‘Of a place I’ve never seen. It’s shrouded in shadow, dark and unfamiliar.’
Freya’s brow creased. ‘Dark?’
‘Yes. And I’m following a girl… someone I don’t know. But she isn’t valkyrian. She’s wyverian. At least, I think she is. It’s all very strange.’
Valkyrians, though stripped of the memories of their past lives upon rebirth, always retained knowledge of the world—the kingdoms, the gods, the stories woven through time like golden threads. They knew of distant lands, even if they had never walked them.
‘Strange how?’ Freya had set her spoon aside, her eyes narrowing with a dawning edge of suspicion.
Ylva shrugged, her expression troubled. ‘She doesn’t look like a wyverian I’ve seen before. There’s something… off about her.’
‘What do you mean?’ Freya’s voice was low now, coaxing but tense.
Ylva exhaled, brushing a hand across her forehead. ‘It’s only a dream.’
But Freya reached out and took her hand, gently at first, her grip firm but warm. ‘Tellme. Please.’
Startled, Ylva glanced down at their joined hands, surprise playing on her face.
‘I’ve never been to wyverian lands, but I don’t think that’s where I am in the dream,’ Ylva said softly. ‘And the girl… she seems wyverian, yes. But her eyes—’
Freya stilled, every muscle locked in place. Her grip unconsciously tightened.
‘Her eyes?’ she asked, her voice suddenly taut.
Ylva flinched slightly. ‘You’re hurting me.’
Freya leaned in, her grip now firm as iron. ‘What colour are her eyes, Ylva?’
A pause. A heartbeat.
‘They’re purple.’
For years, whispers stirred across the lands, each wondering what secrets the phoenixians concealed beneath their gilded city. Some claimed an entire city lay hidden below, built in secret. Prepared perhaps, for the day war would come.
How tragic, then, that it was the witches who uncovered the truth during the Great War.
Taken as prisoners, they were dragged to phoenixian soil and entombed beneath the city, kept like shadows in the dark.
There, they were experimented on.
And the rest of the world turned its face away, silent, as the witches’ screams echoed endlessly against the stone walls.
Tabitha Wysteria
‘My father wishes to meet everyone for luncheon,’ Mareena announced with the ease of one accustomed to being heard.
Since his quarrel with Dawn, Kai had not laid eyes on her. That same night, he had knocked on her door, knuckles sharp against wood, but was met with only silence. The following morning, it was Mareena who intercepted him with gentle yet firm words. Dawn needed space.
But Kai did not want to give her space. He wanted her to see, no, tounderstand.
Understand what, precisely, he could not yet name.
Across the wide expanse of the training hall, his eyes met Alina’s. They had spent the morning in tandem, exchanging strikes and technique, a quiet camaraderie forged through shared effort. How strange this world had become. Months ago, he would have found such a scene inconceivable, a figment of fancy. And yet here it was, real and tangible. Possible.
Alina was swift, her instincts sharp, but her training bore the mark of urgency. Her movements were unpolished, born not of years in the making but of a frantic need to survive. Quick-learning, he called it. Sufficient for defence, but far from refined.
‘Elbow up,’ he instructed, his voice cool and measured. She obeyed without hesitation.
