Soul Bound

Prologue

32 years ago

The streets of Duskfield were barren at this time of day. The hour between twilight and dusk, when purple shadows stretched across the tundra landscape and the deep scars within the earth were impossible to see--until you found yourself at the bottom of them. The miners of this town refused to work the fissures at this time, despite threats of flogging and rising taxes.

Prince Sylus Fortys had a curious mind, particularly curious of the limitations of the human body, the sheer will of the mind. His father didn't understand the workings of his people. Didn't know it took more than threats to make people bend to his will. When he became King, things would be different. His people would work until he told them to stop.

Residents poked their heads through the windows within the comfort of their homes, eyes trailing after the king and his sons as they strode down the path towards the mine at the bottom of the fissure this town was carved into. Despite the breeze whistling between buildings, weaving through the street and squeezing into the mine shaft, the air was stale. The town refused to breathe while the Fortys clan set foot on its streets.

As they should. If these ungrateful peasants couldn't see the honour in serving their king then they deserved the fate King Nolann had in store for them.

He was getting old in his age; this was likely one of the last times he left the castle. He was keen to make it a memorable one. Sylus and Salik were here to ensure it.

The road down to the mine was empty, silent, aside from the howl of the wind ripping through the base of the fissure. Tools were abandoned with haste on the ground, carts half loaded. The miners had stopped working after a cave-in a few days prior and they had since refused to work.

That ended today.

At the mine entrance, a single woman blocked their path, hunched over and heavily relying on her staff for support. Her weathered hair was as white as the snow-capped mountains in the north. She bowed her head respectfully to the monarchs. She was muttering under her breath, the words carried away by the gods to a distant land.

"You, woman," King Nolann addressed her. "Move aside. Your king demands to inspect these mines."

She kept her head down, her murmurs growing louder, seemingly more incoherent. Her mind appeared to be as frail as her body.

The incompetence!

"You dare to defy your king, wench?" Sylus stepped forward and gripped a fistful of her robe. She was easy to cast aside, crumbling into the wall he pushed her to. "When King Nolann gives a command, you will obey or suffer the consequences." He raised his voice so that every man, woman, and child in Duskfield could hear him and fear his words.

"Your reign of terror will end," the crone hissed, her words crisp, precise. They hit his back like the sting of a whip. "She will be your undoing."

"What did you say?" He wasn't born into magic, no one in his family was, but his skin prickled at the sight of this woman--once he really looked at her. Specifically, her pure white eyes.

She spoke to him without looking directly at him, "A woman who's hair has been touched by ash!"

Growling, he fisted her robes and shook her. "Do not threaten me, crone. I fear no woman!"

The air chilled around them. Storm clouds above him surrounded the town, dark and perilous. The wind whipped past him, drowning out Salik's laughter.

"This woman she speaks of is nothing to fear, brother. She'll only be your undoing when her lips are wrapped around your-"

"She will mount a black dragon and claim the power of Ebis," she cried to the heavens, as if the princes hadn't spoken. Maybe she hadn't heard him. The wind was too loud and her voice barely carried the weight of her words beyond his ears. "When your power is at its peak, Prince Sylus, she will find you and-"

"Enough of this-"

"-bring your end." Slipping from her trance, the crone's hands fell to her sides. Her body swayed in the wind, like a blade of grass on the plains of Estrus.

For all but a moment, terror skittered down Sylus' spine. Then he remembered he was Prince Sylus Fortys, heir to the throne, soon to be ruler of Estrus, and had no reason to fear the insignificant words of a bitter, old crone. She was likely a mother of children who had been lost to the mine.

Sylus freed his sword from its sheath and ran it through her. Her breath left her lungs, but the grasp she had on his blade was strong, eyes focusing on him yet still unseeing. "May Asturias guide her."

He ripped his blade free and wiped it clean on her shoulder as she slithered to the ground. He spat on her face. "Asturias or Ebis won't help your woman."

No god had dared to set foot on Estrus since the dragons left and they wouldn't start now.

A woman? His undoing? Ha! What laughable nonsense. No woman had the power to bring him down. She could bear the power of Ebis or ride a black dragon--but it wouldn't be enough to stop him.

No god would help her here. No god would protect her from his wrath.

Let this be an example of all who defied the Fortys clan.