Shadow Bands

III. Shadow Bands

Tall grass swayed gently in the meadows, a golden sea reaching toward the sky. The autumn sun neared its peak, and the air was thick with the sweet, intoxicating smell of apples that wafted from a secluded orchard.

A boy named Draven tossed apples into the air beneath the arching branches. As they fell, he raised his hand, at the same time focusing his Source within. He willed the apples to slow—to remain airborne—but he could never sustain their flight. With every apple that hit the ground, his frustration grew, not just at his failure, but at the risk he was taking just to practice.

A twig snapped.

Draven's focus instantly broke. He scanned the golden horizon, but found no one. Perhaps a dead branch, he tried to tell himself, but the caution of the Underworld was a cold weight in his gut. He continued his practice, now hyper-aware of his surroundings.

"Neat trick!" A voice said, startling him. An apple landed squarely on his head. "How do you do it?"

Draven spun to find a girl with red hair bundled at the back and piercing green eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, already backing away.

The girl didn't move, only observing him. "You're not human," she stated, tilting her head. "Don't worry. I'm not against it, and I don't hate you, if that's what you're thinking."

Draven didn't wait to find out. He broke into a run, glancing back once to see her standing completely still. He kept running, making turns he hoped would confuse any pursuer, plunging through the tall grass until his last, barely-paved trail disappeared.

The shrubbery grew thicker, and finally, he reached a stone wall. He checked behind him one last time, seeing only the swaying grass. Along the stone, he walked until he found a crack he could squeeze through. He angled his shoulders, pushing through the cold stone and onto the other side.

He followed the flow of water into a ravine, watching it fall over a cliff. Across the stream bank was a cave entrance. The water was shallow enough to cross, but with every step, he could feel the current pull at his weight. He made sure each step was grounded.

He reached the mouth of the cave, feeling a familiar breeze of hot, dry air blowing through. He traced the damp rock with his hand, walking further into the darkness. The air became hotter as the cave became desiccated. A red glow began to refract from the walls. His pace picked up, knowing where he was going.

As the exit came into sight, he could see the Underworld. He took a deep breath upon exiting the cave and looked at the sight: a wasteland. There was some shrubbery, but most of it was dead, trying and failing to survive. Only a massive manor stood against the red landscape. The Overworld's greenery tried to invade, only to find immediate death in the Underworld's miasma. This red wasteland was the truth: only the strongest survive.

He slowly slid down the slope. The gravel gave way until he reached the bottom. Voices approached him. Traversing the loose gravel carefully, he found a hollowed tree and snaked himself through a small bush. He could see a trail further away; the problem was crossing the open space.

Hearing the snarl of a hellhound, Draven panicked.

His feet jittered. He gathered his courage and bolted into the opening. The hellhounds barked, and the brush between them rustled. Draven looked back but felt his feet hit something hard, which was strange since the opening was clear. He braced for impact and slid a few feet.

"You should never do that!" A familiar female voice shouted. A barrage of kicks landed on his body as he balled up and covered his head.

The barking hellhounds appeared out of the bushes, their handler holding the leash. Peeking through his arms, Draven could see the hellhound's saliva spilling and the man who held the beast.