Chapter I: Black Skies (draft stage)

Red liquid fell from the skies, staining Tallahassee with its blood. Thousands of people were no longer among the living, and as if the capital city was fated to mirror that of Miami, it had fallen to ruin. Fire smothered every inch of the city, and ashes decorated the sky. A melancholy that would have grieved the coldest man swept through the streets.

Frost could not move from the corner of the music store. He was sitting in a position not becoming of a demigod—more of a commoner. Mesmerized by the woman cowering among the shattered instruments, he stared at the woman who looked like Wren. The cold vibrations emitting from him kept her frozen in place.

The pendulum he held hummed, and he finally rose to his feet. “Syn,” he whispered down to her. “Enough theatrics. I need your help, Syn.” She met him with silene. So, he told her, “You cannot break our agreement. We signed the scroll with our souls.”

Syn was staring back at Frost, her eyes wide in terror. Silent echoes screamed all around her as the fire crackled. “I’ll uphold our pact,” she whispered in a voice shrouded in death. “What is it you need of me this time?” Before he could respond, she said, “Tell me later. I’m busy.”

“What could be more important than aiding me?” he asked her.

While he waited for her to answer him, survivors continued to scream outside among the rubble, causing Syn to smile softly. She flitted her eyes away from Frost and stared at Wren stuck in a piece of glass a few feet from her. She then hissed, “Getting rid of a pest.”

*****

Behind the glass, Wren was stuck in a void of nothingness. She stared at the ghost-like woman who looked like her. Pounding on the cracked glass, she sliced her hands until they became bloody. She looked down at her palms and wondered why she had skin.  

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Wren looked around at the sounds coming from all around her.

“You… are two,” a raspy voice whispered from the shadows.

Chains raced toward Wren as Aaeon walked from his realm. He gripped his chains and manipulated them to wrap around her body. “A mortal… cannot… be two.”

Digging deep into her skin, Wren cried out at the chains sinking into her new flesh. Spiked latches locked themselves in place, and Aaeon dragged her into The Shade. “M-Marie said we’re f-fragments,” Wren said in scattered words, wincing from the pain of his chains. “We’re fragmented.”

The Shadow King stared down at the weakened woman that laid upon the cold stone of his path, in a pool of blood. He did not respond and turned to face his kingdom. With each step he took, Wren was dragged further into the Shadowlands.

“You are… not,” Aaeon said, emerging from The Shade. Dim lights shone above, and bat-like creatures flew overhead. The further Aaeon entered his realm, the darker the fog surrounding them became. “You… are two.”

After Wren was thrown into an oversized birdcage, Aaeon pulled down on a long chain, lifting the cage high above his throne. The king walked up the stone steps and sat upon his throne of bones.

Wren forced herself to sit up. Energy returned to her, as a rush of mist mended her wounds. “Why are they in cages?” She asked, staring at the surrounding creatures, who had been shoved into a multitude of cages that spanned across the realm. She locked her eyes onto a cage hanging above a bonfire, containing a being she had never seen before. The being was lifeless, but not in the sense of being dead.

No, they were beyond death.

They were the dead in new flesh—cold flesh.

“They are… wicked,” Aaeon said, noticing what she was staring at. “They… hurt others… when… they lived.”

Wren looked down at the shadow god, who had shifted his gaze from the prisoner and was staring up at her. Wren rolled onto her knees, clutching the iron bars. “Why am I here?” she asked the king below her. After he did not respond, she then asked, “Can you at least tell me if the others survived? Esme—Ray—my aunt—”

Aaeon stood up and pounded his scythe down on the ground, screeching up at her. As if the entire shadow realm was responding to the Shadow King’s wails, the souls of the dead that were not bound in the cages drifted into the air from the sea that surrounded his land.  

*****

Back in Tallahassee, Frost walked up to Syn. “Hurry up, I need your help to wake Lucien. Now.”

Syn stayed seated, entranced by her reflection in a large piece of glass. She tilted her head, trying to figure out why she could no longer see Wren. Then, her pale lips wrinkled up into a grin. “It appears the shadows took her from me,” she whispered.

Frost glanced at the shard that had Syn hypnotized. “Only a true sadistic soul would marvel at the demise of their fragment.”

Syn looked up at him. “Is that not your end goal? To separate from Ezra and become your own soul?”

“Yes, but I don’t wish him harm.” Frost looked down at her in judgment.

“Spare me your glare and stop freezing me,” she hissed.

“Will you behave?” Frost asked. “Stop setting this land on fire.”

Reluctantly, Syn nodded.

The moment Frost stopped sending his ice to hold her in place, Syn jumped up to her feet. She turned to him and said, “Fine. I’ll help you wake Lucien, but don’t blame me when he throws an anger fit for being awoken.”

“He never told us when to wake him,” Frost replied.

“Exactly,” she said. “The bastard probably wants to sleep forever. He wants to escape the reality that his realm has fallen.”

When they walked out of the burned-down store, Frost looked alarmed at the ash falling from the sky. “What did you do?” he asked Syn. “You agreed to stop setting this world on fire.”

“I promised to stop setting the land on fire, not the air.” Her eyes blazed red, and fire wrapped around her arms. She raised her hands above her, and fire emitted from her fingertips, forming patterns in the wind.

Frost grumbled and placed his hand inches from Syn, freezing her. “You don’t like being frozen, so stop being childish.”

As Syn argued with Frost about how he was more exciting back in Pangaea, a man walked up behind them and said, “I always found your friendship to be quite odd.”