Prologue: A Gamble

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I sagged against my irons, the strength required to hold myself upright too precious to waste on something so trivial. The cold metal bit into my sallow skin, my wrists raw and aching from my time spent lashed to the deep dungeon wall. My state was undignified. I couldn't see my body: hadn't for what felt like an age. But I knew I withered like a rose left in the sun without water or care. My power and will ebbed away more with each day I spent chained.

But all of my strength, everything I could muster, was focused on a far more pressing fight than maintaining a facade of dignity.

The invading tendril of mana dipped and weaved through my mind, seeking and probing every which way. Every place it brushed sent sharp fear through my body, like pressing a thumb into an open wound. I couldn't let this force subsume me any more than it already had.

It was a constant struggle. Whenever the probe got close, I desperately pulled my secrets deeper. I was like a child desperately holding onto their belongings, clutching them close for fear their parents would rip them away.

I pulled aside, fearfully watching the tendril slither ever closer to me. The same game had been played hundreds of times before, all with the same outcome. But I couldn't let myself lose without a fight.

My concentration slipped, the strain of holding every puzzle piece that made me whole too much to bear. I let out a breath, something that I only distantly registered.

My lapse cost me. Cost me dearly.

The tendril suddenly swerved, lurching toward a memory I had been too slow to recover. It surged after the retreating knowledge like a wolf that had caught the scent of blood, hounding its target with all the tenacity of a predator seeking its prey.

Panic rose in me. I pulled at the memory, hauling it along back with everything else that made me me. I couldn't let him have more. The strands of emotion and everything it meant to me retreated quickly at my command, dipping and weaving back toward the deepest bulwarks of my mind.

The chase continued on: my pull dodged and weaved through the recesses of my self, whipping and turning around metaphysical walls and barriers. I pulled every trick I could muster to the fore, doing everything in my power to get it away from the hounding evil.

A wall of solid thought barred the way, cutting off the tendril's path with a mental thud. The tendril didn't stall for a moment, burrowing through my defense like a worm through the soil. It burst through the other side, having not slowed down at all.

My determination didn't waver any longer. Another wall covered my retreat. Another. Then another. And another.

The bastions I had set down in my mind, fit to thwart even the most stalwart of asura, were bypassed with contemptuous ease. The snakelike extension of mana burrowed through one, wove out of the way of another, and eliminated some in a burst of power.

Switching tactics–even though I knew it was for naught–I dug pits in my mindscape. I ravaged the 'land' behind me, carving out tracks and creating ravines to bar the way forward.

I could almost feel my pursuer's amusement as they bridged each and every gap, circumvented every obstacle, and closed the metaphysical gap with each passing second.

I wasn't fast enough; wasn't strong enough. The tendril pursued with dogged determination, stretching on and on with a surety I lacked. It knew–he knew–that my moment of weakness had cost me. It was a crucial error.

And soon enough, the disgusting smokey black tendril caught up with my memory. It wrapped itself around the retreating form, attaching itself like a parasite as I tried desperately to erect another pointless wall. A scream rocked my mindscape as sundering pain lanced through my everything. The tendril pulsed with mana, sucking away my memory as a leech drained blood.

I fought. I lashed out at the tendril, determined and undeterred at first. But as my memory slowly withered away like a drained husk, my resistance became one of despair. And with a sickening pull, the memory was finally subsumed.

Connections I hadn't even known about frayed at the edges. Everything the memory was associated with shifted sideways, the emotions contained in them suddenly adrift and confused. Why did I feel this way? What made this experience so important?

All that was left was a gaping wound in my mind, the edges raw and festering. I couldn't restrain the tears that fell from my eyes, trailing molten fire down my sunken cheeks. I didn't know what I had lost, but the broken connections with the rest of my soul echoed of emotion and fulfillment that had just been ripped away.

The tendril retreated with its prize, weaving back through my defenses at a leisurely pace.

I opened my eyes.

Agrona Vritra stood before me, rubbing his chin with an idle smirk on his sharp face. His eyes smiled with satisfaction, something that made the tender edges of my memory ache even further.

He tilted his head, the myriad golden chains and trinkets adorning his elk-like horns jingling with the movement. His scarlet eyes glowed in the low light of my cell.

"Ah, that was interesting," he said, still massaging his chin. "It took so long for me to burrow this deep into your subconscious. To think what you were protecting was so… mundane. It tells me so much about what else might be hiding in that mind of yours."

I held back a sob, sagging against my shackles. The High Sovereign of Alacrya raised a hand to my cheek, stroking it almost delicately. I shivered at his touch, the grey skin of the basilisk seeming more akin to the reaching grasp of the reaper.

"You've resisted far more than most in the depths of my laboratory," he commented idly. "There is a reason for that, we both know. What you are trying to protect must be precious indeed. Few things can motivate a person as much as protecting others."

His smile grew past a lopsided smirk. "And fewer motivations still can match the love a mother has for her child."

I closed my eyes, unable to watch the Vritra any longer. He had taken something from me. What had he taken? Why did it hurt so much?

"I'll be back soon," he said with clear amusement. "I think we're both onto something here, Lady Dawn."

The cold echo of the High Sovereign's boots on stone and the creak of metal told me all I needed to know. He was gone for now, leaving me to wallow in my misery. To contemplate what he had taken. I tried to seek it, delving back into my past.

A memory flashed before my eyes; something I held dear to me.

I watched young Chul rushing to a winding stream. It was the only one in the Hearth, making it a novelty for all the children present. He was chasing after a ball of some sort. When he reached it, the young half-phoenix kicked it into the air with a flare of mana, sending it over the water.

Another child was there to receive it, bouncing it against their chest in a display of skill. Their pinkish skin hinted at the other child's djinni heritage, something only possible in the depths of the Hearth. They bounced it into the air, then headbutted it back across the water.

Chul rushed to intercept it, just barely managing to send it back. I remembered the amusement and warmth I felt as I watched him get up, his determination swelling.

"You won't win this! I'm gonna beat you into the dirt!" he cried, his typical hotheadedness overriding his good sense. Chul returned the ball with a deft overhand slap, but his opponent was ready for it. They casually caught it with the hook of their heel, returning it lower than expected.

The ball whizzed between Chul's legs, causing him to stumble face-first into the dirt.

"Who's eating dirt now?" the child on the other side of the water taunted, savoring their victory. "Little old Chul, can't even return the ball!"

Chul quickly pulled himself to his feet. Even from the back, I could see an embarrassed red creeping into his ears. "Shut up, Jani! You're just as little as me!"

Jani stuck his tongue out. "But you lost! That means you're littler than me!"

"Not true! You take that back!" Chul yelled back, about ready to leap over the water and start a brawl with Jani himself.

Jani, seeing this, retreated slightly from the water's edge. "Is Chuli gonna hurt me too?" he asked mockingly. My son recoiled as if he had been slapped, leaving Jani to laugh. Satisfied with his victory, Jani ran after a few more friends, leaving my son alone on one side of the river.

I slowly meandered over to my boy, who slumped dejectedly in the sand. He sniffled slightly, facing the water with an aura of defeat about him.

"Was I gonna hurt him?" Chul asked, still watching the water. "The other boys say that's all I'm good for. Punching things."

I knelt by his side, uncaring of the soil that clung to my orange sundress. I brushed a bit of dirt from the back of his orange hair, something he had inherited from me. "You're good at so much more, little bird," I said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Just yesterday you made your father and me those wonderful cookies. Those tasted amazing, didn't they? And your eyes, my son. They see so much of the hearts of those around us."

Some of the tension left Chul's shoulders at that, causing a warm smile to stretch across my face. "Do you really mean it?" he asked, watching the other children play. "I always wanna fight. It's so hard to stop. The other kids say I'm stupid. That because I can't think like them, I punch things instead."

I restrained the urge to glare at the kids across the water. Children could be cruel. "It doesn't matter what they think, little bird. We both know the truth, don't we? You're so passionate. It's them who should be sad. They don't get to know how wonderful you are. They don't know how happy you make us."

Chul turned to face me, the first time he had since the start of the memory. My heart shattered like glass.

For where his face should have been was a rippling black fog. It swirled and writhed, creating an empty void where my greatest joy should've been. The Vritra corrupted everything they touched, seeping into all I knew and cherished.

The memory fell from my mind like the shards of a broken vase. I hastily pulled interactions from everywhere else I could. In every memory of my little boy, his face was a veil of dark smog.

I remembered holding him in deep orange swaddling clothes, his father watching us nearby. I remembered the deep love I felt: the joy of bringing something so precious into the world. We had done something impossible. But the tiny bundle of warmth in my hands was cloaked in deep black. I could hear his wails as he wailed for the first time, but I could not see his mouth utter the cry.

Agrona Vritra knew the face of my son. I did not.

I wept anew, the wound in my mind joining the hundreds of others that pockmarked my memory. The Lord of the Vritra had scoured my brain for everything he could, eroding my experience and knowledge with every touch.

But this memory was closer to my sense of self than he had ever reached. So many connections and memories were tied to the face of my son. And they were all snapped, reaching for a source of comfort and warmth that was ripped from me. Every precious moment with my little Chul was tainted by the dark smog of the Vritra. Every wholesome moment was blackened with his horrid taint. Every time I gazed upon my son, I was forced to remember the intrusion of Agrona.

I had long given up hope of escaping the basilisk's clutches alive. I was in the heart of his power in the depths of Taegrin Caelum. And he was only set to gather more strength: the Legacy's reincarnation was soon at hand, and with her by his side Agrona would raze everything–and everyone–that would oppose him to the ground.

Reincarnation.

My thoughts snagged on that information. The High Sovereign knew much of the nature of the soul. He had ripped it from my fellow phoenixes, divining a level of knowledge from dissecting our minds. But I had guarded my understanding zealously. I would not give him more information; more ammunition to aim at my Hearth.

The cool grip of my shackles locked my mana inside of me. I could not project it or manipulate the ambient energy in the air. For practically every other asura, this essentially crippled any attempt to fight back or escape. Without our lifeblood, we were nothing.

But the arts of the soul relied on a deeper power than mana alone. They responded only to the power of aether. Of time, space, and life. The higher energy of the world; of every world.

I pulled on the mana within me, making it swirl and pulse in rhythm. I had to exert more force than ever before to compel my own mana to move, the twisted chains of the High Sovereign cutting off my power. But I pushed through, the rising anger from the taint that infected my memories driving me forward. I called out in internal song, beckoning the aether to respond.

The most fundamental aether art of all phoenixes was the ability to reconstruct our bodies from apparent death, granting us a rebirth in the most fundamental sense. We sculpted ourselves back to the land of the living block by block, cell by cell. The only guidance we had was our mind: and our soul.

Only the dragons could influence aether, with phoenixes being the notable exception. And I was unique among even phoenixes. My power responded to me: hesitantly and distantly, the staccato of my heartbeat pulling the energy that bound the world to my call. The chains that held me wouldn't allow me to alter my body or escape normally. But it did not bind my soul.

Aether wrapped around my mind, condensing everything I had left of myself. I hoarded it preciously, locking it together as best I could. I had never tried this before, but I would rather fail and die than let the High Sovereign blacken my past with his horrid touch anymore.

My internal song rose in pitch, reaching a crescendo of power. By now my cell had begun to rattle with the force, the slowly forming spell pressing against the confines of my body. Guards rushed away from my cell, calling for help and assistance.

Blood leaked from the edges of my mouth, my body straining from the buildup of my spell. The minuscule amount of mana I had left was burning away in a conflagration of power, fueling my last bid for freedom. I would succeed, or I would die.

I felt Agrona coming before I ever saw him. His presence was indomitable and undeniable, rushing down toward the depths of his sanctum in a burst of asuran speed. I might have felt dread before, but all that fueled me was righteous anger.

The High Sovereign skidded to a halt in front of my cell, reaching a hand out to pressure me with his King's Force. I smiled at him through bloody teeth, knowing he was already far too late.

My spell reached a fever pitch, ringing with emotion and strength I had never expected to feel again. And like a balloon popping after being filled with too much air, my soul burst outward. I felt weightless and free for a moment, the confines of my body no longer restricting my mind. But then everything began to blacken around the edges, the deep dark pulling at my awareness. As my consciousness faded into the void, I felt a strange sense of peace washing over me.

For better or for worse, the dice had been cast.