Night's Children: Dum spiro, spero.
While I breathe, I hope.
AN: I got a few people who were interested in a Trysten, Lance, and Art centric fic, and I wanted to write one, so there ya go. This takes place some twenty odd years before Night's Children, set in the time of the current Daughters of the Moon (Jimena, Serena, Catty, Vanessa, Tianna) As far as updates are concerned, I'm planning to alternate between one update for this fic, and one update per regular Night's Children book.
I decided to post this early as an 'I'm sorry' for how long the next chapter of Nox Noctis is taking. If you have any ideas/suggestions PLEASE email or message me as I've got major, icky writer's block. Anyways, enjoy the side story!
Italics is telepathy/thoughts.
Summary: Three tied to the Atrox; a Follower, a servus, and the one destined to rule the shadows, are liberated from all they've ever known. Can they honor Serena's sacrifice? Or will they return to their inner darkness? You've seen them in Night's Children, now Art, Lance, and Trysten have their own story to tell.
Disclaimer: I took some lines from the books for the prologs, but I've added and extended scenes so that it's not blatant, out-right plagiarism. It's more like subtle plagiarism. I swear, I wouldn't take lines right out of the book if it wasn't important to the plot, so I hope you all can look passed that.
PrologPart One: Beautiful
-Id quod factum est, infectum esse potest. What has been done, can be undone.--o-
Push her.
Patience, she will go in on her own.
Push her now.
I don't want to push her. She will go in on her own.
Her resolve is faltering, she is hesitating. Push her.
What difference will it make if we wait?
She is stalling for time. She is lying, waiting for her precious sisters. Push her.
I don't understand-
I claimed her. She is mine. Push her.
There's no reason-
You are mine as well. I control you. Push her, or I will cause you pain. I will make you get on your knees and scream until your throat is raw and bleeding. I will make you wish you were never born. I own you; I own every fiber of your being. Push her.
All right.
The young girl stood in front of the tall blazing flames whose image betrayed the fact that they were ice cold. Small, crystalline patterns formed on the ground surrounding it. There were several of his Followers watching him and the goddess, the Daughter of the Moon, with profound interest.
The girl's name was Serena, and she was Lecta. The Atrox had made its claim on her, and she could not fight it forever. Observing her in the dark of night, she looked ethereal, something above and beyond anything human. Her emerald eyes glinted in the freezing lights, looking similar to a cat's. Her dark hair was flowing freely in the wind, wrapping around her head and concealing the rest of her face except for those damnable eyes.
She was beautiful.
In a few moments, she would be terrible.
A part of him, the part that was still good and not yet tainted by the Atrox inside of him, had felt overwhelming pity for this girl when he had first met her. She was so lovely, graceful, but most of all lonely. Everyone except for the other Daughters seemed to fear her, no one truly taking the time to understand her.
The Atrox had assigned him to get close to her, but under false pretenses.
He was an Immortal, a leader of a band of rogue Followers. He was respected, and more importantly, feared. It was he, and a rival, that imbecile Stanton, who were assigned to deliver the Key to the Atrox. Fortunately for him, he was better at mind manipulation than Stanton, and he was able to erase all of Serena's memories of her 'beloved' Invitus. It made the capture all too easy. He had given her what she wanted, a friend, someone to actually listen to her, someone to lean on. And in return, she was mere inches from the fire and coincidentally his spot in the Incinti. He had molded his personality into that of an artistic outcast, to create a feeling of kinship between them.
The part of him, the good part, which was slowly dying, felt overwhelming guilt for manipulating such a radiant creature like he had. That small part was being squashed by the Atrox, lust for power filling up the space compassion had once filled, his conscience crushed by darkness.
He sneered in pure, unadulterated hate as he walked up to her. His boots moved rapidly across the ground of the Tar Pits, his thick soles crushing the ground underneath him.
He ripped the talisman of Selene away from her chest. His dark eyes narrowed into slits, and he ran a hand through his near-black hair. She had to enter that fire; she had to greet Hell with open arms. It was what his master wanted; it was what his corrupted side wanted. There was no more time to waste, she was hesitating, and he didn't need to read her mind to figure out that she was waiting on the other Daughters.
He placed his heavy hands on each of her shoulders, enjoying the way her eyes lit up in terror as she watched his turn into the phosphorous yellow of the Followers. He gingerly shifted his weight, and with a small push, the graceful goddess tripped and fell into the accursed flames.
He could hear her take a sharp intake of breath, could feel her surprise echo through his mind as she fell into the Frigidus Ignis, could feel her fear.
"Lecta." He breathed, knowing he had accomplished the task set out for him.
He allowed a triumphant smile to cross his face. He had served his Master well, he would be proud of him, for the goddess was now transforming into the goddess of the witches.
She stood up in the inferno, the flames licking at her as they tried to consume her mortality. Her eyes were horrified, yellow edges creeping up on the green in her iris, and her moon amulet, lying on the ground, was glowing brighter than a star. She writhed in pain, for everyone knew she did not want this.
That tiny voice inside hated the person he had become. It thought he was disgusting for destroying a girl for power.
But then something unexpected had to happen, something that was not a part of his plan. A frost-coated arm reached out from the abyss, coated in crystalline patterns and slightly blue, and grabbed onto his own arm.
Raw, pure dread filled him then. What was she doing? Her grip didn't falter, cold and clammy, as she began to drag him into the Cold Fire. His heels dug into the ground, his face became a vision of alarm. He didn't want to go in, he never wanted to go in ever again. Couldn't she sense that?
An icy breeze wafted through his hair, the tip of his nose became covered with the light ice, his toes caught an edge on the outskirts of the fire, and in he went.
The blaze around him shivered in anger, as if the Atrox had discovered what had happened to one of its most favorite Followers. The air became too chilly to breathe, choking him as he struggled to claw himself away from this hell.
The darkness inside of him was being ripped away, burnt to ash by the Atrox's own flames. He had to escape; this would surely kill him.
But Serena's grip was strong for a girl of her size; she wrapped her arms around him in an almost comforting, albeit tight, embrace. He struggled; didn't she see what he was doing? The pain was unbearable, the liquid fire burning him from the inside out.
Then he heard those beautiful, horrible words.
"Id quos factum est, infectum esse potest." Serena's voice, clear and pure, was echoing through his mind in the stillness of the night.
At those words of Hecate, his soul felt as if it were being ripped in two. The darkness that the Atrox owned was dissolving, being wrenched away from his core, as his fraction of light stayed anchored inside of him. It was torture, and all he could do was scream the word, "No!" until his voice was raw.
The blaze reacted similar; it swayed and shifted colors as if it possessed the human emotion of anger. It wrapped tightly around him, trying to keep him for itself, it did not want to relinquish its power.
"What has been done can be undone!" Serena declared, her embrace tightening around him tighter than the fire's.
And then, as if in one final exhale, the darkness surrendered, leaving him all alone with the small portion of light that was left in his soul. The pain ceased, and he felt lighter than he could ever remember being. He was sure he had died, and that death had finally given him the inner tranquility that his heart had desperately been seeking.
But his revelation was disrupted when he felt a soft, small hand grasp his gently. The hand belonged to the girl, and she seemed to be inspecting for something. He grew confused, an angel?
Yet this was not a merciful angel. As soon as she had seen what she was looking for, she shoved him away from her.
He tumbled out of the fire, gasping for air. He felt the other voice's absence, and he would have wept in relief had he not felt totally drained. Two strong arms grabbed him as he fell from the inferno, and he sagged against them.
He lifted his heavy-lidded eyes to the night sky, where thousands of stars twinkled in the darkness. Their light illuminated the moonless night. He allowed himself a small, grim smile.
"Beautiful," Zahi whispered.