A prophecy was given to the Realm of Valeera, but only one kingdom took heed to it and set forth a law that would divide the people into two groups. The Fair and the Strange. One group possessed a promise from the gods while the other is doomed for...
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Their screams could've cracked the sky if it was possible.
Gris' heart crumbled. He prayed their suffering would come to an end. A few people grew sick and weary from the scene, especially from the pungent odor of burning flesh. He glared at his father, who watched with a straight and firm face, eyes wide and shoulders tense, as if he were trying to suck in the energy. The commander stood with a slight smirk on his face. Fire was a part of him. Something he enjoyed; he knew its destruction. Gideon gulped down a mug of wine, cringing and openly turning away. Even his sister repulsed and clung to her mother, who tried to appear brave, but even her body trembled.
Then the clouds, still throughout the evening, burst alive. Everyone watched them move like it had never been done before, clashing and rolling in a thunderous rage above the Altar and its sacrifices. The hairs along his arms stood. The screams of six of the Sacreds ceased, but Mageia continued as if she was fighting the flames ... or rather, fighting death.
Instead of her scream demising, it grew louder, conquering every ear. Everyone covered their ears, and fright seeped into their souls.
"What's going on?" the king bellowed.
A low thunder followed, too close to be from the sky. The ground awoke in a violent quake and stirred everything and everyone unsecured. Everyone screamed and sought something to cling to. Mageia's scream came to a sharp stop that echoed like a crow's call to its young, echoing up into the dark sky.
The clouds suddenly dropped onto the realm and swept across the Altar, sending everyone standing to the floor and blowing out every fire in its path. Gris grunted, and an indescribable energy warped through his body. As if he'd fallen into water and gulped a lungful, he coughed for air, his throat and tongue sizzling in pain.
When the pain subsided, he sat up and saw the clouds sweep across Ardania and disappear beyond his eyes in every direction. Then everything stilled. Not a single person spoke amidst the darkness. Every eye was glued to the only pillar still on fire, but it wasn't normal fire. Its dark, majestic purple flames flickered gracefully. The clouds dissolved, revealing millions of stars—more stars than he'd ever noticed before—all against a purple veil. The full moon shone brighter than ever, casting a spotlight on Mageia's pillar.
Gris blinked, wondering if this was a beautiful dream, but it wasn't. This was happening. "I was right..." he whispered, searching for the king and catching his eyes.
The king was speechless and utterly afraid, and the commander stared at his hands, horrified by something else. Gris didn't wait to figure it out or speak to anyone. He climbed to his feet and sprinted towards the pillars.
"Gris!" King Dimitri called out, but Gris ignored him despite the fear in his voice.
The soldiers and guards stirred back to life to relight the torches and check on everyone. Some ran towards Mageia's pillar, swords unsheathed.
