The Dark Miracles

Chapter 1

The hissing from steel arrows or the pinging of metal bullets flying out the barrel of a gun could make anyone drop to their knees in fear. Looking around to see all of the fallen men and women who wanted to defend their people and see a better future but only they wouldn't see the outcome, whether it was good or bad. To my right, there is a woman lying on the ground. Her plump belly which once had another's heartbeat buried inside, tells me that she wasn't alone when she died, I can't seem to think if it was a good or bad thing.

To my left, there's a man hiding underneath the body of his daughter, whose corpse still holds a grip on the small brown teddy bear resting in her palm. Dried tears stain his dirt and blood-covered cheeks, he trembles as a soldier wielding a sword moves bodies around, making sure there are no survivors of this battle, while he basks in the victory of his people, and laughs at the demise of his enemy.

I'm brought back to reality when the blood-red rubber ball I was tossing subconsciously falls right onto my face. I wince for a little and let it roll onto the soft silk sheets underneath me. I stare back at the mural on my ceiling and try to look for other hidden details.

The story of the Great House War has been told for generations. When the sudden rise of Miracs occurred, powerful beings with the strangest abilities. The war held many casualties from both parties, some more than others, but resulted in the defeat of the Miracs after eight agonizing years of conflict. It was decided that all Miracs were to be locked away, but someone thought of a better idea.

Of course, this law only sent Miracs into hiding, making some vow to never use their abilities again.

One hundred and forty-two years later, it's been estimated that over three million Miracs were killed. The chance to become a Mirac was incredibly rare. It required a specific gene that skipped up to eight generations in families.

I squint my eyes at the painting and I spot the man who started it all. He stood on a pedestal, holding a sword drenched in blood the same color as the ball next to me. My great, great, great, grandfather looked so proud standing over the limp bodies of the men, women, and children.

Something that people don't like to mention about the war, was the scene depicted in the mural staring back at me. This wasn't a battle, it was a massacre.

My father followed in his family's footsteps and took over as President of Kidra when my grandfather passed away just a few years ago. Today, he is known as the 'peacemaker' amongst rakes. I overhear the strag workers in the Great House refer to him as much worse. No rake ever spoke of it, but living in Kidra could either be heaven or hell.

Here, you were either so rich that you could buy the world if it was for sale or so poor that you couldn't afford a stack of dirt if you wanted one. I tried to convince my father so many times to lift his unfair taxes, but he never listened to me.

I always thought that my father never liked the fact he'd gotten a daughter instead of a son. His firstborn is supposed to be his heir-- which I was, but I think he was preferring an heir with a... never mind. He'd never told me such a thing to my face, but I know he thinks it, I know he must converse it with others.

Over the course of my life, I've strived to be everything my father had wanted. I learned to walk and talk like a public figure, I have the face of one, and I only have positive relationships with citizens of Kidra, (Only rakes though, he'd never even let me dip my toe into a strag town)

I heard three knocks at my door, I could tell who it was just by how regal the sound of her knuckles hitting the ivory wood sounded. I sit up from my bed and look over to the door, watching it open gracefully. My mother then peaks her head through.