In the realm of Palasia, where the Silver Church's iron grip extends across the continent, the conquered Illuri people still cling to the old ways, praying to spirits that have grown quiet. At the heart of this struggle are four souls bound by fate:...
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Somewhere, in a place where all light dwindled and waned, where warmth was a forgotten vestige of the past, where even the smallest delights were gorged by callous darkness, the shadows danced and grinned and howled.
Their eyes, cruel stones of blood, were incessantly fixed on her. With a toothy smile perpetually plastered on their murky countenance, they watched her from their shadow towers. When she turned to the gloomy waters of the lake, they were there too, half-submerged and wide eyed. She stood alone on a platform, millions of the sinister phantoms swarming the streets below her.
Frosty winds grazed up her naked back, and her blood sang a duet with the clanging of the cold chains that bound her on a sable post. When she looked down, she saw her body spattered in filth, a sour stench clung to her nose.
"Lot thirty-seven!" came a voice out of nowhere that shook the foundations of the shadow realm, making the blood drumming in her ears pulse even more.
She felt a movement beside her, pulling at her, like talons desperately clutching her arm. Another presence stirred opposite her; both of her arms being wrenched with such urgency she believed she was being torn asunder. Her soul threatened to shatter like the cracking of marble.
Her scalp prickled as she heard one of the unseen figures whisper a name.
"Amaraaaa."
Amara? Yes, she thought. I remember...
"Lot thirty-seven!" the previous voice boomed once more.
It was immediately after that a monstrous shadow lunged at her, its black maw claiming her whole. And she woke with a start.
The first thing she felt was her bed soaked with her sweat, then her soggy clothes clinging maddeningly to her wet skin. She had been dreaming again. If only I dream of pleasant things... like lemon cakes and egg pies, Mary pined.
Sunlight trickled through the cracks of her window, and the crooning birds gave her some comfort. Somewhere outside her door, the crackling of oil on pan hinted at breakfast, steadily chasing away the traces of fear that her nightmare had caused, leaving instead a great hunger in its place.
She wiped at her clammy face, brushing her curly hair behind her ear – or at least what she could manage from the strands that stuck at her forehead – before opening the window screens, gazing out into the sprawling port of Edge Harbour. Despite being indoors, she could already smell the salt in the air.
From where she stood, she could make out the wretched seafront, anchored boats bobbing in the water. Old Mrs Daly once said that there was a time the waterfront constantly bustled with business as Edge Harbour traded with the other kingdoms and towns, but that was a long time ago. Now, they awaited no shipments from their neighbours and their wharfs largely remained untouched save by their local fishermen.
