1 Prologue - part one

EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO

The last of the Council arrived, and the meeting could finally begin.

A man with a strong jaw and greying hair strode inside, deep purple robes billowing behind him. With a wave of his hand, the impressively large doors closed behind him.

The room was relatively small, with grey cobblestone walls and smooth stone flooring. A round table, hewn of the same material as the floor, seated four people around it – five, now that the man had taken his seat. An almost sickly pale woman in an ornate Victorian crimson gown propped her bare feet up on its surface.

"Finally," she scoffed, rolling her dark eyes. "We've been waiting for forever. Get lost on the way here, Martin?"

"As a newcomer to the Council," another woman seethed, sitting primly in her seat in a simple white dress, "it would be wise for you to hold your tongue, Catarina."

"Belle," the man beside her said quietly, placing a placating hand on her arm. King Charles was dressed in simple white linen like his wife. "This is not the time for fighting."

Belle quieted, but fastened an irritated glare on the pale woman in front of her. Catarina smirked and held a condescending finger up to her blood-red lips. Belle's temper spiked, but, instead of addressing her, she turned to Martin.

"Why did we choose her, again?" Belle asked him innocently. "Out of all of Tenebre, there had to have been dozens more eligible candidates."

Martin didn't respond. He was obviously deep in thought, dark hair unruly and fingers tapping impatiently on the armrest of his chair.

"You chose me," Catarina answered instead, upper lip curling, "because I'm the most powerful sorceress in Tenebre – much more powerful than you, princess."

"I appreciate you for recognizing my royal lineage," Belle said calmly, regarding her coldly, "but it's Queen. I'm the Queen of Maene itself, Queen of Light and Peace. And you? You're some evil, immoral, dirty thing we dug out of the gutter because we'd rather be allied with you than one of the demons who roam that realm. For some reason, though, I think I'd rather be taking my chances with the demon."

Catarina's eyes narrowed to slits. She slipped her feet off the table, fists clenched, and was about to stand, when the fifth person at the table spoke up.

"Enough," came a smooth, baritone voice.

All heads turned to the previously silent man, who sat rigidly in his seat.

He sported all the characteristics of those from the realm of Aesta: skin paler than Catarina's – so pale it was tinged blue – and sharp, elfish features. No one at the table would admit it, but the mere act of looking at him made them feel uneasy. He looked too chiseled, too perfect. Moreover, Aestans were a secretive people that no one knew much about. Sitting beside their elected leader, Tanyl, made the other councillors feel as though they were sitting beside an alien.

Tanyl regarded them all coldly. "We're here to discuss Martin's divination. We have no time for petty rivalries."

Tanyl's expression was the picture of impassiveness. He would never let the others know that back in his realm, a war was raging.

Martin straightened his back and brushed imaginary dust off the lap of his cloak. It could've been fashioned from the fabric of the universe itself: deep blues, dark purples, and small flecks of white drifted through the heavy folds. Cloaks like his were symbols of powerful mages from the realm of Praetatio, representing their mastery over mana: the energy of the Universe itself.

"Tanyl's right," Martin nodded. "Charles, Belle, Catarina, the other day when I was divining, I saw something… troubling."

"Troubling how?" Catarina snapped. "I'm not in the mood for your wizard-y dramatics, Marty."

"Martin," he corrected. "But yes, you're right, I'll get right to the point. As we all know, Praetatio is under attack. An unknown force has been invading our land and, despite our best efforts, we have been unable to stop him."

"Are you asking for reinforcements?" Charles asked. "I offered before, but you refused…"

"There would be no point," Martin replied quietly.

Tense silence.

"What do you– What do you mean?" asked Belle, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

"There would be," Martin repeated, "no point. We are old. All of us. The being in charge of the invading force will eventually conquer Praetiritio, no matter how many reinforcements we send. Then Tenebre will follow suit, Maene too, and even Aesta will fall. The Colonizer has already overtaken dozens of other realms; the only reason we're still standing right now is because we're the four most powerful ones."

The silence became even tenser.

"So, what?" Catarina laughed shrilly. "We're all screwed?"

"How could one force possibly conquer us all?" Belle demanded.

"I don't know," Martin admitted. "I don't know what gives him his power. What I do know, is that he will win because we are old."

Charles gave a terse, mirthless laugh.

"Hear me out," Martin said conspiratorially, eyeing them all. "The Colonizer already knows who we are, what our abilities are, which realms will be harder to defeat and which won't be, et cetera. We've gotten complacent; there hasn't been a war in millenia. He will win because he already has a plan to win. He's accounted for any and all influencing factors."

There was a pause.

"You're saying," Tanyl mused coolly, "we have to change the equation."

"Exactly." Martin leaned back into his seat.

"How?" Catarina asked, serious for once. "If all of our resources and armies won't do anything, because he's already amassed enough forces to defeat them, how do we 'change the equation'?"

"Earthlings," Martin replied.

You could've heard a pin drop.

"Humans?" Tanyl demanded, leaning forward and steepling his fingers. "You want to have the fate of our realms, the lives of our peoples, hinge on humans?"

"Magic-less, powerless, oblivious humans?" Charles furthered.

Martin stroked his jaw. "Four humans. And they don't have to be powerless..."