Clouded Purity - Book 2 of The Trial

Clouded Purity - Chapter 1

This is book two of "The Trial". Book one is "Shadow Honor" and can be found here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/137530001-shadow-honor

The world felt white. Prism had never felt a color before, but he could think of it in no other terms. He floated through a sea of pure light, an intense wind whipping around him from everywhere and nowhere, pulling him toward the great unknown.

Death. He'd died. He knew it, could remember speaking to Styx in Pentalus, after facing Fasha in a burning building. He'd failed to protect anyone—not Styx, nor the people of Pentalus, nor Grim . . . Grim.

Prism ached for the loss of the man he loved. Grim would be freed from his demonic prison at some unknown time to find an alien world, as Prism had. It would not do. It just couldn't end this way. He couldn't let it happen!

But he could do nothing to stop it, except to wander through the white world, waiting for something different to happen. If this would be his eternity, it must be the hellish void the Ultakan priests insisted awaited those sinners who broke their divine vows. Prism had never thought himself a sinner, but the proof surrounded him.

A strong hand reached into the void, piercing an invisible wall and tearing through it like rotten fabric, grasping Prism by the front of his tunic and pulling him down, sucking him through the tear and into a world of green.

This world had more than simply color, as he landed on the grass in a beautiful garden. No, not a garden, but a forest in bloom. No one had cultivated this place; it was far too natural for that. It reminded him of someone, and he raised his eyes, instinctively searching for her. Sure enough, Ghayle stood before him, as regal and fearsome as ever.

She wore nothing but a simple skirt, seemingly woven from a thousand leaves of fall, with long slits in the side, allowing her legs full freedom of movement. Her ebony torso and supple breasts were exposed to the sweet-scented air, and veiny white lines throbbed across her skin, glowing with the same intensity as the white void from which she'd just pulled him. These veins pulsed with warmth, akin to the fierce heat of a summer's day.

Ghayle's flowing white hair shimmered like freshly fallen snow caught in breaking sunlight, and her green eyes blazed with the vibrancy of spring. Her long and slender fingers reached for Prism, cupping his chin with the gentleness of a queen examining her favorite pony.

"Welcome, Prism . . ." Ghayle said, her voice as strong as it had been a thousand years earlier.

"Ghayle . . ." Prism said, prostrating himself before her. "You saved my life."

"Not exactly," Ghayle said, stooping to lift Prism from his position of respect. "And you need not bow before me. Not anymore."

"But you're . . ." Prism began, but Ghayle put her fingers to his mouth to stop him, a sad smile crossing her lips.

"The avatar of the world?" Ghayle said, laughing. "Not for long, I'm afraid. Soon, I, too, will pass, and another will take my place."

"What do you mean?" Prism asked. "And what do you mean you didn't save me?"

"You're still dead, Prism," Ghayle said. "I used a great deal of energy to pull your spirit from the stream that leads to the afterlife. Unfortunately, for an undetermined amount of time, you'll be my guest."

Prism rose to a standing position, moving to brush his clothes free from dust, but finding it spotless. Even the blood that should've stained the torn cloth where Fasha had stabbed him was gone. Prism's wounds, too, seemed to have faded away.