Prologue

A young Akeefa warrior, tall and beautiful, was running like the wind in a field of tall grass through smoke and fog. She was being pursued by the enemy, the Lette, her long red hair like a banner flying behind her. Far away, another Akeefa warrior, a boy with a set jaw and spiky black hair, saw the danger coming. He began to sprint through the tall grass towards them. But he was too late; one of her pursuers suddenly broke away from the others, took a flying leap...time slowed as they landed, driving their spear through Istelle's heart. She fell to the ground. Soren watched through the fog and the smoke as she collapsed and disappeared into the tall grass. At that moment, as Istelle hit the ground, his heart, beating hard in his chest, shattered into a million pieces. He howled his anguish to the smoke-filled sky. He had nearly reached them. He took a mighty leap towards the Lette. He landed on his feet and began stabbing and swinging in every direction. He was a trained fighter, a master of his sword. The clashing of weapons and the screaming of battle cries filled his ears. The Lette warriors that had been chasing Istelle now turned on him. He struck them down one by one, fighting his way to the place where she lay, her long red curls wild in every direction, her pale skin paler than usual, and her clothing soaked with blood. Her large gray eyes were closed. The mark of fire had faded from her left hand. Soren felt for a pulse. There was none. He sensed someone behind him. A Lette warrior was raising a dagger over him, as he kneeled over Istelle. With one swift motion, Soren struck him down, dead.

After Istelle's death, Soren fled to the forest and hid like a small child from a thunderstorm. He spent two days sitting motionless at the base of a large oak near a stream, watching the water flow… On the third day, he stood up and began to walk pointlessly downstream.

Eventually, the stream led him to a lake.

The lake was clear and clean. There wasn't a single stray brown leaf floating on its surface, with no branches of fallen logs sticking out from the water. Surrounding the lake on one side were graceful willow trees, their lowest hanging branches almost touching the water. Soft green moss covered the banks, and flowers of many different colors and hues grew all around. Everything swayed to a light breeze and the sun reflected light off the lake, shimmering invitingly. There was no hint of war here. Everything was beautiful and serene.

There was a large slab of white marble on the ground by the lake, only a few feet from where Soren stood. Moss crept along its edges, and coming closer, Soren saw that there were words etched into it, written in elegant letters. He read the first line aloud:

Oh spirit of Veiled Lake, come forth unto me.

A ripple of water disturbed the calm of the lake and his head snapped up. Something was rising slowly out of the waters. As it rose above the surface, Soren saw that it was a human figure, a woman created entirely of water. Water flowed down and through her clear liquid fingers and in rippling sheets down her clear and liquid back. She was ever-flowing and never-ending.

As she rose, her gaze traveled around the lake, and soon came to rest upon Soren, who backed away.

"Hello."

Her voice was bubbly and melodious, the way water would sound if it could speak.

She gave him a twisty grin that made him feel like backing away further, but he resisted the urge.

Akeefa warriors never backed away.

Instead, Soren took a step forward.

He called out to the woman; "Friend or foe? If you come any closer, I shall…." He faltered and the woman began to laugh. Her laugh was even stranger than her voice, like a shallow stream running over many little pebbles in a riverbed.

"I am neither your friend nor am I your foe," she replied, "and you pose absolutely no threat to me. If I wish to move closer to you, I assure you that there is nothing stopping me from doing so."

Soren frowned. "What is it that you want of me?"

"T'was you who summoned me to the surface of this lake," was her reply.

"I did no such thing. What is it that you speak of, liquid woman?"

"I prefer the term, 'Water Spirit,' and go by the name Cyan. You have summoned me to the surface of my lake by reading aloud the first line of words engraved in that cursed slab of white marble."

"Why is it that you live in this lake?"

"Must I answer every idiotic question you thrust upon me? Where else can a Water Spirit live but in water?"

Soren took a seat on the mossy bank uninvited. After a few minutes of sitting there, he stood back up and walked over to the white marble again. Cyan watched him intently.

"The first line summons thee from inside the lake. What will the second line do if spoken?" Soren inquired. She gave him another of her sly, twisty grins.

"If you speak the second line, then I shall reveal to you your fate."

He stared at her, surprised.

"So you know my future? And you are willing to reveal it to me without asking anything in return?"

"Ah, I do not yet know your fate, the second you say those words, however," she nodded towards the white marble, "your fate shall reveal itself to me, and I shall reveal it all to you, in turn, as the caster of the spell." She paused briefly, then continued; "As for me not asking anything of you in return, I assure you, it is no cost at all for me to tell you your fate once you cast the spell, while you, on the other hand, will suffer until your dying day once I reveal it to you. You shall become a slave to your future, there will be nothing you will ever be able to do to change it, you will simply go along this ready-made plan, you shall live pointlessly. After all, there is no point in living the adventure that is life if you already know exactly how it goes...and how it ends."

Soren stood there for a long while after Cyan had finished, thinking. She sat there in the middle of the lake and watched him with a strange, suspenseful look on her face.

Finally, Soren inhaled deeply and said in a flat voice: "I no longer care what happens with my life." He looked back down at the marble.

"Spirit of Veiled Lake, thrust upon my shoulders my fate, for I know of the consequences."