"Seal the gates! Everybody inside! Soldiers, mount up and prepare for battle!" Luxa shouted. She heard the familiar flapping of bat wings. She turned to face the bat.
"What is your message, rid--" she choked on her words. A large, powerful, glossy black bat landed quietly next to her. "Ares?" Luxa whispered.
"No, Your Highness." The bat's voice was a low purr that sounded much like Ares's, making Luxa all the more curious. "I am but his own son."
Luxa raised an eyebrow. Ares had all but become an outcast amongst the bats. "His son?" she repeated.
The large bat nodded, his glossy fur shining in the torchlight.
"Cousin! Is there anything I can do that would be of assistance?" Hazard ran up to her.
Luxa remembered what Nerissa had told her the week prior.
"Beware. Though the Warrior is no longer mentioned in any of Sandwich's prophecies, I have had visions of a great war while we are regrouping. And the Warrior is there, too."
"You needn't worry, cousin," said Luxa gently.
She looked at the bat claiming to be Ares's son. "What is your name?"
"Devius," the bat said graciously.
"Devius, know you the location of the entrance to the Overland?" she asked.
"Yes, Your Highness."
She looked between the Halflander child and the bat.
Finally, she made up her mind.
"Devius, are you willing to take Hazard to the Overland in search of the Warrior?" she asked, though it wasn't much of a question as an order phrased as one.
Hazard lit up. "Oh! The Overland?"
________________________________________________________________________________
Gregor sighed boredly as he drummed his fingers on his school desk, trying not to drift off. But it was difficult, as he had no interest in literature whatsoever.
Often, even though it pained him, to stay awake he would repeat the prophecies in his head.
Beware, Underlanders, time hands by a thread.
The hunters are hunted, white water runs red.
The gnawers will strike to extinguish the rest.
The hope of the hopeless resides in a quest.
An Overland Warrior, a son of the sun,
May bring us back light, may bring us back none.
But gather your neighbors and follow his call,
Or the rats will most surely devour us all.
Two over, two under, of royal descent,
Two fliers, two crawlers, two spinners assent.
One gnawer beside and one lost up ahead.
And eight will be left when we count up the dead.
The last to die must decide where he stands,
The fate of the eight is contained in his hands.
So bid him take care, bit him look where he leaps,
As life may be death and death life again reaps.
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Gregor and the Bloodbath of Regalia
FanfictionIt's been four years since Gregor has ever uttered the words "fly you high," rode a bat, taken part in a prophecy, or been to the kingdom of Regalia in the Underland. His family saw it as a blessing to finally be done with that world, that ch...
