I'm actually on maybe the 25/26 chapter of this story but I've been posting it on blackveilbridesfanfiction and forgot I had it posted here too. Haha, well let's see if I can get more of a response this time. Here's chapter 2 for anyone that cares! :)
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I was alone once again. I had taken my place for the night in the corner that once held a man. But not any man. The Prophet. I relished in the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I was sitting in the faint presence of a legend.
The sudden talk of Legions and the Five made me think back to when I was told those stories. I remember my mother tucking me in to bed. She'd lean over and kiss my forehead, ask if I was comfortable, then launch into another gripping tale of how five boys found the power within themselves to unite. It always started with 'Many moons ago...'. Evil would control our lands, but the Five would be skilled in many areas. They'd be quick, smart, nimble, and above all heroes. They would guide the Wild Ones, lead the Legion of the Black, and start a rebellion. My mother kept the stories PG, but I knew the full myths and legends included gory battles on the desert land. Women like us, Healers, would work behind the front line, helping injured soldiers, bringing life back into their eyes. And history was to repeat itself, and every few centuries another Five would rise to fulfill their destiny. I'd fall asleep filled with hope that I was safe.
When I was older, 11 or 12, it was like realizing there was no tooth fairy. In your adolescent mind you decided that the myths were just that; myths, or if you were more naïve minded, you would maybe believe that it just wouldn't happen in your lifetime. They were not true tales of long ago, just stories, is what I believed. At 20, I didn't think I'd ever change my mind, but now I was having doubts.
Maybe they were frauds. Men who believed they could be great and forged the names on their jackets. They seemed young, how could they know they were part of a prophecy, and already know which character they were? I suppose having great power would mean they had a sense all along. No, I'm not possibly thinking this is true, am I? I can't rest my faith in men that I haven't formerly met who claim to be legends. In fact I've never seen them around before. And where the hell is this Legion, then?!
Maybe they're just that good, my sub conscience whispered to me. I squinted my eyes shut and stopped thinking about it. I couldn't let myself get distracted of what could and could not be, when I had to survive out here on my own.
I brought a flask up to my lips and took a swig, knowing I had two to last me through the night and morning. Wait, two? I looked at my hand, holding a sleek black flask that was thicker than mine. He didn't take it back when he left. I screwed the lid back on and let my thumb trace over the engraved letter on the top. P...Prophet... I thought dreamily. I gave in. I let my mind fill of old stories and memories and tales of the Wild Ones and thoughts of rebellion as I drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, I awoke feeling warm and comforted. I blinked my eyes open and knew I had to move soon. The light streamed through the holes in the roof of the ruins and I could infer that it was at least 10am. I couldn't stay in the same place for too long, for fear of being caught. I stood up and brushed myself down. I shook down the blanket I had found, getting what dirt that I could off it it, and dropped it over my right shoulder, tying it at my left hip, like a sash. I could use it later tonight when I was back at my camp and it would keep the strong sun off of my skin for a while.
I secured both the flasks to my belts and kept a ready hand at my right, ready to pull my blade out of its place at a moments notice; a habit of mine that had now saved me one or twice.
I crept along the old stone floor and then left the ruins, dodging from boulder to boulder, finding the safest, most hidden route to scavenge food, until...
