Through the Dark

Pronunciation

Michale’thia: Mee-cal-ay-thee-uh

Michale: Mee-cal-ay

Syra: Sigh-ruh

Dagen: Day-gen

Luik: Loo-ick

Enith: Ee-nith

Kallaren: Kuh-lar-ren

Aleth: Ah-leth

Broyane: Bro-aen

Lohan: Loe-hon

Jyren: Jai-ren

Jyres: Jai-ers

Syllrics: Sill- rics

Anaratha: Ann-uh-rath-uh

Prologue

In the Age of Creation, the Ancient Magic bore seven sons into an empty world. With only grey fog and dry land, the Ancient Magic beckoned each son to come and touch Its spring, where the Ancient Magic gave vision, knowledge, and artistry to finish Its world.

Of the sons were: Drendar, with his fiery hair and pale skin, who brought up vegetation of every kind for beauty and for food, bringing delight to the eyes of his brothers as they tasted for the first time something and knew the richness or tang of fruit.

Brendar, whose light brown skin matched his eyes, created a new substance that was slick to the touch, running through one's fingers, which could quench a thirsty mouth and rise up in great masses he would someday name waves.

Broyane, often called the most beautiful with his deep brown skin and black hair, created tall forms of land that rose up to the galaxies and pointed to their glory; these mountains, he would call them, were to be a refuge.

Lohan, whose eyes shape was tilted and saw what was behind the world, created languages where simple impressions used to be, delighting in the building together of words and phrases into poems and stories- all pointing toward Truths about the land around them.

Then there was Syllric, with dark hair and light skin, who created stones of every kind, from dull to shining, those that mirrored the galaxies and those plain which could someday be used for dwellings.

Aleth, with deep auburn hair and light brown freckles across his tan nose and cheeks, created people. New people taking after the brothers, with differences in every way, all celebrated and loved deeply.

Jyren, known for his incredible beauty amongst his brothers, created the grandest thing of all: brightness, to ward off the dark. A light in the sky, great and mighty, which brought new color to all other creations, and new beauty to the world, giving warmth and joy alike.

It was in joy and love that the land of Elharren bore up nations who lived in perfection under the care of the seven brothers.

By the 200th year of the land, the brothers began to hear whispers of Jyren changing and perverting the good the Ancient Magic had instilled in him to do. Jyren’s laws slowly changed as he took on more wives, took for himself slaves, and began experimenting on live animals and humans. It was then the beautiful brother proclaimed his intent to find the Ancient Spring again and drink of it so could gain more power and rule all the lands.

Drendar attached himself to Jyren’s cause, seeking to gain from his power, and Syllric and Brendar, not to be left weakest, followed closely to also partake if Jyren found the spring. After years of war, Jyren found the spring, murdering Drendar in an attempt to keep the location secret, which was later found by the Syllric and Brendar.

In desperation, Aleth, Broyane and Lohan made a pact to drink of the spring only to stop the darkness their brother was creating. Not knowing if their plan would work, Lohan set out to find the Ancient Magic, who had long since distanced Itself. He  never returned.

Aleth and Broayne gathered their nations to wage war against Jyren’s powerful army. For years the brothers fought, staking claim to lands and losing them. Broayne, seeing the evil and greed the war had become, withdrew his people to the Botani mountains and left the war, swearing to never again be lost to the inner darkness of humanity.

In the midst of war, the brothers mysteriously vanished and the people were left to pick up the pieces of their nations alone. The Anarathan Kingdom flourished on the coast, comfortably becoming the greatest in the land. The Syllric people built for themselves a trading system, pledging themselves to the art of creation as they sought new ways to ease their lives with gold. The Jyre people retreated into the Dark Forest, where they would continue on Jyren’s wicked path in secret, and the Loharan people retreated into the desert to await Lohan’s return. The Botani warriors remained on their mountain, quiet and separate from the world.

It was not until the 500th year of the world that a peaceful normal settled in and the Age of the Prophets arose, declaring hope to come. New rulers and religions were formed and new marriages and cities sprang up, each fighting to find their own source of joy and peace again. Each oblivious to the consequence yet to come.

Kingdom walls arched high and proud over the golden city. A bright light shone just above peaks in the distance, bringing life to the steam of the sweetbreads baked every morning for the swarms of children who, too antsy to stay in bed, made it their joyful duty to pad out of the house long before anyone else woke and fill their baskets with fresh rolls and pastries for the day.

Their soft chattering of shy wonder woke the kingdom from a peaceful slumber, whereupon each would enjoy their families and relish their freely chosen way of contributing to the kingdom.

The school system incorporated tender care for the elderly, alongside rigorous study and innovative inventions, which propelled bountiful crops and a wistful ease of life for the kingdom's citizens.

As evening came to a close, older children were excused to the streets where lively discussions and dramatic exhibitions of theater, music, or painting ensued. The adults would gather together with family and friends, or tuck in as still love-struck couples, ready to laugh the night away. There was no kingdom in the land like this one, perfect in every way.

Today, as on every first day of the new year for what seemed like an eternity, each citizen would shuffle down into the city's deepest caverns with trepidation and face the reason for their utopia. It was their yearly reminder of what their joy cost: the girl ceaselessly tortured in the cage.

Children younger than five were spared the tradition, but for all else, the law declared each must pass by and lay their eyes on the girl whose own treacherous life propelled their perfect lives on.

When they trudged in, their eyes would meet a skeleton of a creature instead of a girl, held up only by chains, face contorted in eternal agony, hair matted from sweat and dirt, and eyes pleading for an end. For a moment, the younger ones would turn away and sob, thinking there must be another way, but soon after the realization of all they would lose if the girl were set free would settle in, and they would look away in shame before fleeing in both grief and relief.

Some would return, but only for a few moments. In the end, this was the price every citizen agreed to for their own beautiful lives. This condemned, rotting girl fueled their kingdom. She was their savior. Whether she wanted to be or not.

***

Chapter 1

Michale’thia

Kingdom of Aranatha

Year 1250

The shy ticking of a clock lost somewhere in between bookshelves whispered throughout the lonely room. Some corners of the grand library were washed with light, pouring through the large arching windows, while others, usually right next to those exposed areas, were cloaked with night, which too often seemed to disguise itself as shadows.

Michale'thia was not the only young royal to make their way to the library; no, every so often, she would hear footsteps and see glimpses of an ambitious royal student, hoping to gather books for an exam or project, but none ever stayed long.

It was rumored that these library halls were haunted with spirits from the past, crying out the secrets of the kingdom. Michale smiled to herself and tapped her pencil on her book page.

Wouldn’t that be nice? To simply waltz into a library and meet a ghost willing to tell her exactly what she wanted to know.

Her fingertips slid along the book pages, stroking them tenderly as if they were lost treasure rather than old texts. She sighed. Someday, she would explore every corner of these books, finding beauty and darkness in each one and finally understanding the questions she had yet to find answers to. Someday.

Michale’thia tapped her pencil again, shaking her head as she remembered what she was doing.

Ti kilna sho

Li amehe Oen

Oenna li’sana amiahe li nolhe

So children wait,

for the Perfect One

Who will lead the pure into the sun

Tap, tap, tap.

Michale'thia pulled an even older history book from the stack and flipped through it, stopping at a page she had marked earlier.

After the war, the Ancient Brothers disappeared, leaving the nations alone in the land of Elharren. Prophecies began to arise, filling the world with both doom and hope as they spoke of the curse the land and people would endure until the Perfect Heir appeared, leading them into perfection again.

She leaned back in her chair with furrowed brows. Was this referring to multiple people speaking the same prophecy, or numerous prophecies? The question had never occurred to her before and unleashed a thousand more questions into her mind.

Michale'thia scrambled to write down her notes in her journal before gently closing the texts in front of her and moving back to study the prophecy again. She had read and reread the ancient tongue and modern translation many times.

Michale’thia closed her eyes for a moment, wishing the prophecy said more. When she was younger, the bard songs about the Perfect One to come had captivated her, as it had every child in the kingdom. They all dreamed of growing up and proving to be the beloved Perfect Heir. But while it was just a game for the mix-bloods, their lives largely unaffected by the prophecy, Michale’thia was an Alethian, one of the four families directly descended from the Ancient brother Aleth. Which meant she, or any other child from the Alethian Royals, could be the one the prophecy spoke of. A Perfect Heir, born of perfect blood. She couldn't simply live in full transparency as the mix-bloods did, allowing herself to show anger when the world made her angry, or talk back when a condescending word was spoken. Instead, for the sake of her people, she smiled and moved on. Every time.

Since the young age of ten, the Alethian Royals were watched carefully for any moral failing. A lie, a single disobedience to a parent, a failure to attend prayer times—any single act would disqualify them from the running. And Michale’thia, at 19, had yet to fall.

She stood quietly to find another text, searching for one as far back as she could. Maybe all the scholars had missed something. Something that would tell her how she was supposed to lead her kingdom into the Age of Perfect if she passed her Testing Day. Finding nothing, she sat down at the table again, staring at the prophecy as if new words might magically appear.

She rested her chin on her hand, feeling her mood darkening. Her Testing Day was just a few short weeks away. The kingdom seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see if their beloved princess would pass her Testing Day, but she was the one who felt like she was suffocating. Michale’thia sighed, feeling as if her bones were one hundred years old. If she passed her Testing Day, would this be her fate for eternity? Endless striving and controlling every small movement for the sake of her people? And if she didn’t pass, would she end up like her mother? She shivered at the thought.

The clock struck the sixth hour of the day, making Michale jump. A stray wisp of hair escaped her loose bun as if trying to lead the rebellion of waves to freedom. At least they could rebel without consequence.

As Michale’thia gathered her books, a clang rang through the room, startling her yet again. Bending down, she gingerly picked up her crown, inspecting it for cracks and grimacing at the thought of breaking the heirloom. She traced its smooth, heavy metal, knowing she could have just left it in her room, but it was a symbol for her. A weight she could not leave behind, even if she wanted to.

Michale'thia returned to the work of hiding her books under a nearby stuffed chair for easy access the next day, then gathered up her crown and her notes before walking softly out of the library in hopes of slipping past the bookkeepers without notice.

Miss Digarrio. I presume you placed everything back the way it ought to be today?

Michale looked up into the shallow cheeks of Thalem Ornto, one of the leading palace bookkeepers. Dark shadows under his eyes only made his face look gaunter, which in turn only made him more frightening.

I placed them in a safe place for tomorrow, where I will pick up again. You know how I love this place, and I don’t want to waste any time in my studies tomorrow!

She smiled at him, tucking the stray curl behind her ear. His hair was dark for an Alethian, who usually boasted auburn locks, and his freckles were paler, altogether different but superior, according to him.

His glower darkened, "Princess Michale'thia, this library is not your personal playground. You are not, nor will you ever be, a scholar of our ranks, and you ought to not continue traipsing through our halls! If you have a question about our history, we are happy to answer it from our lifetime of study."

Michale'thia bowed her head, breathing softly out of her mouth to control her expression. The bookkeepers were a strange group, rarely seen and often studying, priding themselves on being who the kingdom went to for knowledge. Even from a young age, she had seemed to frustrate them with her questions, and as soon as she had been able, she had begun searching for answers on her own, to their chagrin. She had a right to search for answers, and they had no right to stop her.

Michale looked up at Thalem and nodded, I understand, Sir. Please accept my apology.

He eyed her through slits and gave a curt nod, leaving her alone in the doorway of the grand library. Michale’thia waited until he had walked away before clenching her jaw and turning around to begin the long walk through the palace back to her room.

***

Michale'thia slipped back into her room and quietly shut the door, thankful she had a half-hour to nap before needing to actually be up for the day. It had been like this every morning for the past few months. Somewhere around the fifth hour, just as dawn was creeping in, she would wake to anxious dreams of her grand crowning as the Heir of the Prophecies, where every eye in the kingdom was watching her, waiting for her to do something. And each time, she ran. She would wake in a hopeless sweat and, desperate to find out more about the Perfect Heir so many thought she would prove to be, she would throw on a simple dress and sneak through the halls to the library. After an hour of research, she would make her way back for a nap before her maid would wake her for the day.

She smiled at the thought of her maid. She had learned a lot about her kingdom’s waking hours in this past quarter of a year. Especially about her maid.

Michale melted into her bed, quieted her racing mind, and found a more peaceful sleep.

***

Gentle shaking woke Michale, and even before opening her eyes she could feel something was off. The hands on her shoulder were not the small, petite hands of her maid, but the strong, powerful kind she could easily peg to be her mother. She squinted her eyes open to confirm, groaning inwardly and nearly rolling over before catching herself and smoothing her face, still not wanting to deal with whatever matter would bring her mother all the way across the palace and into her room in the southeastern corner. But she knew her place, and that meant meekly opening her eyes and bowing her head in respect to the queen.

Mother, what brings you here this morning? Is everything alright?

Her mother was beautiful. Perhaps one of the most beautiful queens in the history of the kingdom, but there was a sharpness to her eyes that showed beauty would never be enough.

Elana Digarrio stood up from Michale'thias bed and contemplated her child for a moment, her eyes piercing and scrutinizing as if cataloging Michale's every flaw. Did she know about the dropped crown? Of course she did. She probably knew the moment it fell.

We have made a decision, Michale’thia, and you will not like it. The queen’s large skirts swished around her as she moved regally about the room, peering at every item on Michale’s dresser and desk, stopping to inspect her large closet full of dresses, and sniffing in disdain as she turned back toward her daughter.

Michale waited patiently, trying not to let her hands fidget as she waited for her mother to get to whatever she came to say.

"Michale, your wardrobe needs to be updated. New styles began to surface weeks ago, and if you are to be a queen someday, you must lead in every respect." She shot a glare at her daughter and raised an eyebrow.

"I do have standards for my replacement on the throne, and will make sure you rise to those if there is even the smallest chance you will be the Heir of the Prophecies."

Michale gave a small nod of assent as she waited silently, refusing to give in and beg her mother to hurry up with her real news. By this point in her life, she knew her mother well enough to know the queen enjoyed dangling things in front of people, like a cat enjoying the chase of a mouse, not quite eating it until she was finished batting it about.

Her mother pierced her with another look, and for the briefest of moments, her features softened into something close to regret and maybe even love. Michale's eyes followed her mother's fidgeting hand, to where she rubbed the dark circle on her wrist—the sign that she had failed her own Testing Day so many years ago. Her mother caught her stare, and all softness was quickly replaced by the condescending scrutiny Michale'thia had learned to live under.

Michale’thia Digarrio. It is time for you to choose a husband. And you must choose before your Testing Day in two weeks. You may not be the heir to the kingdom as an unmarried woman, as tradition holds, so you will make a decision in no more than a week’s time. Her mother's auburn braid cascaded down her back as she looked out the window and squinted, reaching over her daughter to shut the window drapes.

Michale's sat perfectly still, taking in the news with inward panic but outward acceptance, a painting of perfect, gentle submission. She knew her mother hated it, even if it did mean she may pass the test.

Her mother turned abruptly and strode from the room, pausing to turn and fire her last shot, And Michale’thia, your first suitor arrives today after classes. Be ready to host him in your receiving room.

***

...and of the seven Ancient Sons, only Aleth stayed true as he drank the forbidden spring, making our line the sole pure one, untainted by darkness and mixed-blood. The boy at the front of the room sneered as he said the last words, his nose rising in the air.

Michale’thia glanced over at the servants standing by the far wall, quietly looking above the students’ heads as if they didn’t hear the hatred in the young man’s recitation of Anarathan history. But Michale could see it, the set jaws and tight skin around the eyes. They heard it all, and they were only working in the palace because they knew how to let it go.

After Jyren let loose his dark creations on the land, beginning the Hundred Year War, the Ancient Brothers all disappeared, the Jyres retreated to the forest, and the Age of the Prophets began. The prophecy was our kingdom’s only in those days, and our beloved Aranatha successfully came together to interpret the words so many prophets had exclaimed. Then, lead by the Alethian royals, who never stooped to intermarriage but kept their bloodline pure, producing beautiful heirs like myself, Kallaren winked at the ladies in the room, causing ripples of laughter from his classmates as Michale’thia contained an eye roll, ...our nation rose higher and greater than the rest, living to extinguish moral failings in the name of the Ancient Magic.

Kallaren’s eyes met her from the front of the classroom, and Michale’s heart raced as he seemed to sense her annoyance, his own eyes hardening slightly.

All the royals in the room were descendants of Aleth with the purest bloodline, flaunting auburn hair, naturally tan skin, and light freckles, mingling exclusively with other royals who could be their husband or wife someday. She had grown up with Kallaren and seen him work tirelessly to be approved for a Test Day, as rare as the privilege was.

The day she was placed two years ahead of her peers into Kallaren's class, she had stood in awe of him, smitten like many women in the room. But when his Testing Day came two years ago, he had come back with the dark mark on his arm, signaling his failure, and he had never been quite the same since. Recently, he began to direct unwanted charm in her direction, becoming more and more watchful as her own Testing Day approached.

We obey the Ancient Magic’s will, waiting for the royal heir who will live a perfect life as Aleth did, never stumbling or committing wrong. To test this, worthy royals at the age of 19 will walk through the dark Jyre Forest, where every dark desire is brought to life. Kallaren swallowed, his beads of sweat forming on his temple as a distant memory returned to haunt him for the moment.

Shaking his head, he returned to the present and continued on, a mischievous smile on his lips as he spoke of his own failure almost as a private joke between him and the classroom. "None have withstood temptation and passed, though I think I did get the furthest.

Michale’thia kept her eyes down, feeling Kallaren’s gaze land on her face again.

"So, in two weeks, we send in our beloved princess with the greatest hope that she may be the long-awaited Heir of Perfection, and pass through the forest untouched by darkness. Michale’thia, the beautiful, intelligent, and so far perfect, you are the end of our history class this semester."

The class clapped, the girls in the room more loudly than necessary, and Michale’thia smiled at her classmates, giving a slight nod in their direction before returning her gaze to her desk, breathing out quietly and wishing with each recital of their history that she could melt into the ground..

On the final day of classes, each royal student was made to get up and recite a summary of the entire half-year in a one-hour speech. There were ten students in her class, and it was agonizing to even the brightest of them. She secretly believed her professor did