Prologue

It was the sound that she noticed first; a steady drone that sent tendrils of nausea bubbling through her frail form. The entirety of her existence became defined by a constant struggle against this insipid sickness as her vision began to blur. Despite the lack of clarity, she bore witness to the strangeness around her with wheezing breaths.

The sky glowed with a faint crimson light, flickering embers hanging suspended in the air as if by magic. The ground was covered in thick piles of grey ash that smothered even the hardiest of life. Smooth spires of glittering obsidian rose imperiously across the horizon and the very earth beneath her feet seemed angry at her presence. The dirt and soil quaked with the frantic intensity of a furious animal but she heard nothing over the constant humming. A flash of radiance drew her attention to the heavens and what little air remained in her lungs vanished in a weak gasp.

The land grew dark and shadows fell across everything in sight as a colossal sphere slowly rose above the barren vistas. It might have resembled a moon at one point, the tortured creature tried to rationalize, but the gleaming silver body of this celestial orb was marred by angrily burning streaks of flame that blazed across its surface. Even with the distance between them and her blurred vision, it was easy to see a yawning chasm at the heart of the fractured orb. It was a gaping abyss -that seemed to capture even the faintest glimmer of light, like the ravenous maw of some titanic creature.

The buzzing grew louder and louder, dominating every fiber of her being. Agony lanced through her body in time to the hum, hot knives of pain tearing through her skin like an orchestra of anguish. It became so great as to deafen her and she collapsed to her knees in the soot. A silent scream tore free from her lungs but was consumed by the cacophony as it magnified yet again. It should have been impossible that the sound continued to build, her fevered mind tried to protest, and yet it did. The concept of time turned to dust and life became but a torment as the droning reached a hellish crescendo. It was then, at the height of her agony, that she heard the whispering.

It was difficult to determine at first. She did not know if it was her mind playing tricks on her, creating substance from nothing to alleviate the suffering. The second time, she latched onto the sound with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to a life raft. It was akin to the ocean roaring, of the planets themselves hurtling through the cosmos. It was a paradox: primordial and refined, harmonious and dissonant. The words were as alien to her as the landscape but she recognized the intent behind them: It demanded that she come to it. The voice accepted no alternative and so she began to crawl through the ash, towards the haunting melody.

On and on through the cinders she inched, goaded forward by the voice. Her limbs moved sluggishly, as if through molasses, yet she did not stop. Some primal part of her brain knew that there was no stopping on this path. A light had begun to shine above, the darkness receding quickly. The luminescence brought hope to her heart and strength to her limbs. Her savior spoke again, loudly enough that the humming began to fade before it. Tears of relief poured down cracked cheeks and she dragged herself onward with renewed vigor.

The light grew brighter as she shuffled a path through soot, her skin stained the color of bone. Her vision began to blur even worse as dry eyes fought to stay open against the onslaught. It became so intense that she could see it with her eyes closed, golden florescence seared into her mind. The air became so hot that each breath felt like a lungful of scorching flame.

A wave of heat washed over her form and wisps of smoke trailed lazily off of her instantly charred skin. Her eyes bubbled and cooked in her skull, the remnants dribbling free of her sockets. Flesh gave way before the relentless incandescence and she continued to clamber. Muscle, sinew and blood boiled to vapor but she edged further forwards, as her last coherent thought fixed on the voice. She inched closer to her obsession, even as her finger bones dissolved to ash before her, until she could crawl no longer.

Consciousness began to fade from her broken and twisted frame as her shriveled lungs struggled for air. Despair filled the remnants of her heart at the thought of never finding her savior when a a figure appeared from the light. She had no eyes to see with and yet she saw it. Burning orbs peered down at her without emotion as a long, thin hand reached for her. She could only crane her head towards him in relief; knowing that she would cry if she were able to. Fingers tenderly caressed her cranium, cool to the touch even against scorched bone. The being glowed with barely restrained fury and spoke, even as it crushed her skull to powder.

"Wake up, little light." Sam woke with a start, sitting bolt up right in her bed. The voice from her dreams was hauntingly familiar and the source stood before her now. Her mother raised an amused eyebrow before frowning with worry. "Sweetheart, you're covered in sweat. Are you alright?" Samantha winced when a warm hand was pressed gently against her forehead, sending waves of nausea rushing through her body. "You're burning up."

"I'm fine, Mom." Sam pushed her mother's hand away with an exasperated sigh. She felt quite the opposite but would never admit as much. The teenager squinted at her mother through blurry eyes. "Are you on another early shift?" She asked groggily. The older woman smoothed down her sunflower yellow dress with practiced motions and an easy smile.

"Yeah, sorry sweetheart. Marissa needs another pair of hands down at the diner. Marco's still sick and Tiffany went on vacation last week." Her mother chirped brightly, a hint of good-natured grumbling in her voice. Samantha stared up at her in confusion before slumping back down in bed. The glowing red light of her alarm clock display read some horrible, pre-dawn time. The numbers blinked mockingly at her and Sam waved feebly at them as her mother continued to talk. "It means I can't drop you off at school today. I'm sorry, little light." She apologized.

"It's cool, I could use a run." Sam yawned as she spoke, mangling the words. Her mother smiled down at her, sitting on the mattress' edge. The teenager cracked an eye open as she felt a hand running through her hair.

"Have I told you, daughter dearest, how much I love you?" Sam rolled her eyes at the statement but found herself grinning along. She tried to hide the expression but her mother saw it anyway. "I love you more than the stars and the moon and the sun. I love you more than the air in my lungs and the grass beneath my feet. More than food or water, more than the very light of my soul." She sang loudly and off-key, tightly wrapping Sam into a hug. The teenager struggled violently but was helpless as her mother continued crooning to her.

"Please stop." Samantha pleaded into her mother's shoulder, voice muffled. The warbling melody continued unabated until an electronic shriek tore through the air; Sam's alarm clock letting her know that the morning was officially here.

"Alright, kiddo. You're off the hook." The waitress informed her daughter. She stood, doing one last check of her uniform and handbag. "Have a good day, little light." Sam grimaced as her mother pressed a kiss to one cheek.

"You too, Mom." Samantha kicked the covers off of her with a groan, ignoring the thin layer of sweat that covered her body. She heard the front door creak open and then slam shut noisily. Sam was, as she was becoming used to, alone. The little house always felt more comfortable with a single resident. Thin walls removed what little sense of privacy remained but they made it work most of the time.

Sam lurched into the hallway, rubbing her eyes free of crust. She had almost two hours before she needed to get moving and the girl knew exactly how she was going to spend it: A bowl of chocolate cereal sprinkled with raw sugar, her trusty couch seat and a morning full of inane television. It was the ideal start to a day and Samantha was more than happy to waste some time pursuing that goal. She had barely stepped into the kitchen, wincing at the cold tile beneath her bare feet, when fate objected.

A faint hum was the only warning that Sam had before the lights flickered and died. She closed her eyes with a sigh, pressing her head to the wooden pantry.

"Alright, no television." Sam muttered to herself before perking up. Someone else would have fetched a flash-light or even lit a candle, anything to shine some light on the situation. Samantha preferred a more direct approach to things. She threw the cupboard open and searched around hungrily for her quarry. Her hand passed disdainfully over boxes of muesli and assorted nuts, ignoring the rows of oatmeal that could have fed a small army. Faint shapes made themselves known in the dark and Sam ignored those that were too large or too small.

"Where are you, my delicious little victims?" She hissed in the darkness. Her eyes narrowed in irritation as she reached deeper into the pantry. "Come on, come on." Sam was almost out of patience by the time she saw a faint shape, sequestered away behind everything else. "Nice try, Mom, but you're going to have to try harder."

She seized the box with a triumphant laugh, gingerly pulling it back through the assortment of breakfast foods. Sam held it up to her ear and gave it a small shake, grinning at the rustling sound from inside. Anyone who had achieved a small victory to start their day would understand why the girl indulged in a short victory dance, shuffling and spinning through the kitchen with a care-free energy. Her celebration came to an abrupt end, as most things do with teenagers, at the hands of pubescent clumsiness: Sam slammed her shin into a drawer-knob, yelped in pain and wind-milled her arms in the air before crashing into a cold ceramic embrace.

"Best. Day. Ever." She wheezed pitifully, rubbing her bruised leg. Sam paused to inspect the ceiling from her vantage point. "Man, even our roof is clean. How does she have the time?" The ceiling was as spotless as the rest of their house and it was more than a little concerning. "We need to get you a hobby, Mom." A small smile blossomed on her face. "At least it's not a total let-down." Sam mused.

Plastic crinkled noisily as she seized a large handful of sugary goodness from the container. It would have made for quite the sight, a teenager sprawled out across the ground with a cereal box in one hand, if only the lights had remained active. Samantha closed her eyes in anticipation and propped herself up one elbow, moving with an intentional slowness. Her hand moved ever-so slowly towards its goal before she devoured the lumps of flavor in a single mouthful. The crunching was deafening in an otherwise silent home. It was only after several seconds of silence that she opened her eyes and stared dispassionately at the roofing.

"That was raisin bran." Sam stated, matter-of-factly. She raised another helping of breakfast food to her mouth, as if to assess the validity of her claim. "Yep. Definitely raisin bran." The girl sighed wearily and let herself thump back to the floor. "You win this round, Mom." It was a painful admission, softened only by the fact that no-one was here to witness it. "It's barely seven and I already know that today is going to be great." Sam said mockingly. She was content to stay where she was for a moment and stare up at the ceiling. It was at this exact moment that the lights flickered back to life.

"I hate Mondays." Sam groaned as she squinted against the light. "Alright then, eggs on toast sounds good to me." It took precious little time before the girl was nestled in her comfortable chair, gnawing on some steaming hot chicken abortions. Cable television played out before her but she paid little notice to the three hundred or so channels to choose from. Sam's attention was taken by the screen nestled in her lap, gingerly scrolling through images on her digital camera. She rolled her eyes at the faces her friends had made in their

shots and scowled at the gestures they threw towards the photographer.

"Thanks for that, guys. Really appreciate it." Sam grumbled, swiping through the list in irritation. "Mister Dobson's really going to want more photos of kids goofing off in the yearbook." She muttered while deleting the few that she was in, ignoring her own playful expressions. "Yeah, don't need those ones." The screen was filled with craggy mesas and red stone, the results of Samantha's efforts. She chewed on her lip nervously as she reviewed the pictures. "Crap, crap, crap. None of these are going to be good enough." Sam lamented, running a hand through her hair. She flicked past a shot of some prairie rats creeping forth from their hole as the rising sun painted them a vibrant orange with a fond smile. That had been a fun shoot, lying in wait for the canny little critters to emerge at the right time.

Sam smiled at the memory, the hours of lying as still as possible in the red dirt. It had been a test of patience, not exactly Samantha's strong point, but the shot had been worth it. She was about to put the camera down when another image flashed onto the screen, her thumb bumping a button. It was far too out of focus to be called a good photograph but there was something mesmerizing about it. A single obelisk of rough stone rose from the ground like a crimson declaration of defiance. It was on oddly enchanting sight, Samantha had to admit. She did not remember taking this picture but the evidence was right in front of her.

A blaring horn made Sam jump, her heart racing from the sudden sound. With the spell broken, she realized very quickly that there was only be one reason that someone would be leaning on their noise-maker so heavily. Her eyes darted to the analogue clock resting atop their television. The hands imperiously informed her of two things. Firstly, an hour had passed since she started scanning through photographs. The second was that she was running late for school. With a yelp of fear, Sam thrashed free of her couch's welcoming embrace and sprinted down the hall. Her camera lay forgotten on the vinyl surface.

She dressed quickly, scattering unwanted clothes across her bedroom floor. Sam was still trying to get one leg through her pants as she hopped out into the hallway.

"Come on, come on. Stupid pants." The girl growled at her uncooperative trousers. She crowed in victory as both legs found freedom from their cotton prison. Sam glanced at the clock again and began to sweat; it had taken her way too long to get dressed. She slammed a pair of joggers on her feet and started stumbling for the front door, desperately throwing on an old AYSO jersey on over her tee shirt. Her head disappeared into the refrigerator, hunting for lunch.

"Thank you, leftovers." The teenager chirped, snatching a plastic container of lasagna and salad. It vanished into her worn satchel, along with her mobile phone and her meticulously written homework. Samantha was almost out the front door when she a thought hit her. She looked back to the couch where her camera sat where she had dropped it, waiting like a loyal companion. The students weren't technically allowed to bring electronic devices to school other than their phones and even then they were meant to turn them off. Still, Mister Dobson was pretty understanding about these things so maybe she could bring the camera.

"He's the one who got me into photography in the first place. If anyone might know what's wrong with that picture, it'll be him." Sam mused. She fetched the camera case, hurried over to her camera and placed it inside the compartment. "And if someone asks, I'll just say it's for photography club." She snorted with restrained laughter before her eyes flicked to the clock once more. Samantha winced at the time, knowing that none of her friends would be available to pick her up. "Crap, I'm going to have to run." The teenager gripped self-piteously.

Sam turned the lights off, closed the door and locked it behind her. Her keys jingled before they were stuffed into her pocket and her feet hit the pavement. She shouldered her bag, started to think about how far away the school was and shook her head violently.

"Stop thinking about doing it and do it, Sam. Just start running." With a determined look, she took off at a quick jog. Warmth began to seep into her muscles as the familiar sensation of physical exertion took hold. It took little time before Sam fell into a comfortable rhythm, breath coming in controlled bursts, and her mind drifted to other things. She ran often enough that it had become an almost comfortable state of being. It was almost like the world narrowed down to her and the path when she ran.

'And hey, Mister Dobson said my portfolio review came in today. If I get there with some time to spare, I can ask him about it!' Sam thought excitedly, her eyes gleaming with the realization. She whooped loudly enough that people going about their morning routines looked at her oddly. Samantha ignored them all, speeding up as her runner's instincts gave way to sheer enthusiasm. Her long legs pumped furiously and her trainers slapped against the pavement. The wind whipped at her hair, her lungs burning furiously in her chest.

Sam arrived at school covered in sweat and barely in time to hear the first bell of the day. It was not an ideal start to the morning.

But she had certainly had worse. After all, there were plenty of things more horrifying than school. Like being late for school and having Principal Carmichael glaring at you through the window.

It was going to be one of those days, Sam sighed.