Conquer

~prologue~

Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash 

The sun finishes its descent as the moon takes watch over the world. A writer below moves passionately on their typewriter. The setting is exactly how they prefer, the room lit by a single lamp to resemble a campfire glow. The window is cracked open, allowing a delicate breeze to travel through. Slow and subtle steam, from a blue mug, drifts into the air; the smell of cinnamon-spiced apple fills the room. The hot air wraps up and over the face like a blanket when brought to the lips, the tea burning the throat while the writer focuses on nothing but the story unfolding in front of them. It unravels progressively at an exciting pace.

Various admired works sit neatly to the side, reminding them of why they write. Their eyes water slightly as pages upon pages fill, every word mattering, every word being placed for a reason.

The edges of their vision begin folding in as they grow more lost in their world and find themselves in a new one. The writer's furious typing offers as a beat to the music which flows around the room, immersing them completely in a world of their creating. The lights blink softly, the lamp dimming, and the room fading. All previous thoughts vanish as characters are molded, a world wielding under the writer's touch.

Papers are then sifted through, notebooks scattering the surface of the smooth brown desk as the suspense builds. Careful thoughts turn to frantic movements, the brain unveiling the climax faster than the poor, cramped hands can type. Harsh and raw emotions rise while the writer pours out all their energy into the summer evening. The moon continues to watch over as magic is bloomed in an ordinary house, on an ordinary desk, and by someone who continuously doubts their work – only just realizing the impact of their words. 

Annabeth sits back in her chair, eyes glued to the page, pride swelling in her chest. 

Meanwhile on the other side of the mountains..... 

Her teeth, bared and tinged with crimson, sneer at him. The soldier was the last of the battalion and she was waiting for them to send more. She will destroy every last one of them. 

"Please..." he cries, crawling backward in the dry grass. 

Fire singes his hairs and burns everything around them. 

She takes another step toward him. 

The lower lip of the guy quivers. 

She finally chooses to speak, saying, "I'll let you live under one condition." 

"Yes - what - what is it?" he stutters, body tense as a wooden board. 

She cocks her head sinsiterly, "Tell them this is war." 

Hope you all enjoyed the first piece from this story! 

This story will make more sense if you read Mission Accepted first! But either way, enjoy! 

Have a great day/night wherever you are!