke on his own blood.

      He tried to breathe, but he couldn't.

      Memories of seeing Zephyria for the first time played in his head.

       The creatures pacted into the stadium in Kolasí were practically standing on top of each other.

      Lukyan at the time, had been five.

     The sounds of heavy guitar rifts echoed forth and out from the monsters boomed the sounds of cheers and screeches of delight.

      Lukyan wasn't paying any attention to the performance…well, that was until she started singing.

     The first melodic, soothing note shattered the air, catching young Lukyan in a daze.

     There was something so familiar about the voice.

      Lukyan began to push through the crowd, earning shouts-—he didn't care though. He just continued on.

      Finally, after squeezing his way to the front, Lukyan gazed upon the siren performing-—brown locks and glorious, silver pools for eyes-—just like him.

     Lukyan was enchanted by the performance. The whole time he stared, almost unblinking.

      That memory Lukyan had almost reminded him of one of his earliest ones.

       He couldn't remember his mother's face in that said memory, but he remembered the soft, Athenian lullaby she sung.

       Now, after knowing the truth about his heritage, it all made sense to him.

       The enchanting voice that had sang him the lullaby had been Zephyria.

       If I can just get up and out of Xuviphas, I can go find Mitéra. She'll patch me up. I know she will.

      "Mitéra! Mitéra!" He called out. He hoped she would hear him.

      His hope was short-lived. The ground seemed to shake, most likely from Xisuthros.

     Then it collapsed, sending Lukyan free falling again.

      The ground collapsing in on itself caused the jagged stone to be ripped from Lukyan.

        Lukyan's vision began to grow blurry-–black on the edges like a vignette.

        The Greek siren had been falling with more velocity than before. He seemed to be falling faster and faster with each second.

     He shed one tear that instantly blew off. His mitéra wouldn't come save him; she wouldn't even hear him. Lukyan would have to accept that.

     Then, he hit something which gave him intense neck pain for less than a nanosecond before his vision went dark and he felt nothing.

     ─┉─¡! • !¡─┉─

     Lukyan's silver eyes fluttered open. He stared up at the ceiling. Where am I?, He wondered.

     The Greek boy slowly sat up, his body aching with every slight movement.

     He gazed around. This place was familiar to him.

     He blinked a couple of times in disbelief. This was his old room from the time he had lived in an orphanage in Athens.

     How did he make it back here?

     He shook it off.

     Lukyan sat up, letting his sneakers touch the floor. Then, he stood.

     Lukyan paced forward toward a counter, the wound in his abdomen still searing with pain.

    He gazed at the figures he had built when he was five that sat on a table. The figures in question had been made out of pencils that had been attached to one another.

   He picked one up and studied it-–running his fingers along its edges--–before putting it down.

   Then, Lukyan's gaze was caught on a book.

    It was a normal composition book-—he picked it up.

    On the lines of the cover it said one name: Viljar.

    Lukyan skimmed through the pages; the notes inside it seemed to be of some sort of paranormal study.

    A voice behind Lukyan then called, "Good. You're awake."