league of night

prologue

                 the world rained glass and shadows. shards of glass flew from above as the waves continued to hit, shadows that willed themselves to move danced from corner to corner, an endless dance that was bound to end when the light came upon. but the shards and shadows continued to dance, the fog that had been lying low on the horizon began to move towards them, towards the pitch black castle, adorned in crawling forest plants as they tried to reach the sun. the sun that stopped appearing a year ago when the first wave hit. and through the middle of it all, through the glass shards that rained from above, flying in all directions, through the shadows that flitted from one space to another, to the extinguishing specks of lights that dimmed and shimmered along the black smog through the chaos there could be seen hope. hope from those few who had left the shattering world the moment the gray fog had risen to the lively city of Cez. The grand buildings and towns, the beautifully decorated fountains that would cool them down on too sunny of a day were now covered in grim and dark dried blood. and not on the fountain well where people had once claimed victory to their rulers, not in the town square where the town festivities, that of which has been adorned with the colors of Cez grey and red, flags to honor the country they loved so much, filled Cez with hope. hope is what stood now on the shoulders of the creatures and animals who had managed to skitter away before the last wave had hit. hope a dwindling light that the people had sacrificed themselves for when naming Amand their leader in believe for a better world than that of the past year. in the blackened grey ashes and the rusted ruble lay a small silver dagger adorned with seven rubies and four stones. there did that dagger remain until the man that was not quite a man with half rounded extended ears, and a scar down the side of his neck picked the small dangling dagger from the ashes and rumble, filled with grime and dust the black smog which has begun to conceal the dark features of the man seized him up. And when the last gust of wind blew, the dagger was no more, in its replacement lay a note: a ruby for a throne, a throne for the one who put us away, a throne made of iron and living grief, that will lead us all back home. 

an :: welcome to the prologue of this book, i've had this idea for a while and decided to finally write it down. any questions and feedback are welcome, and i hope you enjoy the story. 

ela