Heir of Obsidian (A Throne of Glass Fanfic)

Prologue - Lars

This is the first fanfic we have ever written and we are so excited to share it with you. Hope you enjoy! :)

The forest was a labyrinth - shrouded in darkness and slated with ice. Movement was sparse, refined to the soft whistling of trees and the occasional hoot of a great barn owl. A great, waning moon hung stoically in the sky, signally to the creatures beneath it the hour of the night: midnight.

Hidden in the shadows of a great, frosted pine stood a boy. His porcelain cheeks were flushed from the bitter cold, and his thin, pale figure spoke tales of a cruel winter. With a barely audible grunt, the boy emerged from the shadows of the snow-clad pines, continuing his journey through the crisp forest. 

With every step, spindles and sticks snapped beneath him, each crack deafening in the silence of the night. He brushed a strand of shaggy, inky hair away from his face, allowing his gold flecked, luminescent eyes to scan his environment with the subtlety and ferocity of a wolf examining its prey. For two weeks the boy had travelled without reprieve through the South-East continent, stopping only in small fishing villages to replenish his strength and listen to the gossip of the boisterous, ignorant townsfolk. Through desert, mountain, and city, he'd followed the summons inside his head. The thumping - the yearning - in his blood which had relentlessly pulled him towards the unknown, to this forest.

It had been weeks since the persistent nagging had begun. At first, he had tried to suppress the urges, but it was as if somebody had planted a hook inside his brain and was relentlessly reeling the line. He couldn't silence the summons; they egged him on even when he was sleeping, but now...

The glow of the moon cast a light over the layers of white frost. He had always loved the snow: its starkness. How, even now, it framed the darkness of the night-hooded pines. He continued hesitantly, still hooded by the safety of the trees.

Finally, the boy approached a small, sparse clearing. It was circular and clad with snow, with only large boulders contributing to the variation of the landscape. He released a shaky breath, and something lurched inside of him. 

This. This was the place. 

Hesitantly, he emerged from the security of the tree line, his dark eyes still searching for a threat. The mysterious presence which had haunted his consciousness for weeks suddenly silenced, leaving his mind uncomfortably empty. In the wake of its absence, he finally gleaned some remembrance of himself. Lars - his name was Lars. And, he had run away from his home...because...

Flashes of white, snow-laden peaks and harsh, desolate valleys - the visions had been bothering him for weeks. The brief but unclouded glimpses had led him to this place. Again, he felt the world fade and sounds dim as he was thrust into something that was not his own. Only, unlike his previous visions, this time his perception of being vanished completely; he did not know where he was, who he was. 

The scenery in his mind was familiar, but rather than endless, dark trees, a shack appeared before him, snugly hidden in the mountain peaks. From his vantage point, he could see a woman advancing - although calling her a woman would be insulting. She moved with an ancient malice, her wild mane of golden hair restrained only by a thin, braided band. Behind her a stooped man approached, shielding himself with a crossbow, he was bowed by weather but not weakened or frail. As she turned, her black eyes flashed as they met the man's. The man's attempt to defend himself was futile, even he could tell. Golden flecks glinted in her eyes, the atmosphere...changed, the air becoming charged, it was building, the story was unfolding, the answers were -

And just like that, the vision vanished. Slipped through his grasp. He shifted, disturbed by the intensity of it. There were so many unknowns.

In a desperate grasp at control Lars focused upon the clearing with growing intensity. One curious step after the other, he explored the seemingly desolate space. Why he had felt the need to travel for so long, so far, to reach this place was beyond him. He'd thought that he'd be provided with answers once he finally reached his destination. Thought that there'd be somebody to help him, explain why -

He paused. His neck began to prickle, and a powerful gust filled the air. The pines surrounding him bucked and creaked as if they were slowly being uprooted. Lars' body turned to ice, and the reasonable part of his brain reminded him that in these situations people usually ran. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists as the wind whipped his hair into a frenzy.

Spinning on his heel, ice crunching beneath his feet, Lars sprinted towards the tree line, desperate to be in the safety of the swaying pines. The gust built in intensity, and the soft snow began to melt as the gale became warmer. In confusion, Lars tilted his head backwards, attempting to discern why the temperature was rapidly rising. Shock spilled across his features.

In the centre of the clearing, inches from where he had been standing, was a swirling rip. A gash in the world. And it bled black blood. Powerful gales swirled around it, fueled it, caused it to become greater, more powerful. Lars mind was frozen - in shock. He willed his body to move.

Legs shaking, frail body wavering in the wind, Lars began to work his way towards the rip. The mutilated gash murmured, a rippling of power. He felt a sudden conviction, a need to discover what had called him here tonight. He needed to know who he was. What he was. His blood warmed in agreement.

Barely a few feet away from the rip, Lars froze. As he gazed into the rip's swirling depths, images began to form. He saw his life: him making bread with his mother, him learning to write, and his friend, Charlie, shaping the water of a fountain into a dove. He smiled, immersed in the images which spoke of a happier, fuller life. 

Without warning, the scene darkened, and a vision of a stone-clad chamber filled the scene. Ghastly shrieks filled the winter air as a blonde haired woman cried out, black and red blood gushing from her swollen stomach. Lars recoiled and took a step back in disgust, startled at the sudden change in scenery.

The vision faded out again, but this time a barren, abandoned wasteland emerged. The land was dead - only carcasses and blood-soaked dirt filled its endless expanse. He squinted, searching for anything which might reveal the location of this strange, unknown place. In the rip's distance, he spied a black figure rapidly leaping over the scorching land, approaching him at great speeds. He moved forward, eager to discover who was approaching him. Who might provide him with answers.

A body appeared before the hole, manifesting into this world - black as obsidian, muscled, and tall. The eyes of the figure stared at him as black and sinister as the darkened night. Lars took a step back. Its lips were thin and peeled, its build unworldly. He gasped, stumbling backwards from the malevolent face staring hungrily at him.

He tried to scream, but his voice rasped. It's eyes glinted with malice as the demon simply smiled.