Heir of Obsidian (A Throne of Glass Fanfic)

1 - Luka Lochan

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Luka Lochan sprinted through Southern Terresan's grass-laden fields, devouring the soft land beneath his feet. The cold, cruel winter was slowly melting into spring, the grass beneath him lush and blooming with golden primroses. The potent smell of flowers overwhelmed his senses, causing the world to spin slightly and a loud sneeze to escape his mouth. Luka sniffled and quickly whipped his head up, resetting his feet after a near slip in focus. Turning his attention once again to the race.

To his sides he could just make out his siblings gaining on him, their huffing screeches of foul play and elated triumphs following him across the sweeping fields of the estate. Behind them, they left a trampled and upturned mess, the squawking of distressed chickens and their snooty rooster attempting to return the wreckage of the coop into the peaceful semblance it had been only minutes before. Above, mischievous crows dive-bombed lumps of hay in the hope of an easy breakfast. As the children sped past them, they screeched in distress before taking to the skies once again. Their war-cry as they traversed the quaint Perranth estate was a shrill wake-up call for any soul hoping for a sleep-in and an egging reminder to the children that the race was still on. All the Lochan siblings shared vague similarity in looks, with golden, sun-kissed skin, chocolate brown eyes, and sinfully long eyelashes. However, focusing into their individual person revealed the minute differences, the freckles, smiles and tans, that formed the rowdy but sturdy Lochan family. Raised solely by their father, the children were fairly independent; they knew how to provide for themselves, but found the most comfort when in one another's company.

They sprinted and leapt over the landscape, a squealing horde all laser-focused on one goal: to win. And, within even the best of them, the ever present need to make life hell for the competition. Luka quickly glanced to his right, only to witness his eldest brother, Bowie, smile mischievously at him and raise his middle finger in an obscene gesture. Luka laughed softly before continuing the race with renewed vigour. The morning light cast a warm glow over the seemingly-endless field, droplets of sun lighting the lofty grass around them.

Every dawn, the Lochan children partook in a race which revolved around an incredibly important task: collecting the chicken's eggs. The coop had been positioned in the furthest paddock and it was a largely debated topic over whether the design choice was a joke on their parents part or just bad planning. However, there was no doubt that their mother could take full credit for presenting the idea of the famed 'race' and the competition each morning in her honour had become a foolproof way of determining the children's pecking order.

The siblings reveled in the liberty that came form such a brutal but fun ritual. And on such a spring morning, the weaker light presented a murky landscape, and for a competitive person, an ideal scenario for some of the dirtier tricks which could innocently be blamed on a loose chicken or hidden tree root. Ruthless nature, however, was not a family trait all the siblings could claim so readily, so, it was safe to say Luka hardly ever won. Sweat beaded above his brow, and he raised a calloused hand to wipe the droplets of sweat off his forehead. In the distance loomed a grand and sprawling residence the Lochan home. He was finally on the home stretch, barely a hundred feet from the beautiful house before him. And, most importantly, he was in the lead. With a final, desperate push, Luka leapt through the wrought-iron gates, entering the sun kissed, cobbled courtyard of his home. He gazed for a minute at the solid, marble statues glinting in the morning sun, inhaling the welcoming smell of morning dew and freshly baked bread before whirling to face the heaving faces of his siblings, alight with the adrenaline of his morning adventure. Ten dark, annoyed eyes stared back at him, unveiled disbelief apparent on their faces.

"You cheated," announced Gawain, upturned nose held high in the air and hair fluffed with straw. She was the youngest, yet most fierce, Lochan. And her birds nest hair was indistinct in comparison to the broken egg yolks dribbling down the front of her simple nightgown, but her expression was all seriousness. "You must have – I reached the coop way before you. No way you collected your quota. How many you got?' Luka just grinned and slowly reached into the folds of his soft, leather jacket, producing five, misshapen, unbroken eggs.