1
But first, an important note from the author
This is book one in the series,The Last Tritan.It is not to be confused with the series calledTritan Evolution, though they share many similarities. Which is confusing, I know. There’s an explanation coming, and I’m going to try to make it as straightforward as I can.
I cut my authorling teeth in a weird little corner of the internet called Literotica. It’s a place where free dirty stories go to flourish or die, based on the reception from what can be accurately and fairly called“a snake pit of anonymous readers.”Free stories in exchange for brutal honesty.
The Last Tritan—in its original form—dominated the top ten of the top fifteen spots in Literotica’s Hall of Fame for the category I was listed in. Which is absolutely a humble brag, but I also worked really hard to get there and I’ll never forget how I got my start. I had ambition that went beyond publishing free stories, and it wasn’t long before I took the whole thing down and rewrote it.
The original story (which begins with this book,Flame to Frost, The Last Tritan, book I) is a thing I never thought would see the light of day again. In fact, I went out of my way to dodge requests for the original story for years before I realized…
For the people who read the first, raw version of Mila and Asher… there was something bitter sweet about losing the bulk of the original story to the editing bin, no matter how proud I am of Tritan Evolution. Nostalgia is real, and the two versions of Tritan are so different from each other that they can exist on the same bookshelf without one smothering the other.
So this is it. The ORIGINAL version of The Last Tritan. Gritty, raw, and with a few never before seen bonus scenes sprinkled in. It is utterly different from its successor, Ravenous Innocence, Tritan Evolution, Book I.
They can be read separately, as they are essentially very different stories that merely share similar elements.
Thank you for reading, and enjoy.
Myra Danvers
* * *
Iwas eighteen when the capital city of Tritan fell.
With the element of surprise on their side, the fight was relatively bloodless and over within a week. They crushed our communication network, and it was days before we even knew who our attackers were. Once we saw the black-and-gold banners of Caledonia, however, our self-defense attempts were virtually nonexistent—they were known for being ruthless in battle. It was assumed the Caledonians had attacked Tritan for her abundant resources. And it was true—to an extent.
With the government disabled, mass panic quickly followed. Families trying desperately to escape the tattered carcass of Tritan fled to the northern country of Elora, but only found doors slammed shut in their faces. The Elorans were terrified of incurring the wrath of Caledonia.
They were right to fear.
Our enemy had more than a reputation for blood lust—their elite soldiers could channel energy into the weapons they carried. Specially modified guns that fired blasts of pure energy hot enough to burn through anything it encountered made for deadly warriors, unmatched in any known arena.
The true horror of our invasion had yet to be revealed. Renowned for our genteel natures, slight statures, light hair, and fair complexions, our people were valued for our contributions to medical sciences and bountiful food production. For our peacekeepers and healers.
And for our priestesses.
Tritan women who could feel the energy of every organic thing around them. Who could manipulate life by reshaping it as something new—trees, plants, animals—anythingthat held a spark of living energy. Priestesses were famous healers, using their abilities to detect and diagnose ailments in their patients. But the most powerful could direct that energy to heal any injury.
As medics, they might have been invaluable on the battlefield. Might have given our scattered forces a whisper of hope against Caledonia’s elite warriors.
But the temple was the first to fall.
The true target of Caledonia’s attack, for, by some cruel stroke of fate, the Caledonians could enslave the priestesses in chains of glittering gold. Bound to one of these elite warriors, Tritan’s cherished holy women were nothing more than conduits to the world’s living energy. Taken by the conquerors who came to enslave, to use until there was nothing left but an empty husk. Tritan burned, and from her smoldering corpse, the enemy rose in a cloud of ash.
Invincible.
Limitless power at their disposal.
There was no chance of a rebellion after that.
But it wouldn’t be a story worth telling if it ended there. I escaped the city before the fighting reached us because my father used his position as a senator to get me to safety. Just as he’d done years before, when my modest talents as a potential priestess had begun to manifest. Forbidding me from honing my craft—from wasting my life in selfless worship—was a biased decision that eventually saved my life. Unfortunately, he couldn’t secure the same for himself and my mother.
It was the last time I saw them.
Some of Tritan’s refugees managed to find a temporary haven in the vast forest separating Tritan and Elora. Not rebels—just desperate people trying to avoid the nets of those hunting them. I was among those small clusters of terrified people, and though I never met another priestess, it became obvious the Caledonians wanted even the ordinary citizens of Tritan. Our unusual coloring made us highly sought after in the slaving markets across the world.
It wasn’t long before slavers invaded the woods. Before they attacked.
