Prologue

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He whistled quietly to himself, departed from this world and lonesome in population of a realm only he could see. As the melody drifted farther and reached each of us at different intervals, we turned towards where the elder man rested comfortably in his recliner and found his profile at ease. His head tilted upwards with hooded eyes, lusting not for a person but for a time and drunk on nostalgia. Without knowing of our keen attention, his whistle turned to burly words as he began to sing in a voice that rumbled and scratched like an ancient record being played over broken glass;

"Hail to the King, our souls we dare bring, dead men whisper no tales.

Plunder and plight, for by tomorrow night, we ride as a ship without sails.

When the Council descends, all will end, to the tune of Death's sweet song.

The King will fall, lord save us all, to the Hellfire we all belong.

Pierce waiting flesh, entrance is kept, the skeleton butchers its marrow.

Ink be the key, ink sets the soul free, and His sacrifice swallows tomorrow."

The last syllable stretched on in brawny timbre, echoing down each hall like wolves on prowl in the light of a full moon. Then his lips tilted upwards into a half drunk smile, he glanced over his shoulder to where we watched on in silence, and he added, "A song for the boy king, may it offer enough warning to save him."

At my side, Corinth shook her head but the motion was lagged, caught in whirlwinds that stripped her of strength and replaced whatever hope she had gained with haunted visions of the past, "I thought it was just an old bedtime story."

I felt my heart sink at her clipped attempts to persuade because even as she claimed their insignificance, I heard her rejecting her own lie, "What story, Corinth?"

She rubbed at her forehead, buried in thought while trying to remember, "I don't know ... something about a King who lived a long time ago. His council of supervisors were corrupted by power and rose against him in mutiny to take over the empire." The longer she spoke, clear recollection split across her features, like catching glimpse of a far off destination through a thick curtain of fog, "But the King learned of their plot and poisoned each of the members on his council before they could carry out their treason. From that point on, their lineage was cursed. There were rumors that only the King could produce a cure but he chose to watch each of them die, one by one. Passing on the curse to their children." She was speaking briskly now, pinching the bridge of her nose while piecing together portions of the fable with struggles we have faced thus far, "But it was just a story, Sadie. Something our grandfather used to tell us before bed, nothing more."

I wanted to agree, to pretend that the events leading up to this very moment haven't been as bad as we believed them to be. But that song rang like a gong in my mind, on repeat in endless reiteration. It would seem our problems have only scraped the very tip of a disastrously colossal iceberg, hidden below an ocean stained red. Ignoring our problems isn't an option anymore, "Maybe it's not just a story. At least, not all of it."

Her face paled further and a tremble took hold, eyes unfocused and bottom lip quivering. Absentmindedly, her arms snaked around her own waist then fingers clawed inward over her hip's summit, "I thought ... no, it can't be."

My veins ran cold, "What?"

"I was always told that the song was about our initiation ink, the sigil we get when we become official members." Her tight grip caused the material of her shirt to ride up, revealing the jet black Tribe sigil nearly iridescent against her ivory flesh, "But ... I don't think the warning is about our ink ..." Corinth dropped neurotic eyes on the unconscious figure at our feet, alarmed by her sudden revelation, "I think it's about his."

I looked down as well, catching sight of the faded sigil branded across his chest, worn and wilted from years worth of beatings. My mind amplified to find the link between fiction and reality. There was a missing piece, only one, but a piece monstrous in size and important beyond explanation, "Corinth, what does it mean?"

A sheer layer glistened over vibrant green eyes when she whispered, "It means ... he can't be saved."

Across the room, the elder man smiled in approval and took another swig from his glass.

It couldn't it be true, though. All of this time and energy wasted on protecting a soul already marked for death after conquering death itself?

I watched him; his movements still tarried as though it hurt to move, and his breaths still rigid as though it hurt to breathe. And in that moment I realized, perhaps the reason we couldn't save him before was because he was too busy saving us. And we let him. We sat by, idle in attempt, while he gave his life to protect those he loved most.

We should have fought for him.

Maybe now was too late, maybe we have already entered a storm without hope for survival. But it's going to take more than an old story and a poorly construed song to take him from me again. I lost him, found him, and now I'll fight for him. And if the time comes, I'll die for him, as he did for me. A debt to be repaid, settled by the sacrifice of the one once sacrificed for.

I'll be damned if I ever let him down again.

"I'm going to save him." I pledged, resting a hand over his chest to cover the sigil with my palm. A sign of supreme disrespect towards the gang he gave his life for, the gang that now also determined his fate, "If it's the last thing I do, I will save him."

"Oh, my dear girl. The problem with breaking promises is that it causes a rift between what is and what should have been. And that rift will grow until it consumes the soul and breaks the body." The man mumbled, watching us from his seat across the room as if we were entertainment enough to replace the song of his ancestors, "A promise to be your last act, you say? So shall it be, breaking both the body and soul."

But his warning couldn't have been more wrong. Because it isn't my soul which will break; my body perhaps, but not my soul.

The man who slept at my feet will break; body and soul alike.

And with a fate such as that, I can't help but think ... he was better off dead.

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Hello again all my lovely people! Ya girl Queen here, back at it again with another long-awaited and heartbreaking tale that will leave you all hating me ;) sounds like fun huh?

A FEW CHANGES: because my life is a mess, I can't promise consistent updates at this point in time so look for chapter updates on Friday's but don't panic if the update comes a little early or late.

Also, cover edit credit goes to @SaraSD she's literally so talented, thank you soooo much!!

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