Isle of Sanctum | The Aya Thrasher Chronicles | Book 1 |[Editing]

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Tranquil Valley, Capital City, Planet of Sciusia

June 29th, 2045

SILAS

The smell of roasted cardamom and cinnamon swirled through the air -- a frequent scent I was now immune to. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Minutes passed by as my hands scratched across the pages of my journal. I only needed a few more minutes to finish the entry. Gotsam tugged at my sleeve, begging for my attention. Just a few more pages.

"Mr. Avendur, we must go now," Gotsam began, choosing to speak in our native Sciusian dialect. "All possible escape routes are being destroyed as we speak."

As I continued to write, my hand zipped side-to-side, smearing some of the ink. The ground rumbled. The wooden legs of the table I was writing on vibrated, sending tingles up my forearm. "My dear Gotsam, we will be fine. Don't you remember the Ides of March Battle? We made it out without a scratch."

Gotsam lost his patience and ran his hand through the small tough of red hair on his otherwise bald head. "We were lucky to not be amongst the bloodied dead, but this time it's different. The Pravussens have come back stronger, and they are slaughtering our human allies like a flock of sheep. We need to get to the paint machines. The last evacuation ship is leaving in half an hour." He tugged harder, throwing a frightened glance over his shoulder. "Please!"

I stopped writing and set the quill down next to the journal. Some of my most prized books had fallen on the floor at the foot of my favorite book shelf. That's how warfare destroyed nations. It always began with the dismantling of nooks and crannies. My head turned away from the books, and I looked up at Gotsam. "Go. I will meet you there."

"Sir, I can't leave you," he said.

"It's an order."

Gotsam was reluctant to leave but eventually did so. I approached the end of my current journal entry when the ground's shaking grew more fervently. I wrote one last sentence. They will be our last hope...the impossible ones.

As I advanced toward the front door, I stumbled across the study's marbled floor, losing my footing more than once. My hand latched onto a chair, and I tried to get to the foyer. Gotsam was right. This invasion was getting serious. Frustrated, I crawled the rest of the way, and picked myself up, using the door for support. I realized I was lucky to have made it out of the house.

The evacuation center was just down the road, but the haze from the rubble presented zero visibility. Knowing this wasn't the end was the only thing that kept me going. I needed to get the Lexicon back to Earth somehow. If I gave up now, the entire solar system would be doomed.

I covered my mouth with the hem of my shirt and tried not to inhale. Every time I had to take a breath, the soot would give me a coughing attack. Through a gap in the haze, I realized I had an opportunity to get out.

I charged forward on the unsteady ground, sprinting as quickly as I could. Fortunately, I was able to see part of the evacuation center. As I drew closer, I saw a man with a fiery red beard standing by the door waving. It was Gotsam.

"GOTSAM!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

"Mr. Avendur, hurry!" he shouted and coughed.

"Go inside! I'm coming—" I tripped in a crack, but quickly picked myself up.

A burning sensation forced me to look down. My shin was grazed and bleeding. The wound would probably need some medical attention, but it didn't matter because I would be inside soon.

BOOM!

The sound of an explosion almost blew out my eardrums. My feet were unsteady and I almost tripped, yet again. The explosion had thrown off my equilibrium. As I regained my balance, Gotsam grabbed my hand and pulled me inside the evacuation center.

"Silas Avendur and Fredrik Gotsam, evacuation tubs have been prepared for you," a small panicked woman said, pointing to a tub with teal liquid inside.

"I can't go in the paint machine," I refused, clutching my journal under my arm.

"Your diary is not as important as your life," the woman exclaimed.

"With all due respect, the Lexicon is much more important," I snapped back. "The dye will ruin it."

The bath was made of plants and chemicals from our native grounds. They protected various species when they were transported into outer space. 

I tried to turn around, but I heard footsteps behind me and straightened my posture. Before I knew it, a pair of strong arms grabbed me. Then everything went black.

Edited